Hi D D E N WATER np 0.0 J DC HIDDEN WATER I never saw a sheepman yet that would fight, but you've got to" HIDDEN WATER By DANE COOLIDGE WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR BY MAYNARD DIXON A. L. BURT COMPANY PUBLISHERS NEW YORK COPYRIGHT A. C. McCLURG & CO. 1910 Published October 29, 1910 Second Edition, December 3, 1910 Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, England All rights reserved ILLUSTRATIONS "I never saw a sheepman yet that would fight, but you 've got to" . . ... ., .. ... ... . Frontispiece PAGE "Put up them guns, you damn gawky fools ! This man ain't going to eat ye I" 177 "No !" said Kitty, "You do not love me" .... 287 Threw the sand full in his face *j w m w :-. 462 M57597 HIDDEN WATER CHAPTER I THE MOUSE A FTER many long, brooding days of sunshine^ when the clean-cut mountains gleamed bril- liantly against the sky and the grama grass curled slowly on its stem, the rain wind rose up suddenly oat of Papagueria and swooped down upon the desolate town of Bender, whirling a cloud of dust before it; and the inhabitants, man and horse, took to cover, New-born clouds, rushing out of the ruck of flying dirt, cast a cold, damp shadow upon the earth and hurried past; white-crested thunder-caps, piling tip above the Four Peaks, swept resolutely down to meet them; and the storm wind, laden with the smell of greasewood and wetted alkali, lashed the gaunt desert bushes mercilessly as it howled across the plain* Striking the town it jumped wickedly against the old Hotel Bender, where most of the male population bad taken shelter, buffeting its false front until the glasses tinkled and the bar mirrors swayed dizzily from their [11] HIDDEN WATER moorings. Then with a sudden thunder on the tin Toof the flood came down, and Black Tex set up the drinks. ^ It was a tall cowman just down from the Peaks twh ordered the round, and so all-embracing was Ms good humor that he bid every one in the room with him, even a sheepman. Broad-faced huge, with four months' growth of hair and a thirst of the same duration, he stood at the end of the bar, smiling radiantly, one sun-blackened hand toying with the empty glass. "Come up, fellers," he said, waving the other in in- vitation, "and drink to Arizona. With a little more rain and good society she 'd be a holy wonder, as the Texas land boomer says down in hell." They came up willingly, cowpunchers and sheepmen, train hands, prospectors, and the saloon bums that Black Tex kept about to blow such ready spenders as lie, whenever they came to town. With a practised jolt of the bottle Tex passed down the line, filling each heavy tumbler to the brim ; he poured a thin one for himself and beckoned in his roustabout to swell the count but still there was an empty glass. There was one man over in the corner who had declined to drink. He sat at a disused card table studiously thumbing over an old magazine, and as he raised his dram the barkeeper glowered at him intolerantly. [12] THE MOUSE "Well," said the big cowboy, reaching for his liquor, "here 's how and may she rain for a week!" He shoved back his high black sombrero as he spoke, but before he signalled the toast his eye caught the sidelong glance of Black Tex, and he too 'noticed the little man in the corner. "What's the matter?" he inquired, leaning over toward Tex and jerking his thumb dubiously at the corner, and as the barkeeper scowled and shrugged his shoulders he set down his glass and stared. The stranger was a small man, for Arizona, and his delicate hands were almost as white as a woman's ; but the lines in his face were graven deep, without effeminacy, and his slender neck was muscled like a wrestler's. In dress he was not unlike the men about him Texas boots, a broad sombrero, and a canvas coat to turn the rain, but his manner was that of another world, a sombre, scholarly repose such as you would look for in the reference room of the Bos- ton Public Library; and he crouched back in his corner like a shy, retiring mouse. , For a moment the cowman regarded him intently, as if seeking for some exculpating infirmity; then, leaving the long line of drinkers to chafe at the delay, he paused to pry into the matter. "Say, partner," he began, his big mountain voice [13] HIDDEN WATER tamed down to a masterful calm, "won't you come over and have something with us?" There was a challenge in the words which did not escape the stranger; he glanced up suddenly from his reading and a startled look came into his eyes as he saw the long line of men watching him. They were large clear eyes, almost piercing in their intent- ness, yet strangely innocent and childlike. For a moment they rested upon the regal form of the big cowboy, no less a man than Jefferson Creede, fore- man of the Dos S, and there was in them something of that silent awe and worship which big men love to see, but when they encountered the black looks of the multitude and the leering smile of Black Tex they lit up suddenly with an answering glint of defiance. "No, thank you," he said, nodding amiably to the cowman, "I don't drink." An incredulous murmur passed along the line, mingled with sarcastic mutterings, but the cowman did not stir. "Well, have a cigar, then," he suggested patiently; and the barkeeper, eager to have it over, slapped one down on the bar and raised his glass. "Thank you just as much," returned the little man politely, "but I don't smoke, either. I shall have to ask you to excuse me." "Have a glass of milk, then," put in the barkeeper, [14] THE MOUSE going off into a guffaw at the familiar jest, but the cowboy shut him up with a look. "W'y, certainly," he said, nodding civilly to the stranger. "Come on, fellers!" And with a flourish he raised his glass to his lips as if tossing off the liquor at a gulp. Then with another downward flourish he passed the whiskey into a convenient spit- toon and drank his chaser pensively, meanwhile shov- ing a double eagle across the bar. As Black Tex rang it up and counted out the change Creede stuffed it into his pocket, staring absently out the window at the downpour. Then with a muttered word about his horse he strode out into the storm. Deprived of their best spender, the crowd drifted back to the tables ; friendly games of coon-can sprang up; stud poker was resumed; and a crew of railroad men, off duty, looked out at the sluicing waters and idly wondered whether the track would go out the usual thing in Arizona. After the first delirium of joy at seeing it rain at all there is an aftermath of misgiving, natural enough in a land where the whole surface of the earth, mountain and desert, has been chopped into ditches by the trailing feet of cattle and sheep, and most of the grass pulled up by the roots. In such a country every gulch becomes a watercourse almost before the dust is laid, the arroyos turn to rivers and the rivers to broad floods, drifting with trees [15] HIDDEN WATER and wreckage. But the cattlemen and sheepmen who happened to be in Bender, either to take on hands for the spring round-up or to ship supplies to their shear- ing camps out on the desert, were not worrying about the railroad. Whether the bridges went out or held, the grass and browse would shoot up like beanstalks in to-morrow's magic sunshine; and even if the Rio Salagua blocked their passage, or the shearers' tents were beaten into the mud, there would still be feed, and feed was everything. But while the rain was worth a thousand dollars a minute to the country at large, trade languished in the Hotel Bender. In a land where a gentleman cannot take a drink without urging every one within the sound of his voice to join in, the saloon business, while running on an assured basis, is sure to have its dull and idle moments. Having rung up the two dollars and a half which Jefferson Creede paid for his last drink the same being equivalent to one day's wages as foreman of the Dos S outfit Black Tex, as Mr. Brady of the Bender bar preferred to be called, doused the glasses into a tub, turned them over to his roustabout, and polished the cherrywood moodily. Then he drew his eyebrows down and scowled at the little man in the corner. In his professional career he had encountered a great many men who did not drink, but most of them [16] THE MOUSE smoked, and the others would at least take a cigar home to their friends. But here was a man who refused to come in on a treat at all, and a poor, miser- able excuse for a man he was, too, without a word for any one. Mr. Brady's reflections OR the perver- sity of tenderf eet were cut short by a cold blast of air. The door swung open, letting in a smell of wet grease- wood, and an old man, his hat dripping, stumbled in and stood swaying against the bar. His aged som- brero, blacksmithed along the ridge with copper rivets, was set far back on a head of long gray hair which hung in heavy strings down his back, like an In- dian's; his beard, equally long and tangled, spread out like a chest protector across his greasy shirt, and his fiery eyes roved furtively about the room as he motioned for a drink. Black Tex set out the bottle negligently and stood waiting. "Is that all?" he inquired pointedly, as the old man slopped out a drink. "Well, have one yourself," returned the old-timer grudgingly. Then, realizing his breach of etiquette, he suddenly straightened up and included the entire barroom in a comprehensive sweep of the hand. "Come up hyar, all of yoush," he said drunkenly. "Hev a drink everybody no, everybody come up hyar, I say!" And the graceless saloon burns dropped their cards and came trooping up together. 2 [17] HIDDEN WATER A few of the more self-respecting men slipped quietly out into the card rooms; but the studious stranger, disdaining such puny subterfuges, remained in his place, as impassive and detached as ever. "Hey, young man," exclaimed the old-timer jaunt- ily, "step up hyar and nominate yer pizen!" He closed his invitation with an imperative ges- ture, but the young man did not obey. "No, thank you, Uncle," he replied soberly, "I don't drink." "Well, hev a cigar, then," returned the old man, finishing out the formula of Western hospitality, and once more Black Tex glowered down upon this guest who was always "knocking a shingle off his sign." "Aw, cut it out, Bill," he sneered, "that young fel- ler don't drink ner smoke, neither one and he would n't have no truck with you, nohow!" They drank, and the stranger dropped back into his reading unperturbed. Once more Black Tex scrubbed the bar and scowled at him; then, tapping peremptorily on the board with a whiskey glass, he gave way to his just resentment. "Hey, young feller," he said, jerking his hand arbitrarily, "come over here. Come over here, I said I want to talk with you!" For a moment the man in the corner looked up in [18] THE MOUSE well-bred surprise; then without attempting to argue the point he arose and made his way to the bar. "What 's the matter with you, anyway?" demanded Brady roughly. "Are you too good to drink with the likes of us?" The stranger lowered his eyes before the domineer- ing gaze of his inquisitor and shifted his feet uneasily. "I don't drink with anybody," he said at last. "And if you had any other waiting-room in your hotel," he added, "I 'd keep away from your bar- room altogether. As it is, maybe you would n't mind leaving me alone." At this retort, reflecting as it did upon the manage- ment, Black Tex began to breathe heavily and sway upon his feet. "I asked you," he roared, thumping his fist upon the bar and opening up his eyes, "whether you are too good to drink with the likes of us me, f r in- stance and I want to git an answer!" He leaned far out over the bar as if listening for the first word before he hit him, but the stranger did not reply immediately. Instead, with simple-minded directness he seemed to be studying on the matter. The broad grin of the card players fell to a won- dering stare and every man leaned forward when, raising his sombre eyes from the floor, the little man spoke. [19] HIDDEN WATER "Why, yes," he said quietly, "I think I am." "Yes, what?" yelled the barkeeper, astounded. "You think you 're what?" "Now, say," protested the younger man. Then, apparently recognizing the uselessness of any further evasion, he met the issue squarely. "Well, since you crowd me to it," he cried, flaring up, "I am too good! I 'm too good a man to drink when I don't want to drink I 'm too good to accept treats when I don't stand treat! And more than that," he added slowly and impressively, "I 'm too good to help blow that old man, or any other man, for his money !" He rose to his utmost height as he spoke, turning to meet the glance of every man in the room, and as he faced them, panting, his deep eyes glowed with a passion of conviction. "If that is too good for this town," he said, "I '11 get out of it, but I won't drink on treats to please anybody." The gaze of the entire assembly followed him curi- ously as he went back to his corner, and Black Tex was so taken aback by this unexpected effrontery on the part of his guest that he made no reply what- ever. Then, perceiving that his business methods had been questioned, he drew himself up and frowned darkly. [20] THE MOUSE "Hoity-toity!" he sniffed with exaggerated concern., "Who th' hell is this, now? One of them little white- ribbon boys, fresh from the East, I bet ye, travellin* for the W. P. S. Q. T. H'm-m tech me not oh deah!" He hiked up his shoulders, twisted his head to a pose, and shrilled his final sarcasms in the tones of a finicky old lady; but the stranger stuck resolutely to his reading, whereupon the black barkeeper went sullen and took a drink by himself. Like many a good mixer, Mr. Brady of the Hotel Bender was often too good a patron of his own bar,, and at such times he developed a mean streak, with symptoms of homicidal mania, which so far had kept the town marshal guessing. Under these circum- stances, and with the rumor of a killing at Fort Worth to his credit, Black Tex was accustomed to being humored in his moods, and it went hard with him to be called down in the middle of a spectacular play, and by a rank stranger, at that. The chair- warmers of the Hotel Bender bar therefore discreetly ignored the unexpected rebuke of their chief and pro- ceeded noisily with their games, but the old man who had paid for the drinks was no such time-server. Af- ter tucking what was left of his money back into his worn overalls he balanced against the bar railing for a while and then steered straight for the dark corner. "Young feller," he said, leaning heavily upon the HIDDEN WATER table where the stranger was reading, "I 'm old Bill Johnson, of Hell's Hip Pocket, and I wan'er shake hands with you !" The young man looked up quickly and the card players stopped as suddenly in their play, for Old Man Johnson was a fighter in his cups. But at last the stranger showed signs of friendliness. As the old man finished speaking he rose with the decorum of the drawing-room and extended his white hand cordially. "I 'm very glad to meet you, Mr. Johnson," he ,said. "Won't you sit down?" "No," protested the old man, "I do' wanner sit down I wanner ask you a question." He reeled, and balanced himself against a chair. "I wanner ask you," he continued, with drunken gravity, "on the squar', now, did you ever drink?" "Why, yes, Uncle," replied the younger man, smil- ing at the question, "I used to take a friendly glass, once in a while but I don't drink now." He added the last with a finality not to be mistaken, but Mr. .Johnson of Hell's Hip Pocket was not there to urge him on. "No, no," he protested. "You 're mistaken, Mister er Mister - "Hardy," put in the little man. "Ah yes Hardy, eh? And a dam' good name, [22] THE MOUSE too. I served under a captain by that name at old Fort Grant, thirty years ago. Waal, Hardy, I like y'r face you look honest but I wanner ask you 'nuther question why don't you drink now, then?" Hardy laughed indulgently, and his eyes lighted up with good humor, as if entertaining drunken men was his ordinary diversion. "Well, I '11 tell you, Mr. Johnson," he said. "If I should drink whiskey the way you folks down here do, I 'd get drunk." "W'y sure," admitted Old Man Johnson, sinking shamelessly into a chair. "I 'm drunk now. But what 's the difference?" Noting the black glances of the barkeeper, Hardy sat down beside him and pitched the conversation in a lower key. "It may be all right for you, Mr. Johnson," he con- tinued confidentially, "and of course that 's none of my business; but if I should get drunk in this town, I 'd either get into a fight and get licked, or I 'd wake up the next morning broke, and nothing to show for it but a sore head." "That 's me!" exclaimed Old Man Johnson, slam- ming his battered hat on the table, "that 's me, Boy, down to the ground ! I came down hyar to buy grub f 'r my ranch up in Hell's Hip Pocket, but look at [23] HIDDEN WATER me now, drunk as a sheep -herder, and only six dollars to my name." He shook his shaggy head and fell to muttering gloomily, while Hardy reverted peace- fully to his magazine. After a long pause the old man raised his face from his arms and regarded the young man searchingly. "Say," he said, "you never told me why you refused to drink with me a while ago." "Well, I '11 tell you," answered Hardy, honestly, "and I 'm sure you '11 understand how it is with me. I never expect to take another drink as long as I live in this country not unless I get snake-bit. One drink of this Arizona whiskey will make me foolish, and two will make me drunk, I 'm that light-headed. Now, if I had taken a drink with you a minute ago I 'd he considered a cheap sport if I did n't treat back, wouldn't I? And then I 'd be drunk. Yes, that 's a fact. So I have to cut it out altogether. I like you just as well, you understand, and all these other gen- tlemen, but I just naturally can't do it." "Oh, hell," protested the old man, "that 's all right. Don't apologize, Boy, whatever you do. D' yer know what I came over hyar fer?" he asked suddenly reach- ing out a crabbed hand. "Well, I '11 tell ye. I 've be'n lookin' f 'r years f 'r a white man that I c'd swear off to. Not one of these pink-gilled preachers but a man that would shake hands with me on the squar' THE MOUSE and hold me to it. Now, Boy, I like you will you shake hands on that?" "Sure," responded the young man soberly. "But I tell you, Uncle," he added deprecatingly, "I just came into town to-day and I 'm likely to go out again to-morrow. Don't you think you could kind of look after yourself while I 'm gone? I Ve seen a lot of this swearing-off business already, and it don't seem to amount to much anyhow unless the fellow that swears off is willing to do all the hard work himself." There was still a suggestion of banter in his words, but the old man was too serious to notice it. "Never mind, boy," he said solemnly, "I can do all the work, but I jist had to have an honest man to swear off to." He rose heavily to his feet, adjusted his copper- riveted hat laboriously, and drifted slowly out the door. And with another spender gone the Hotel Bender lapsed into a sleepy quietude. The rain ham- mered fitfully on the roof; the card players droned out their bids and bets ; and Black Tex, mechanically polishing his bar, alternated successive jolts of whiskey with ill-favored glances into the retired corner where Mr. Hardy, supposedly of the W. P. S. Q. T., was studiously perusing a straw-colored Eastern maga- zine. Then, as if to lighten the gloom, the sun flashed out suddenly, and before the shadow of the scudding [25] HIDDEN WATER clouds had dimmed its glory a shrill whistle from down the track announced the belated approach of the west-bound train. Immediately the chairs began to scrape; the stud-poker players cut for the stakes and quit; coon-can was called off, and by the time Number Nine slowed down for the station the entire floating population of Bender was lined up to see her come in. Rising head and shoulders above the crowd and well in front stood Jefferson Creede, the foreman of the Dos S; and as a portly gentleman in an un- seasonable linen duster dropped off the Pullman he advanced, waving his hand largely. "Hullo, Judge!" he exclaimed, grinning jovially. "I was afraid you 'd bogged down into a washout somewhere!" "Not at all, Jeff, not at all," responded the old gentleman, shaking hands warmly. "Say, this is great, is n't it?" He turned his genial smile upon the clouds and the flooded streets for a moment and then hurried over toward the hotel. "Well, how are things going up on the range?" he inquired, plunging headlong into business and talking without a stop. "Nicely, nicely, I don't doubt. I tell you, Mr. Creede, that ranch has marvellous possibilities marvellous! All it needs is a little patience, a little diplomacy, you understand [26] THE MOUSE and holding on, until we can pass this forestry leg- islation. Yes, sir, while the present situation may seem a little strained and I don't doubt you are hav- ing a hard time at the same time, if we can only get along with these sheepmen appeal to their bet- ter nature, you understand until we get some pro- tection at law, I am convinced that we can succeed yet. I want to have a long talk with you on this subject, Jeff man to man, you understand, and be- tween friends but I hope you will reconsider your resolution to resign, because that would just about finish us off. It is n't a matter of money, is it, Jeffer- son? For while, of course, we are not making a for- tune" He paused and glanced up at his foreman's face y which was growing more sullen every minute with restrained impatience. "Well, speak out, Jeff," he said resignedly. "What is it?" "You know dam' well what it is," burst out the tall cowboy petulantly. "It 's them sheepmen. And I want to tell you right now that no money can hire me to run that ranch another year, not if I 've got ta smile and be nice to those sons of well, you know what kind of sons I mean that dog-faced Jasper Swope, for instance." He spat vehemently at the mention of the name [271 HIDDEN WATER and led the way to a card room in the rear of the barroom. "Of course 1 '11 work your cattle for you," he conceded, as he entered the booth, "but if you want them sheepmen handled diplomatically you 'd better send up a diplomat. I 'm that wore out I can't talk to 'em except over the top of a six-shooter." The deprecating protestations of the judge were drowned by the scuffle of feet as the hangers-on and guests of the hotel tramped in, and in the round of drinks that followed his presence was half for- gotten. Not being a drinking man himself, and there- fore not given to the generous practice of treating, the arrival of Judge Ware, lately retired from the bench and now absentee owner of the Dos S Ranch, did not create much of a furore in Bender, All Black Tex and the bunch knew was that he was holding a conference with Jefferson Creede, and that if Jeff was pleased with the outcome of the interview he ^would treat, but if not he would probably retire to the corral and watch his horse eat hay, openly declaring that Bender was the most God-forsaken hell-hole north of the Mexican line for Creede was a man of moods. In the lull which followed the first treat, the in- gratiating drummer who had set up the drinks, charg- [28] THE MOUSE ing the same to his expense account, leaned against the bar and attempted to engage the barkeeper in conversation, asking leading questions about business in general and Mr. Einstein of the New York Store in particular; but Black Tex, in spite of his position, was uncommunicative. Immediately after the arrival of the train the little man who had called him down had returned to the barroom and immersed himself in those wearisome magazines which a lunger had left about the place, and, far from being impressed with his sinister expression, had ignored his unfriendly glances entirely. More than that, he had deserted his dark corner and seated himself on a bench by the window from which he now looked out upon the storm with a brooding preoccupation as sincere as it was madden- ing. His large deer eyes were fixed upon the dis- tance, and his manner was that of a man who studies deeply upon some abstruse problem; of a man with a past, perhaps, such as often came to those parts, crossed in love, or hiding out from his folks. Black Tex dismissed the drummer with an impa- tient gesture and was pondering solemnly upon his grievances when a big, square- jowled cat rushed out from behind the bar and set up a hoarse, raucous mewing. "Ah, shet up!" growled Brady, throwing him away [29] HIDDEN WATER with his foot; but as the cat's demands became more and more insistent the barkeeper was at last con- strained to take some notice. "What's bitin' you?" he demanded, peering into the semi-darkness behind the bar; and as the cat, thus encouraged, plunged recklessly in among a lot of empty bottles, he promptly threw him out and fished up a mouse trap, from the cage of which a slender tail was wriggling frantically. "Aha!" he exclaimed, advancing triumphantly into the middle of the floor. "Look, boys, here 's where we have some fun with Tom!" And as the card players turned down their hands to watch the sport, the old cat, scenting his prey, rose up on his hind legs and clutched at the cage, yelling. Grabbing him roughly by the scruff of the neck Black Tex suddenly threw him away and opened the trap, but the frightened mouse, unaware of his op- portunity, remained huddled up in the corner. "Come out of that," grunted the barkeeper, shak- ing the cage while with his free hand he grappled the cat, and before he could let go his hold the mouse was halfway across the room, heading for the bench where Hardy sat. "Ketch 'im!" roared Brady, hurling the eager cat after it, and just as the mouse was darting down a hole Tom pinned it to the floor with his claws. [so] THE MOUSE "What 'd I tell ye?" cried the barkeeper, swagger- ing. "That cat will ketch 'em every time. Look at that now, will you?" With dainty paws arched playfully, the cat pitched the mouse into the air and sprang upon it like light- ning as it darted away. Then mumbling it with a nicely calculated bite, he bore it to the middle of the floor and laid it down, uninjured. "Ain't he hell, though?" inquired Tex, rolling his eyes upon the spectators. The cat reached out cau- tiously and stirred it up with his paw; and once more, as his victim dashed for its hole, he caught it in full flight. But now the little mouse, its hair all wet and rumpled, crouched dumbly between the feet of its cap- tor and would not run. Again and again the cat stirred it up, sniffing suspiciously to make sure it was not dead ; then in a last effort to tempt it he deliber- ately lay over on his back and rolled, purring and closing his eyes luxuriously, until, despite its hurts> the mouse once more took to flight. Apparently un- heeding, the cat lay inert, following its wobbly course with half -shut eyes then, lithe as a panther, he leaped up and took after it. There was a rush and a scram- ble against the wall, but just as he struck out his barbed claw a hand closed over the mouse and the little man on the bench whisked it dexterously away. Instantly the black cat leaped into the air, clamor- [31] HIDDEN WATER ing for his prey, and with a roar like a mountain bull Black Tex rushed out to intercede. "Put down that mouse, you freak!" he bellowed, charging across the room. "Put 'im down, I say, or I '11 break you in two!" He launched his heavy fist as he spoke, but the little man ducked it neatly and, stepping behind a table, stood at bay, still holding the mouse. "Put 'im down, I tell you!" shouted the barkeeper, panting with vexation. "What you won't, eh? Well, I '11 learn you!" And with a wicked oath he drew his revolver and levelled it across the table. "Put down that mouse!" he said slowly and distinctly, but Hardy only shook his head. Every man in the room held his breath for the report; the poker players behind fell over tables and chairs to get out of range; and still they stood there, the bar- keeper purple, the little man very pale, glaring at one another along the top of the barrel. In the hollow of his hand Hardy held the mouse, which tottered drunkenly ; while the cat, still clamoring for his prize, raced about under the table, bewildered. "Hurry up, now," said the barkeeper warningly, "I '11 give you five. One come on, now two " At the first count the old defiance leaped back into Hardy's eyes and he held the mouse to his bosom as a mother might shield her child; at the second he [32] THE MOUSE glanced down at it, a poor crushed thing trembling as with an ague from its wounds ; then, smoothing it gently with his hand, he pinched its life out suddenly and dropped it on the floor. Instantly the cat pounced upon it, nosing the body eagerly, and Black Tex burst into a storm of oaths. "Well, dam' your heart," he yelled, raising his pistol in the air as if about to throw the muzzle against his breast and fire. "What in hell do you mean?" Baffled and evaded in every play the evil-eyed bar- keeper suddenly sensed a conspiracy to show him up, and instantly the realization of his humiliation made him dangerous. "Perhaps you figure on makin' a monkey out of me!" he suggested, hissing snakelike through his teeth; but Hardy made no answer whatever. "Well, say something, can't you?" snapped the bad- man, his overwrought nerves jangled by the delay. "What d 'ye mean by interferin' with my cat?" For a minute the stranger regarded him intently, his sad, far-seeing eyes absolutely devoid of evil in- tent, yet baffling in their inscrutable reserve then he closed his lips again resolutely, as if denying ex- pression to some secret that lay close to his heart, turning it with undue vehemence to the cause of those who suffer and cannot escape. 3 [33] HIDDEN WATER "Well, f r Gawd's sake," exclaimed Black Tex at last, lowering his gun in a pet, "don't I git no satis- faction what 's your i-dee?" "There 's too much of this cat-and-mouse business going on," answered the little man quietly, "and I don't like it." "Oh, you don't, eh?" echoed the barkeeper sarcas- tically; "well, excuse me! I didn't know that." And with a bow of exaggerated politeness he retired to his place. "The drinks are on the house," he announced, jaunt- ily strewing the glasses along the bar. "Won't drink, eh? All right. But lemme tell you, pard- ner," he added, wagging his head impressively, "you 're goin' to git hurt some day." CHAPTER II THE MAN FROM CliERRYCOW A FTER lashing the desert to a frazzle and finding the leaks in the Hotel Bender, the wind from Papagueria went howling out over the mesa, still big with rain for the Four Peaks country, and the sun came out gloriously from behind the clouds. Al- ready the thirsty sands had sucked up the muddy pools of water, and the board walk which extended the length of the street, connecting saloon with saloon and ending with the New York Store, smoked with the steam of drying. Along the edge of the walk, drying out their boots in the sun, the casual residents of the town many of them held up there by the storm sat in pairs and groups, talking or smoking in friendly silence. A little apart from the rest, for such as he are a long time making friends in Arizona, Rufus Hardy sat leaning against a post, gazing gloomily out across the desert. For a quiet, retiring young man, interested in good literature and bearing malice toward no one, his day in the Bender barroom had been eventful out of all proportion to his deserts and wishes, and he was deep in somber meditation [35] HIDDEN WATER when the door opened and Judge Ware stepped out into the sunshine. In outward appearance the judge looked more like a large fresh-faced boy in glasses than one of San Francisco's eminent jurists, and the similarity was enhanced by the troubled and deprecating glances with which he regarded his foreman, who towered above him like a mentor. There was a momentary' conference between them at the doorway, and then, as Creede stumped away down the board walk, the judge turned and reluctantly approached Hardy. "I beg your pardon, sir," he began, as the young man in some confusion rose to meet him, "but I should like a few words with you, on a matter of busi- ness. I am Mr. Ware, the owner of the Dos S Ranch perhaps you may have heard of it over in the Four Peaks country. Well I hardly know how to begin but my foreman, Mr. Creede, was highly im- pressed with your conduct a short time ago in the er affray with the barkeeper. I er really know very little as to the rights of the matter, but you showed a high degree of moral courage, I 'm sure. Would you mind telling me what your business is in these parts, Mr. er "Hardy," supplied the young man quietly, "Rufus Hardy. I am " [36] THE MAN FROM CHERRYCOW "Er what?" exclaimed the judge, hastily focussing his glasses. "Hardy Hardy where have I heard that name before?" "I suppose from your daughter. Miss Lucy," re- plied the young man, smiling at his confusion. "Un- less," he added hastily, "she has forgotten about me." "Why, Rufus Hardy!" exclaimed the judge, reach- ing out his hand. "Why, bless my heart to be sure. Why, where have you been for this last year and more? I am sure your father has been quite worried about you." "Oh, I hope not," answered Hardy, shifting his gaze. "I guess he knows I can take care of myself by this time if I do write poetry," he added, with a shade of bitterness. "Well, well," said the judge, diplomatically chang- ing the subject, "Lucy will be glad to hear of you, at any rate. I believe she er wrote you once, some time ago, at your Berkeley address, and the letter was returned as uncalled for." He gazed over the rims of his glasses inquiringly, and with a suggestion of asperity, but the young man was unabashed. "I hope you will tell Miss Lucy," he said deferen- tially, "that on account of my unsettled life I have not ordered my mail forwarded for some time." He [37] HIDDEN WATER paused and for the moment seemed to be considering some further explanation; then his manner changed abruptly. "I believe you mentioned a matter of business," he remarked bluffly, and the judge came back to earth with a start. His mind had wandered back a year or more to the mysterious disappearance of this same self-contained young man from his father's house, not three blocks from his own comfortable home. There Lad been a servant's rumor that he had sent back a let- ter or two postmarked "Bowie, Arizona" but old Colonel Hardy had said never a word. "Er yes," he assented absently, "but well, I de- clare," he exclaimed helplessly, "I Ve quite forgotten what it was about." "Won't you sit down, then?" suggested Hardy, in- dicating the edge of the board walk with a courtly sweep of the hand. "This rain will make good feed for you up around the Four Peaks I believe it was of your ranch there that you wished to speak." Judge Ware settled down against a convenient post and caught his breath, meanwhile regarding his companion curiously. "Yes, that 's it," he said. "I wanted to talk with you about my ranch, but I swear I '11 have to wait till Creede comes back, now." "Very well," answered Hardy easily; "we can talk [38] THE MAN FROM CHERRYCOW about home, then. How is Miss Lucy succeeding with her art is she still working at the Institute?" "Yes, indeed!" exclaimed the judge, quite molli- fied by the inquiry. "Indeed she is, and doing as well as any of them. She had a landscape hung at the last exhibit, that was very highly praised, even by Mathers, and you know how hard he is to please. Tupper Browne won the prize, but I think Lucy's was twice the picture kind of soft and sunshiny, you know it made you think of home, just to look at it." "Well, I'm glad to hear that," said Hardy, looking up the ragged street a little wistfully. "I kind of lose track of things down here, knocking around from place to place." He seated himself wearily on the edge of the sidewalk and drummed with his sinewy white hands against a boot leg. "But it 's a great life, sure," he observed, half to himself. "And by the way, Mr. Ware," he continued, "if it 's all the same to you I wish you would n't say anything to your foreman about my past life. Not that there is anything disgraceful about it, but there isn't mucK demand for college graduates in this country, you know, and I might want to strike him for a job." Judge Ware nodded, a little distantly; he did not approve of this careless young man in all his moods. For a man of good family he was hardly presentable, for one thing, and he spoke at times like an ordinary ' [39] HIDDEN WATER working man. So he awaited the lumbering ap- proach of his foreman in sulky silence, resolved to leave the matter entirely in his hands. Jefferson Creede bore down upon them slowly, sizing up the situation as he came, or trying to, for everything seemed to be at a standstill. "Well?" he remarked, looking inquiringly from the judge to Hardy. "How about it?" There was something big and dominating about him as he loomed above them, and the judge's school- boy state of mind instantly returned. "I I really have n't done anything about the mat- ter, Jefferson," he stammered apologetically. "Per- haps you will explain our circumstances to Mr. Hardy here, so that we can discuss the matter intelligently." He looked away as he spoke, and the tall foreman grunted audibly. "Well," he drawled, "they ain't much to explain. The sheepmen have been gittin' so free up on our range that I 've had a little trouble with 'em and if I was the boss they 'd be more trouble, you can bet your life on that. But the judge here seems to think we can kinder suck the hind teat and baby things along until they git that Forest Reserve act through, and make our winnin' later. He wants to make friends with these sheepmen and git 'em to kinder go around a little and give us half a chanst. Well, [40] THE MAN FROM CHERRYCOW] maybe it can be done but not by me. So I told him either to get a superintendent to handle the sheep end of it or rustle up a new foreman, because I see red every time I hear a sheep-blat. "Then come the question," continued the cowman, throwing out his broad hand as if indicating the kernel of the matter, "of gittin' such a man, and while we was talkin' it over you called old Tex down so good and proper that there was n't any doubt in my mind providin' you want the job, of course." He paused and fixed his compelling eyes upon Hardy with such a mixture of admiration and good humor that the young man was won over at once, although he made no outward sign. It was Judge Ware who was to pass upon the matter finally, and he waited deferentially for him to speak. "Well er Jefferson," began the judge a little weakly, "do you think that Mr. Hardy possesses the other qualities which would be called for in such a man?" "W'y, sure," responded Creede, waving the matter aside impatiently. "Go ahead and hire him before he changes his mind." "Very well then, Mr. Hardy," said the judge re- signedly, "the first requisite in such a man is that he shall please Mr. Creede. And since he commends you so warmly I hope that you will accept the posi- 01] HIDDEN WATER tion. Let me see um would seventy-five dollars a month seem a reasonable figure? Well, call it seventy-five, then that 's what I pay Mr. Creede, and I want you to be upon an equality in such matters. "Now as to your duties. Jefferson will have charge of the cattle, as usual; and I want you, Mr. Hardy, to devote your time and attention to this mat- ter of the sheep. Our ranch house at Hidden Water lies almost directly across the river from one of the principal sheep crossings, and a little hospitality shown to the shepherds in passing might be like bread cast upon the waters which comes back an hundred fold after many days. We cannot hope to get rid of them entirely, but if the sheep owners would kindly respect our rights to the upper range, which Mr. Creede will point out to you, I am sure we should take it very kindly. Now that is your whole problem, Rufus, and I leave the details entirely in your hands. But whatever you do, be friendly and see if you can't appeal to their better nature." He delivered these last instructions seriously and they were so taken by Hardy, but Creede laughed silently, showing all his white teeth, yet without at- tracting the unfavorable attention of the judge, who was a little purblind. Then there was a brief dis- cussion of details, an introduction to Mr. Einstein of the New York Store, where Hardy was given MJ THE MAN FROM CHERRYCOW carte blanche for supplies, and Judge Ware swung up on the west-bound limited and went flying away toward home, leaving his neighbor's son now his own superintendent and sheep expert standing composedly upon the platform. "Well," remarked Creede, smiling genially as he turned back to the hotel, "the Old Man 's all right, eh, if he does have fits ! He 's good-hearted and that goes a long ways in this country but actually, I be- lieve he knows less about the cattle business than any man in 'Arizona. He can't tell a steer from a stag- honest! And I can lose him a half-mile from camp any day." The tall cattleman clumped along in silence for a while, smiling over some untold weakness of his boss then he looked down upon Hardy and chuckled to himself. "I 'm glad you 're going to be along this trip," he said confidentially. "Of course I 'm lonely as a lost dog out there, but that ain't it; the fact is, I need somebody to watch me. W'y, boy, I could beat the old judge out of a thousand dollars' worth of cattle and he 'd never know it in a lifetime. Did ye ever live all alone out on a ranch for a month or so? Well, you know how lawless and pisen-mean a man can git, then, associatin' with himself. I 'd Ve had the old man robbed forty times over if he was n't such a good- [43] HIDDEN WATER hearted old boy, but between fightin' sheepmen and keepin' tab on a passel of brand experts up on the Tonto I 'm gittin' so ornery I don't dare trust myself. Have a smoke ? Oh, I forgot " He laughed awkwardly and rolled a cigarette. "Got a match?" he demanded austerely. "Um, much obliged be kinder handy to have you along now." He knit his brows fiercely as he fired up, re- garding Hardy with a furtive grin. "Say," he said abruptly, "I've got to make friends with you some way. You eat, don't you? All right then, you come along with me over to the Chink's. I 'm going to treat you to something if it 's only ham V eggs." They dined largely at Charley's and then drifted out to the feed corral. Creede threw down some hay to a ponderous iron-scarred roan, more like a war horse than a cow pony, and when he came back he found Hardy doing as much for a clean-limbed sorrel, over by the gate. "Yourn?" he inquired, surveying it with the keen concentrated gaze which stamps every point on a cow- boy's memory for life. "Sure," returned Hardy, patting his pony care- fully upon the shoulder. "Kinder high-headed, ain't he?" ventured Creede, as the sorrel rolled his eyes and snorted. [44] THE MAN FROM CHERRYCOW "That 's right," assented Hardy, "he 's only been broke about a month. I got him over in the Sulphur Springs Valley." "I knowed it," said the cowboy sagely, "one of them wire-grass horses an' I bet he can travel, too. Did you ride him all the way here?" "Clean from the Chiricahuas," replied the young man, and Jefferson Creede looked up, startled. "What did you say you was doin' over there?" he inquired slowly, and Hardy smiled quietly as he an- swered : "Riding for the Cherry cow outfit." "The hell you say!" exclaimed Creede explosively, and for a long time he stood silent, smoking as if in deep meditation. "Well," he said at last, "I might as well say it I took you for a tenderfoot." [45] CHAPTER III THE TRAIL OF THE SHEEP HPHE morning dawned as clear on Bender as if there had never been storm nor clouds, and the waxy green heads of the greasewood, dotting the level plain with the regularity of a vineyard, sparkled with a thousand dewdrops. Ecstatic meadow larks, un- dismayed by the utter lack of meadows, sang love songs from the tops of the telegraph poles; and the little Mexican ground doves that always go in pairs tracked amiably about together in the wet litter of the corral, picking up the grain which the storm had laid bare. Before the early sun had cleared the top of the eastern mountains Jefferson Creede and Hardy had risen and fed their horses well, and while the air was yet chill they loaded their blankets and supplies upon the ranch wagon, driven by a shivering Mexican, and went out to saddle up. Since his confession of the evening before Creede had put aside his air of friendly patronage and, lack- ing another pose, had taken to smoking in silence; for there is many a boastful cowboy in Arizona who has done his riding for the Cherrycow outfit on the [46] THE TRAIL OF THE SHEEP chuck wagon, swamping for the cook. At breakfast he jollied the Chinaman into giving him two orders of everything, from coffee to hot cakes, paid for the same at the end, and rose up like a giant refreshed but beneath this jovial exterior he masked a divided mind. Although he had come down handsomely, he still had his reservations about the white-handed little man from Cherrycow, and when they entered the cor- ral he saddled his iron-scarred charger by feeling, gaz- ing craftily over his back to see how Hardy would show up in action. Now, first the little man took a rope, and shaking out the loop dropped it carelessly against his horse's fore-feet and that looked well, for the sorrel stood stiffly in his tracks, as if he had been anchored. Then the man from Cherrycow picked up his bridle, rubbed something on the bit, and offered it to the horse, who graciously bowed his head to receive it. This was a new one on Creede and in the excitement of the moment he inadvertently cinched his roan up two holes too tight and got nipped for it, for old Bat Wings had a mind of his own in such matters, and the cold air made him ugly. "Here, quit that," muttered the cowboy, striking back at him; but when he looked up, the sorrel had al- ready taken his bit, and while he was champing on it Hardy had slipped the headstall over his ears. HIDDEN WATER There was a broad leather blind on the hacamore, which was of the best plaited rawhide with a horsehair tie rope, but the little man did not take advantage of it to subdue his mount. Instead he reached down for his gaudy Navajo saddle blanket, offered it to the sorrel to smell, and then slid it gently upon his back. But when he stooped for his saddle the high-headed horse rebelled. With ears pricked suspiciously for- ward and eyes protruding he glared at the clattering thing in horror, snorting deep at every breath. But, though he was free-footed, by some obsession of the mind, cunningly inculcated in his breaking, the sorrel pony was afraid to move. As the saddle was drawn toward him and he saw that he could not escape its hateful embrace he leaned slowly back upon his haunches, grunting as if his fore- feet, wreathed in the loose rope, were stuck in some terrible quicksands from which he tried in vain to extricate them; but with a low murmur of indiffer- ent words his master moved the saddle resolutely toward him, the stirrups carefully snapped up over the horn, and ignoring his loud snorts and frenzied shakings of the head laid it surely down upon his back. This done, he suddenly spoke sharply to him, and with a final groan the beautiful creature rose up and consented to his fate. Hardy worked quickly now, tightening the cinch, [48] THE TRAIL OF THE SHEEP lowering the stirrups, and gathering up the reins. He picked up the rope, coiled it deftly and tied it to the saddle and now, relieved of the idea that he was noosed, the pony began to lift his feet and prance, softly, like a swift runner on the mark. At these signs of an early break Creede mounted hurriedly and edged in, to be ready in case the sorrel, like most half -broken broncos, tried to scrape his rider off against the fence; but Hardy needed no wrangler to shunt him out the gate. Standing by his shoulder and facing the rear he patted the sorrel's neck with the hand that held the reins, while with his right hand he twisted the heavy stirrup toward him stealthily, raising his boot to meet it. Then like a flash he clapped in his foot and, catching the horn as his fiery pony shot forward, he snapped up into the saddle like a jumping jack and went flying out the gate. "Well, the son of a gun!" muttered Creede, as he thundered down the trail after him. "Durned if he can't ride!" There are men in every cow camp who can rope and shoot, but the man who can ride a wild horse can hold up his head with the best of them. No matter what his race or station if he will crawl a "snake" and stay with him there is always room on the wagon for his blankets ; his fame will spread quickly from camp to camp, and the boss will offer to raise him when he * [49] HIDDEN WATER shows up for his time. Jefferson Creede's face was all aglow when he finally rode up beside Hardy; he grinned triumphantly upon horse and man as if they had won money for him in a race ; and Hardy, roused at last from his reserve, laughed back out of pure joy in his possessions. "How 's that for a horse?" he cried, raising his voice above the thud of hoofs. "I have to turn him loose at first 'fraid he '11 learn to pitch if I hold him in he 's never bucked with me yet !" "You bet he 's a snake !" yelled Creede, hammer- ing along on his broad-chested roan. "Where 'd you git 'im?" "Tom Fulton's ranch," responded Hardy, reining his horse in and patting him on the neck. "Turned in three months' pay and broke him myself, to boot. I '11 let you try him some day, when he 's gentled." "Well, if I was n't so big 'n' heavy I 'd take you up on that," said Creede, "but I 'm just as much obliged, all the same. I don't claim to be no bronco-buster now, but I used to ride some myself when I was a kid. But say, the old judge has got some good horses run- nin' on the upper range, if you want to keep your hand in, thirty or forty head of 'em, and wild as hawks. There 's some sure-enough wild horses too, over on the Peaks, that belong to any man that can git his rope onto 'em how would that strike you? [50] THE TRAIL OF THE SHEER We Ye been tryin' for years to catch the black stallion that leads 'em. Try as he would to minimize this exaggerated esti- mate of his prowess as a horse-tamer Hardy was un- able to make his partner admit that he was anything short of a real "buster," and before they had been on the trail an hour Creede had made all the plans for a big gather of wild horses after the round-up. "I had you spotted for a sport from the start," he said, puffing out his chest at the memory of his acumen, "but, by jingo, I never thought I was drawin' a bronco-twister. Well, now, I saw you crawl that horse this mornin', and I guess I know the real thing by this time. Say," he said, turning confidentially in his saddle, "if it 's none of my business you can say so, but what did you do to that bit?" Hardy smiled, like a juggler detected in his trick. "You must have been watching me," he said, "but I don't mind telling you it 's simply passing a good thing along. I learned it off of a Yaqui Mayo In- dian that had been riding for Bill Greene on the Turkey-track I rubbed it with a little salt." "Well, I 'm a son of a gun!" exclaimed Creede in- credulously. "Here we Ve been gittin' our fingers bit off for forty years and never thought of a little thing like that. Got any more tricks?" "Nope," said Hardy, "I Ve only been in the Ter- [51] HIDDEN WATER ritory a little over a year, this trip, and I 'm learn- ing, myself. Funny how much you can pick up from some of these Indians and Mexicans that can't write their own names, is n't it ?' "Umm, may be so," assented Creede doubtfully, "but I 'd rather go to a white man myself. Say," he exclaimed, changing the subject abruptly, "what was that name the old man called you by when he was makin' that talk about sheep Roofer, or Rough House or something like that?" "Oh, that's my front name Rufus. Why? What 's the matter with it?" "Nothin', I reckon," replied Creede absently, "never happened to hear it before, 's all. I was won- derin' how he knowed it," he added, glancing shrewdly sideways. "Thought maybe you might have met him up in California, or somewheres." "Oh, that 's easy," responded Hardy unblinkingly. "The first thing he did was to ask me my full name. I notice he calls you Jefferson," he added, shiftily changing the subject. "Sure thing," agreed Creede, now quite satisfied, "he calls everybody that way. If your name is Jim you 're James, John you 're Jonathan, Jeff you 're Jefferson Davis but say, ain't they any f'r short to your name? We 're gittin' too far out of town for [52] THE TRAIL OF THE SHEEP this Mister business. My name 's Jeff, you know," he suggested. "Why, sure," exclaimed Hardy, brushing aside any college-bred scruples, "only don't call me Rough House they might get the idea that I was on the fight. But you don't need to get scared of Rufus it 's just another way of saying Red. I had a red-headed ancestor away back there somewhere and they called him Rufus, and then they passed the name down in the family until it got to me, and I 'm no more red-headed than you are." "No is that straight?" ejaculated the cowboy, with enthusiasm, "same as we call 'em Reddy now, eh ? But say, I 'd choke if I tried to call you Rufus. Will you stand for Reddy? Aw, that 's no good what 's the matter with Rufe? Well, shake then, pardner, I 'm dam' glad I met up with you." They pulled their horses down to a Spanish trot that easy, limping shuffle that eats up its forty miles a day and rode on together like brothers, heading for a distant pass in the mountains where the painted cliffs of the Bulldog break away and leave a gap down to the river. To the east rose Superstition Mountain, that huge buttress upon which, since the day that a war party of Pimas disappeared within the shadow of its pinnacles, hot upon the trail of the Apaches, and never [53] HIDDEN WATER returned again, the Indians of the valley have always looked with superstitious dread. Creede told the story carelessly, smiling at the pride of the Pimas who refused to admit that the Apaches alone, devils and bad medicine barred, could have conquered so many of their warriors. To the west in a long fringe of green loomed the cottonwoods of Moroni, where the hard-working Mormons had turned the Salagua from its course and irrigated the fertile plain, and there on their barren reservation dwelt the remnant of those warlike Pimas, the unre- quited friends of the white men, now held by them as of no account. As he heard the history of its people how the Apaches had wiped out the Toltecs, and the white men had killed off the Apaches, and then, after push- ing aside the Pimas and the Mexicans, closed in a death struggle for the mastery of the range Hardy began to perceive the grim humor of the land. He glanced across at his companion, tall, stalwart, with mighty arms and legs and features rugged as a moun- tain crag, and his heart leaped up within him at the thought of the battles to come, battles in which sheep- men and cattlemen, defiant of the law, would match their strength and cunning in a fight for the open range. As they rode along mile after mile toward the north [54] THE TRAIL OF THE SHEEP the road mounted gently; hills rose up one by one out of the desert floor, crowned with towering sahuaros, and in the dip of the pass ahead a mighty forest of their misshapen stalks was thrust up like giant fingers against the horizon. The trail wound in among them, where they rose like fluted columns above the lesser cactus great skin-covered tanks, gorged fat with water too bitter to quench the fieriest thirst, yet guarded jealously by poison-barbed spines. Gilded woodpeckers, with hearts red as blood painted upon their breasts, dipped in uneven flight from sahuaro to sahuaro, dodged into holes of their own making, dug deep into the solid flesh; sparrow hawks sailed forth from their summits, with quick eyes turned to the earth for lizards ; and the brown mocking bird, leaping for joy from the ironwood tree where his mate was nesting, whistled the praise of the desert in the ecstatic notes of love. In all that land which some say God forgot, there was naught but life and happi- ness, for God had sent the rain. The sun was high in the heavens when, as they neared the summit of the broad pass, a sudden taint came down the wind, whose only burden had been the fragrance of resinous plants, of wetted earth, and of green things growing. A distant clamor, like the babble of many voices or the surf -beats of a mighty sea, echoed dimly between the chuck-a-chuck of their [55] HIDDEN WATER horses' feet, and as Hardy glanced up inquiringly his companion's lip curled and he muttered : "Sheep!" They rode on in silence. The ground, which before had been furred with Indian wheat and sprouting six weeks' grass, now showed the imprints of many tiny feet glozed over by the rain, and Hardy noticed vaguely that something was missing the grass was gone. Even where a minute before it had covered the level flats in a promise of maturity, rising up in ranker growth beneath the thorny trees and cactus, its place was now swept bare and all the earth trampled into narrow, hard-tamped trail. Then as a brush shed and corrals, with a cook tent and a couple of water wagons in the rear, came into view, the ground went suddenly stone bare, stripped naked and trampled smooth as a floor. Never before had Hardy seen the earth so laid waste and desolate, the very cactus trimmed down to its woody stump and every spear of root grass searched out from the shelter of the spiny chollas. He glanced once more at his com- panion, whose face was sullen and unresponsive ; there was a well-defined bristle to his short mustache and he rowelled his horse cruelly when he shied at the blatting horde. The shearing was in full blast, every man work- ing with such feverish industry that not one of them [56] THE TRAIL OF THE SHEEP stopped to look up. From the receiving corral three Mexicans in slouched hats and jumpers drove the sheep into a broad chute, yelling and hurling battered oil cans at the hindmost; by the chute an American punched them vigorously forward with a prod, and yet another thrust them into the pens behind the shearers, who bent to their work with a sullen, back- breaking stoop. Each man held between his knees a sheep, gripped relentlessly, that flinched and kicked at times when the shears clipped off patches of flesh; and there in the clamor of a thousand voices they shuttled their keen blades unceasingly, stripping off a fleece, throwing it aside, and seizing a fresh victim by the foot, toiling and sweating grimly. By another chute a man stood with a paint pot, stamping a fresh brand upon every new-shorn sheep, and in a last corral the naked ones, their white hides spotted with blood from their cuts, blatted frantically for their lambs. These were herded in a small inclosure, some large and browned with the grime of the flock, others white and wobbly, newborn from mothers frightened in the shearing; and always that tremen- dous wailing chorus Ba-a-a, ba-a-a, ba-a-a and men in greasy clothes wrestling with the wool. To a man used to the noise and turmoil of the round-up and branding pen and accustomed to the [57] HIDDEN WATER necessary cruelties of stock raising there was nothing in the scene to attract attention. But Hardy was of gentler blood, inured to the hardships of frontier life but not to its unthinking brutality, and as he beheld for the first time the waste, the hurry, the greed of it all, his heart turned sick and his eyes glowed with pity, like a woman's. By his side the sunburned swarthy giant who had taken him willy-nilly for a friend sat unmoved, his lip curled, not at the pity of it, but because they were sheep ; and because, among the men who rushed about driving them with clubs and sacks, he saw more than one who had eaten at his table and then sheeped out his upper range. His saturnine mood grew upon him as he waited and, turning to Hardy, he shouted harshly : "There 's some of your friends over yonder," he said, jerking his thumb toward a group of men who were weighing the long sacks of wool. "Want to go over and get acquainted?" Hardy woke from his dream abruptly and shook his head. "No, let 's not stop," he said, and Creede laughed silently as he reined Bat Wings into the trail. But just as they started to go one of the men by the scales hailed them, motioning with his hand and, still laugh- ing cynically, the foreman of the Dos S turned back again. [58] THE TRAIL OF THE SHEEP "That 's Jim Swope," he said, "one of our big sheep men nice feller you '11 like him." He led the way to the weighing scales, where two sweating Mexicans tumbled the eight-foot bags upon the platform, and a burly man with a Scotch turn to his tongue called off the weights defiantly. At his elbow stood two men, the man who had called them and a wool buyer, each keeping tally of the count. Jim Swope glanced quickly up from his work. He was a man not over forty but bent and haggard, with a face wrinkled deep with hard lines, yet lighted by blue eyes that still held a twinkle of grim humor. "Hello, Jeff," he said, jotting down a number in his tally book, "goin' by without stoppin', was ye? Better ask the cook for somethin' to eat. Say, you 're goin' up the river, ain't ye? Well, tell Pablo Moreno and them Mexicans I lost a cut of two hundred sheep up there somewhere. That son of a of a herder of mine was too lazy to make a corral and count 'em, so I don't know where they are lost, but I '11 give two bits a head for 'em, delivered here. Tell the old man that, will you?" He paused to enter another weight in his book, then stepped away from the scales and came out to meet them. "How 's the feed up your way?" he inquired, smil- ing grimly. [59] HIDDEN WATER "Dam* pore," replied Creede, carrying on the jest, "and it '11 be poorer still if you come in on me, so keep away. Mr. Swope, I'll make you acquainted with Mr. Hardy my new boss. Judge Ware has sent him out to be superintendent for the Dos S." "Glad to meet you, sir," said Swope, offering a greasy hand that smelled of sheep dip. "Nice man, the old judge here, umbre, put that bag on straight! Three hundred and fifteen? Well I know a dam' sight better excuse me, boys here, put that bag on again, and weigh it right!" "Well," observed Creede, glancing at his friend as the combat raged unremittingly, "I guess we might as well pull. His busy day, you understand. Nice feller, though you '11 like 'im." Once more the glint of quiet deviltry came into his eyes, but he finished out the jest soberly. "Comes from a nice Mormon family down in Moroni six brothers all sheepmen. You '11 see the rest of the boys when they come through next month but Jim 's the best." There was something in the sardonic smile that accompanied this encomium which set Hardy think- ing. Creede must have been thinking too, for he rode past the kitchen without stopping, cocking his head up at the sun as if estimating the length of their journey. "Oh, did you want to git somethin' to eat?" he [60] THE TRAIL OF THE SHEEP, inquired innocently. "No? That's good. That sheep smell kinder turns my stomach." And throw- ing the spurs into Bat Wings he loped rapidly toward the summit, scowling forbiddingly in passing at a small boy who was shepherding the stray herd. For a mile or two he said nothing, swinging his head to scan the sides of the mountains with eyes as keen as an eagle's ; then, on the top of the last roll, he halted and threw his hand out grandly at the pano- rama which lay before them. "There she lays," he said, as if delivering a funeral oration, "as good a cow country as God ever made and now even the jack rabbits have left it. D 'ye see that big mesa down there?" he continued, pointing to a broad stretch of level land, dotted here and there with giant cactus, which extended along the river. "I 've seen a thousand head of cattle, fat as butter, f eedin' where you see them sahuaros, and now look at it!" He threw out his hand again in passionate appeal, and Hardy saw that the mesa was empty. "There was grass a foot high," cried Creede in a hushed, sustained voice, as if he saw it again, "and flowers. Me and my brothers and sisters used to run out there about now and pick all kinds, big yaller poppies and daisies, and these here little pansies and ferget-me-nots. God! I wish I could ferget 'em - [61] HIDDEN WATER but I Ve been fightin' these sheep so long and gittin' so mean and ugly them flowers would n't mean no more to me now than a bunch of jimson weeds and stink squashes. But hell, what's the use?" He threw out his hands once more, palms up, and dropped them limply. "That 's old Pablo Moreno's place down there," he said, falling back abruptly into his old way. "We '11 stop there overnight I want to help git that wagon across the river when Rafael comes in bymeby, and we '11 go up by trail in the mornin'." Once more he fell into his brooding silence, looking up at the naked hills from habit, for there were no cattle there. And Rufus Hardy, quick to under- stand, gazed also at the arid slopes, where once the grama had waved like tawny hair in the soft winds and the cattle of Jeff Creede's father had stood knee- high in flowers. Now at last the secret of Arizona-the-Lawless and Arizona-the-Desert lay before him: the feed was there for those who could take it, and the sheep were taking it all. It was government land, only there was no government; anybody's land, to strip, to lay waste, to desolate, to hog for and fight over forever and no law of right; only this, that the best fighter won. Thoughts came up into his mind, as thoughts will in the silence of the desert; memories of other [62] THE TRAIL OF THE SHEEP times and places, a word here, a scene there, having no relation to the matter in hand ; and then one flashed up like the premonitions of the superstitious a verse from the Bible that he had learned at his mother's knee many years before : "Crying, Peace, Peace, when there is no peace." But he put it aside lightly, as a man should, for if one followed every vagrant fancy and intuition, taking account of signs and omens, he would slue and waver in his course like a toy boat in a mill pond r which after great labor and adventure comes, in the end, to nothing. [68] CHAPTER IV DON PABLO MORENO S~\ N the edge of the barren mesa and looking out over the sandy flats where the Salagua writhed about uneasily in its bed, the casa of Don Pablo Moreno stood like a mud fort, barricaded by a palisade of the thorny cactus which the Mexicans call ocotilla. Within this fence, which inclosed several acres of standing grain and the miniature of a garden, there were all the signs of prosperity a new wagon under its proper shade, a storehouse strongly built where chickens lingered about for grain, a clean-swept ramada casting a deep shadow across the open doorway; but outside the inclosure the ground was stamped as level as a threshing floor. As Creede and Hardy drew near, an old man, grave and dignified, came out from the shady veranda and opened the gate, bowing with the most courtly hospitality. f< Buenos tardes, senores" he pronounced, touching his hat in a military salute. ff Pasa! Welcome to my poor house." In response to these salutations Creede made the [64] DON PABLO MORENO conventional replies, and then as the old man stood expectant he said in a hurried aside to Hardy : "D' ye talk Spanish? He don't understand a word of English." "Sure," returned Hardy. "I was brought up on it!" "No!" exclaimed Creede incredulously, and then, addressing the Sefior Moreno in his native tongue, he said: "Don Pablo, this is my friend Senor Hardy, who will live with me at Agua Escondida!" "With great pleasure, senor," said the old gentle- man, removing his hat, "I make your acquaintance!" "The pleasure is mine," replied Hardy, returning the salutation, and at the sound of his own language Don Pablo burst into renewed protestations of delight. Within the cool shadow of his ramada he offered his own chair and seated himself in another, neatly fashioned of mesquite wood and strung with thongs of rawhide. Then, turning his venerable head to the doorway which led to the inner court, he shouted in a terrible voice: "Muchachor Instantly from behind the adobe wall, around the corner of which he had been slyly peeping, a black- eyed boy appeared and stood before him, his ragged straw hat held respectfully against his breast. ff Sus manos!" roared the old man; and dropping 5 [65] HIDDEN WATER his hat the muchacho touched his hands before him in an attitude of prayer. "Give the gentlemen a drink!" commanded Don Pablo severely, and after Hardy had accepted the gourd of cold water which the boy dipped from a porous olla, resting in the three-pronged fork of a trimmed mesquite, the old gentleman called for his tobacco. This the mozo brought in an Indian basket wrought by the Apaches who live across the river Bull Durham and brown paper. The senor offered these to his guest, while Creede grinned in anticipa- tion of the outcome. "What?" exclaimed the Senor Moreno, astounded. "You do not smoke? Ah, perhaps it is my poor tobacco ! But wait, I have a cigarro which the store- keeper gave me when I No? No smoke noth- ing? Ah, well, well no smoke, no Mexicano, as the saying goes." He regarded his guest doubtfully, with a shadow of disfavor. Then, rolling a cigarette, he remarked: "You have a very white skin, Senor Hardy; I think you have not been in Arizona very long." "Only a year," replied Hardy modestly. "Muchacho!" cried the senor. "Run and tell the senora to hasten the dinner. And where," he in- quired, with the shrewd glance of a country lawyer, [66] DON PABLO MORENO "and where did you learn, then, this excellent Spanish which you speak?" "At Old Camp Verde, to the north," replied Hardy categorically, and at the name Creede looked up with sudden interest. "I lived there when I was a boy." "Indeed!" exclaimed Don Pablo, raising his eye- brows. "And were your parents with you?" "Oh, yes," answered Hardy, "my father was an officer at the post." "Ah, si, si, si" nodded the old man vigorously, "now I understand. Your father fought the Apaches and you played with the little Mexican boys, no? But now your skin is white you have not lived long under our sun. When the Apaches were conquered your parents moved, of course they are in San Francisco now, perhaps, or Nuevo York." "My father is living near San Francisco," admitted Hardy, "but," and his voice broke a little at the words, "my mother has been dead many years." "Ah, indeed," exclaimed Don Pablo sympathetic- ally, "I am very sorry. My own madre has been many years dead also. But what think you of our country? Is it not beautiful?" "Yes, indeed," responded Hardy honestly, "and you have a wonderful air here, very sweet and pure." "Seguro!" affirmed the old man, "seguro que si! [67] HIDDEN WATER But alas," he added sadly, "one cannot live on air alone. Ah, que malo, how bad these sheep are!" He sighed, and regarded his guest sadly with eyes that were bloodshot from long searching of the hills for cattle. "I remember the day when the first sheep came," he said, in the manner of one who begins a set narra- tion. "In the year of '91 the rain came, more, more, more, until the earth was full and the excess made lagunas on the plain. That year the Salagua left all bounds and swept my fine fields of standing corn away, but we did not regret it beyond reason for the grass came up on the mesas high as a horse's belly, and my cattle and those of my friend Don Luis, the good father of Jeff, here, spread out across the plains as far as the eye could see, and every cow raised her calf. But look ! On the next year no rain came, and the river ran low, yet the plains were still yellow with last year's grass. All would have been well now as before, with grass for all, when down from the north like grasshoppers came the borregos baaa, baaa, baaa thousands of them, and they were starving. Never had I seen bands of sheep before in Arizona, nor the father of Don Jeff, but some say they had come from California in '77, when the drouth visited there, and had increased in Yavapai and fed out all the north country until, when this second ano seco came [68] DON PABLO MORENO upon them, there was no grass left to eat. And now, amigO; I will tell you one thing, and you may believe it, for I am an old man and have dwelt here long: It is not God who sends the dry years, but the sheep! "Mlra! I have seen the mowing machine of the Americano cut the tall grass and leave all level so the starved sheep of Yavapai swept across our mesa and left it bare. Yet was there feed for all, for our cattle took to the mountains and browsed higher on. the bushes, above where the sheep could reach; and: the sheep went past and spread out on the southern desert and were lost in it, it was so great. "That was all, you will say but no ! In the Spring- every ewe had her lamb, and many two, and they grew fat and strong, and when the grass became dry on the* desert because the rains had failed again, they came back, seeking their northern range where the weather was cool, for a sheep cannot endure the heat. Then we who had let them pass in pity were requited after the way of the borregueros we were sheeped out, down to the naked rocks, and the sheepmen went on, laughing insolently. 'Ay, que malo los borregueros,, what devils they are; for hunger took the strength from our cows so that they could not suckle their calves, and in giving birth many mothers and their little ones died together. In that year we lost half our cows, Don Luis Creede and I, and those that [69] HIDDEN WATER lived became thin and rough, as they are to this day, from journeying to the high mountains for feed and back to the far river for water. "Then the father of Jeff became very angry, so that he lost weight and his face became changed, and he took an oath that the first sheep or sheep- herder that crossed his range should be killed, and every one thereafter, as long as he should live. Ah, what a buen hombre was Don Luis- if we had one man like him to-day the sheep would yet go round a big man, with a beard, and he had no fear, no not for a hundred men. And when in November the sheep came bleating back, for they had promised so to do as soon as the feed was green, Don Luis met them at the river, and he rode along its bank, night and day, promising all the same fate who should come across and, umbre, the sheep went round!" The old man slapped his leg and nodded his head solemnly. Then he looked across at Creede and his voice took on a great tenderness. "My friend has been dead these many years," he said, "but he was a true man." As Don Pablo finished his story the Senora opened the door of the kitchen where the table was already set with boiled beans, meat stewed with peppers, and thin corn cakes the conventional frijoles, came con chili, and tortillas of the Mexicans and some fried [70] DON PABLO MORENO eggs in honor of the company. As the meal pro- gressed the Senora maintained a discreet silence, patting out tortillas and listening politely to her hus- band's stock of stories, for Don Pablo was lord in his own house. The big-eyed muchacho sat in the corner, watching the corn cakes cook on the top of the stove and battening on the successive rations which were handed out to him. There were stories, as they ate, of the old times, of the wars and revolutions of Soriora, wherein the Senor Moreno had taken too brave a part, as his wounds and exile showed ; strange tales of wonders and miracles wrought by the Indian doctors of Altar ; of sacred snakes with the sign of the cross blazoned in gold on their foreheads, worshipped by the Indians with offerings of milk and tender chickens; of primitive life on the haciendas of Sohora, where men served their masters for life and were rewarded at the end with a pension of beans and came seco. Then as the day waned they sat at peace in the ramada, Moreno and Creede smoking, and Hardy watching the play of colors as the sun touched the painted crags of the Bulldog and lighted up the square summit of Red Butte across the river, throwing mysterious shadows into the black gorge which split it from crown to base. Between that high cliff and the cleft red butte flowed the Salagua, [71] HIDDEN WATER squirming through its tortuous canon, and beyond them lay Hidden Water, the unknown, whither a single man was sent to turn back the tide of sheep. In the silence the tinkle of bells came softly from up the canon and. through the dusk Hardy saw a herd of goats, led by a long-horned ram, trailing slowly down from the mesa. They did not pause, either to rear up on their hind feet for browse or to snoop about the gate, but filed dutifully into their own corral and settled down for the night. "Your goats are well trained, Don Pablo," said Hardy, by way of conversation. "They come home of their own accord." "Ah, no," protested Moreno, rising from his chair, "It is not the goats but my goat dogs that are well trained. Come with me while I close the gate and I will show you my flock." The old gentleman walked leisurely down the trail to the corral, and at their approach Hardy saw two shaggy dogs of no breed suddenly detach themselves from the herd and spring defiantly forward. "Quita se 3 quita sel" commanded Don Pablo, and at his voice they halted, still growling and baring their fangs at Hardy. "Mira" exclaimed the old man, "are they not bravo? Many times the borregueros have tried to steal my bucks to lead their timid sheep across the [72] DON PABLO MORENO river, but Tira and Diente fight them like devils. One Summer for a week the chivas did not return, having wandered far up into the mountains, but in the end Tira and Diente fetched them safely home. See them now, lying down by the mother goat that suckled them; you would not believe it, but they think they are goats." He laughed craftily at the idea, and at Hardy's eager questions. "Seguro" he said, "surely I will tell you about my goat dogs, for you Americans often think the Mexi- cans are tonto, having no good sense, because our ways are different. When I perceived that my cattle were doomed by reason of the sheep trail crossing the river here at my feet I bought me a she-goat with kids, and a ram from another flock. These I herded myself along the brow of the hill, and they soon learned to rear up against the bushes and feed upon the browse which the sheep could not reach. Thus I thought that I might in time conquer the sheep, fighting the devil with fire; but the coyotes lay in wait constantly to snatch the kids, and once when the river was high the borregueros of Jeem Swopa stole my buck to lead their sheep across. "Then I remembered a trick of my own people in Sonora, and I took the blind pups of a dog, living far from here, and placed each of them with a she-goat [73] HIDDEN WATER having one newborn kid ; and while the kid was suck- ing at one teat the mother could not help but let down milk for the puppy at the other, until at last when the dog smell had left him she adopted him for her own. Now as the pups grew up they went out on the hills with their goat mother, and when, they being grown, she would no longer suckle them, they stole milk from the other she-goats; and so they live to- day, on milk and what rabbits they can catch. But whenever they come to the house I beat them and drive them back their nature is changed now, and they love only goats. Eight years ago I raised my first goat dogs, for many of them desert their mothers and become house dogs, and now I have over a hundred goats, which they lead out morning and night." The old man lashed fast the gate to the corral and turned back toward the house. "Ah, yes," he said musingly, "the Americanos say continually that we Mexicanos are foolish but look at me! Here is my good home, the same as before. I have always plenty beans, plenty meat, plenty flour, plenty coffee. I welcome every one to my house, to eat and sleep yet I have plenty left. I am muy contentOj Senor Hardy yes, I am always happy. But the Americanos? No! When the sheep come, they fight; when their cattle are gone, they move; [74] DON PABLO MORENO fight, fight; move, move; all the time." He sighed and gazed wearily at the barren hills. "Senor Hardy," he said at last, "you are young, yet you have seen the great world perhaps you will un- derstand. Jeff tells me you come to take charge of the Dos S Rancho, where the sheep come through by thousands, even as they did here when there .was grass. I am an old man now; I have lived on this spot twenty-four years and seen much of the sheep ; let me advise you. "When the sheepmen come across the river do not fight, as Don Jeff does continually, but let them pass. They are many and the cowmen are few; they are rich and we are very poor; how then can a few men whip many, and those armed with the best? And look if a sheepman is killed there is the law, you know, and lawyers yes, and money!" He shrugged his shoulders and threw out his hands, peeping rue- fully through the fingers to symbolize prison bars. "Is it not so?" he asked, and for the first time an Americano agreed with him. "One thing more, then," said Don Pablo, lowering his voice and glancing toward the house, where Creede was conversing with the Senora. " The papa of Don Jeff yonder was a good man, but he was a fighting Texano and Jeff is of the same blood. Each year as the sheep come through I have fear for him, lest he [75] HIDDEN WATER should kill some saucy borreguero and be sent to prison; for he has angry fits, like his father, and there are many bad men among the sheep -herders, escaped criminals from Old Mexico, ladrones, and creatures of low blood, fathered by evil Americanos and the name- less women of towns. "In Sonora we would whip them from our door, but the sheepmen make much of their herders, calling them brothers and cunados and what not, to make them stay, since the work is hard and dangerous. And to every one of them, whether herder or camp rustler, the owners give a rifle with ammunition, and a revolver to carry always. So they are drunk with valor. But our Jeff here has no fear of them, no, nor decent respect. He overrides them when the fit is on him, as if they were unfanged serpents and so far lie has escaped." The old man leaned closer, and lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper, acting out his words dramatically. "But some day " he clasped his heart, closed his eyes, and seemed to lurch before a bullet. "No?" he inquired, softly. "Ah, well, then, you must watch over him, for he is a good man, doing many friend- ships, and his father was a buen hombre, too, in the days when we all were rich. So look after him for an old man," he added, and trudged wearily back to the house. [76] CHAPTER V HIDDEN WATER rr 1 HE trail to Hidden Water leads up the Salagua, alternately climbing the hard mesa and losing itself in the shifting sand of the river bottom until, a \ mile or two below the mouth of the box canon, it swings in to the edge of the water. But the Salagua is no purling brook, dignified by a bigger name; it is not even a succession of mill ponds like the dammed- up streams of the East: in its own name the Salagua is a Bio., broad and swift, with a current that clutches treacherously at a horse's legs and roars over the brink of stony reefs in a long, fretful line of rapids. At the head of a broad mill race, where the yellow flood waters boiled sullenly before they took their plunge, Creede pulled up and surveyed the river doubtfully. "Swim?" he inquired, and when Hardy nodded he shrugged his shoulders and turned his horse into the water. "Keep your head upstream, then," he said, "we '11 try it a whirl, anyhow." Head to tail the two horses plodded heavily across the ford, feeling their way among the submerged [77] HIDDEN WATER bowlders, while twenty feet below them the irresistible onrush of the current slipped smoothly over the rim, sending up a roar like the thunder of breakers. As they struggled up the opposite bank after a final slump into a narrow ditch Creede looked back and laughed merrily at his bedraggled companion. "How 's that for high?" he inquired, slapping his wet legs. "I tell you, the old Salagua is a hell-roarer when she gits started. I would n't cross there this afternoon for a hundred dollars. She 's away up since we took the wagon over last night, but about to- morrow you '11 hear her talk snow 's meltin' on the mountains. I wish to God she 'd stay up!" he added fervently, as he poured the water out of his boots. "Why?" asked Hardy innocently. "Won't it in- terfere with your bringing in supplies?" "Sure thing," said Creede, and then he laughed maliciously. "But when you Ve been up here a while," he observed, "you '11 savvy a lot of things that look kinder curious. If the old river would git up on its hind legs and walk, forty feet high, and stay there f 'r a month, we cowmen would simply laugh our- selves to death. We don't give a dam' for supplies as long as it keeps the sheep out. "Begin to see light, eh?" he queried, as he pushed on up the river. "Well, that 's the only thing in God's world that wasn't made to order for these [78] HIDDEN WATER sheepmen; the old Salagua cuts right square across the country east and west without consultin' nobody, not even Jim Swope, and the sheep move north and south. "How 'd you like to have the job of crossing a hun- dred thousand borregos and half of 'em with lambs, when the rio was on a bender? I Ve seen some of these sheepmen wadin' around up to their chins for two weeks, tryin' to float twenty-five hundred head across the river and there was n't turkey buzzards enough in the country when they got through. "Last year they had the sand bars up around Hid- den Water lined with carcasses two deep where they 'd jest naturally crowded 'em into the river and let 'em sink or swim. Them Chihuahua Mexicans, you savvy. After they 'd wore out their shoes and froze their marrow-bones wadin' they got tired and shoved 'em in, regardless. Well, if this warm weather holds we '11 be able to git our roder good and started before the sheep come in. That 's one reason why I never was able to do much with these sheepmen," he added. "They hit me right square in the middle of the round- up, Spring and Fall, when I 'm too busy gatherin' cattle to pay much attention to 'em. I did plan a little surprise party last year but that was somethin* special. But now you 're on the job, Rufe," he con- tinued reassuringly, "I 'm goin' to leave all sheep and [79] HIDDEN WATER sheepmen strictly alone you can bank on that. Bein' as we are goin' to try the expeeriment I want to see it done right. I never made a cent fightin' 'em, that 's a cinch, and if you can appeal to their better natures, w'y, g to it ! I 'd help you if I could, but bein' as I can't I '11 git out of the road and give you a chanst. "Now I '11 tell you how it '11 be," he continued, turning in his saddle and hooking one leg over the horn, "the boys '11 come in for the roder to-morrow or next day ; we begin to gather on the first, and it takes us about a month. Well, we look for the sheep to come in on us at about the same time first of April and we ain't been fooled yet. They '11 begin to stack up on the other side any time now, and as soon as the water goes down they '11 come across with a rush. And if they 're f eelin' good-natured they '11 spread out over The Rolls and drift north, but if they 're f eelin' bad they '11 sneak up onto Bronco Mesa and scatter the cattle forty ways for Sun- day, and bust up my roder and raise hell gen- erally. We had a little trouble over that last year," he added parenthetically. "Well, I '11 turn over the house and the grub and the whole business to you this year and camp out with the boys under the mesquite and then you can enter- tain them sheepmen and jolly 'em up no end. They [80] HIDDEN WATER won't have a dam' thing horse feed, grub, tobacco, matches, nothin'l Never do have any thin'. I 'd rather have a bunch of Apaches camped next to me but if you want to be good to 'em there 's your chanst. Meanwhile, I 'm only a cow-punch pullin' off a round- up, and your name is Mr. you 're the superintend- ent of the Dos S. Your job is to protect the upper range, and I begin to think you can do it." There was a tone of half-hearted enthusiasm about this talk which marked it for a prepared "spiel," laboriously devised to speed the new superintendent upon his way; but, not being schooled in social deceit, Creede failed utterly in making it convincing. "That 's good," said Hardy, "but tell me what has been your custom in the past ? Have n't you been in the habit of feeding them when they came in?" "Feed 'em?" cried Creede, flaring up suddenly. "Did I feed 'em? Well, I should guess yes I never turned one away hungry in my life. W'y, hell, man," he exclaimed, his anger growing on him, "I slep' in the same blanket with 'em until I become lousy," he added grimly. "What!" exclaimed Hardy, aghast. "You don't mean to say " "No," interrupted Creede ironically, "I don't mean to say anythin' not from now on. But while we 're on the subject and to avoid any future misunder- 6 [81] HIDDEN WATER standin' I might just as well tell you right now that I can't see nothin' good in a sheepman nothin! I 'm like my cat Tom when he sees a rattlesnake, my hair bushes up clean over my ears and I see hell, damna- tion, and sudden death!" He rose up, frowning, on his mighty horse and gazed at Hardy with eyes that burned deep with passion. "If every sheep and sheepman in Arizona should drop dead at this minute," he said, "it would simply give me a laughin' sensation. God damn 5 em!" he added passionately, and it sounded like a prayer. Half an hour later as they passed through the gloomy silence of the box canon, picking their way over rocks and bowlders and driftwood cast forty feet above the river level in some terrific glut of waters, he began to talk again, evenly and quietly, pointing out indifferent things along the trail, and when at last they mounted the hill and looked down upon Hidden Water his anger was forgotten. "Well," he remarked, throwing out a hand, "there 's home how do you like it?" Hardy paused and looked it over critically a broad V-shaped valley half a mile in length, begin- ning at the mouth of a great dry wash and spreading out through trees and hummocks down to the river. A broken row of cottonwoods and sycamores stretched [82] HIDDEN WATER along the farther side, following the broad, twist- ing bed of the sand wash where the last flood had ripped its way to the Salagua; and on the opposite side, close up against the base of the cliff, a flash of white walls and the shadow of a ramada showed where man had built his puny dwelling high in order to <. escape its fury. At their feet lay the ranch pasture, * a broad elbow of the valley rich with grass and ; mesquite trees and fenced in with barbed wire that ran from cliff to cliff. Beyond the eastern wall the ground was rough and broken, cut up by innumerable gulches and waterways, and above its ridges there rose the forbidding crags of a black butte whose shoulders ran down to and confined the silvery river. Across the river and to the south the land was even rougher, rising in sheer precipices, above the crests of which towered a mighty needle of rock, standing out against the sky like a cathedral spire, yet of a greater dignity and magnificence purple with the regal robes of distance. "That's Weaver's Needle," volunteered Creede, following his companion's eyes. "Every lost mine for a hundred miles around here is located by sightin' at that peak. The feller it 's named after was picked up by the Apaches while he was out lookin' for the Lost Dutchman and there 's been a Jonah on the hidden- treasure business ever since, judgin' by the results. [83] HIDDEN WATER "D' ye see that big butte straight ahead? That 's Black Butte. She 's so rough that even the mountain sheep git sore-footed, so they say we have to go up there on foot and drive our cattle down with rocks. Old Bill Johnson's place is over the other side of that far butte ; he 's got a fine rich valley over there the sheep have n't got in on him yet. You remember that old feller that was drunk down at Bender well, that 's Bill. Calls his place Hell's Hip Pocket; you wait till you try to git in there some day and you '11 know why.'' He paused and turned to the north. "Might as well give you the lay of the land," he said. "I '11 be too busy to talk for the next month. There 's the Four Peaks, northeast of us, and our cows run clean to the rocks. They 's more different brands in that forty miles than you saw in the whole Cherrycow country, I bet ye. I 've got five myself on a couple hundred head that the old man left me and everybody else the same way. You see, when the sheep come in down on the desert and around Moreno's we kept pushin' what was left of our cattle east and east until we struck the Peaks and here we are, in a corner. The old judge has got nigh onto two thousand head, but they 's about twenty of us poor devils livin' up here in the rocks that [841 HIDDEN WATER has got enough irons and ear marks to fill a brand book, and not a thousand head among us. "Well, I started out to show you the country, did n't I ? You see that bluff back of the house down there? That runs from here clean to the Four Peaks, without a break, and then it swings west in a kind of an ox bow and makes that long ridge up there to the north that we called the Juate. All that high coun- try between our house here and the Peaks every- thin' east of that long bluff is Bronco Mesa* That 's the upper range the judge asked me to point out to you. Everythin' west of Bronco Mesa is The Rolls all them rollin' hills out there and they 's feed enough out there to keep all the sheep in the country, twice over but no water. Now what makes us cowmen hot is, after we Ve give 'em that country and welcome, the sheepmen 're all the time tryin' to sneak in on our upper range* Our cows can't hardly make a livin' walkin' ten or fifteen miles out on The Rolls every day, and then back again to water; but them dam' sheep can go a week without drinkin', and as much as a month in the winter-time. "Why can't they give us a chanst, then? We give 'em all the good level land and simply ask 'em as a favor to please keep off of the bench up there and [85] HIDDEN WATER leave our cows what little cactus and browse they is. But no seems like as soon as you give one of them Chihuahua Mexicans a gun he wants to git a fight out of somebody, and so they come crowdin' in across our dead line, just to see if they can't git some of us goin'." Once more his eyes were burning, his breath came hard, and his voice became high and sustained. "Well, I give one of 'em all he wanted," he said, "and more. I took his dam' pistol away and beat him over the head with it and I moved him, too. He was Jasper Swope's pet, and I reckon he had his orders, but I noticed the rest went round." He stopped abruptly and sat silent, twisting his horse's mane uneasily. Then he looked up, smiling curiously. "If you had n't come up this year I would 've killed some of them fellers," he said quietly. "I 'm gittin' as crazy as old Bill Johnson and he hears voices. But now lookee here, Rufe, you don't want to believe a word I say about this trouble. Don't you pay any attention to me ; I 'm bughouse, and I know it. Jest don't mention sheep to me and I '11 be as happy as an Injun on a mescal jag. Come on, I '11 run you to the house!" Throwing his weight forward he jumped his big horse down the rocky trail and went thundering across [86] HIDDEN WATER the flat, whooping and laughing and swinging under mesquite trees as if his whole heart was in the race. Catching the contagion Hardy's sorrel dashed madly after him, and the moment they struck the open he went by like a shot, over-running the goal and dancing around the low adobe house like a circus horse. "By Joe," exclaimed Creede as he came up, "that cdballo of yours can run some. I 'm goin' to make a little easy money off of Bill Lightf oot when he comes in. He 's been blowin' about that gray of his for two years now and I '11 match you ag'inst him for a yearlin'. And don't you forgit, boy, we're going after that black stallion up on Bronco Mesa just as soon as the roder is over." His face was all aglow with friendliness and en- thusiasm now, but as they started toward the house, after turning their horses into the corral, he suddenly stopped short in the trail. "Gee," he said, "I wonder what's keepin' Tom? Here Tom! Heere Tom! Pussy, pussy, pussy!" He listened, and called again. "I hope the coyotes ain't 2aught him while I was gone," he said at length. "They treed him a few times last year, but he just stayed up there and yelled until I came spoiled his voice callin' so long, but you bet he can purr, all right." [87] HIDDEN WATER He listened once more, long and anxiously, then his face lit up suddenly. "Hear that?" he asked, motioning toward the bluff, and while Hardy was straining his ears a stunted black cat with a crook in his tail came into view, rac- ing in wildly from the great pile of fallen bowlders that lay at the base of the cliff, and yowling in a hoarse, despairing voice, like a condemned kitten in a sack. "Hello, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy!" cried Creede, and as the cat stopped abruptly, blinking warily at Hardy, he strode forward and gathered it gently into his arms. "Well, you poor little devil," he exclaimed, stroking its rough coat tenderly, "you 're all chawed up again ! Did them dam' coyotes try to git you while I was gone?" And with many profane words of en- dearment he hugged it against his breast, unashamed. "There 's the gamiest cat in Arizona," he said, bringing him over to Hardy with conscious pride. "Whoa, kitten, he won't hurt you. Dogged if he won't tackle a rattlesnake, and kill 'im, too. I used to be afraid to git out of bed at night without puttin' on my boots, but if any old rattler crawls under my cot now it 's good-bye, Mr. Snake. Tommy is right there with the goods and he ain't been bit yet, neither. He killed three side-winders last Summer didn't you, Tom, Old Socks? and if any sheep- [88] HIDDEN WATER herder's dog comes snoopin' around the back door he '11 mount him in a minute. If a man was as brave as he is, now, he 'd well, that 's the trouble he would n't last very long in this country. I used to wonder sometimes which 'd go first me or Tom. The sheepmen was after me, and their dogs was after Tom. But I 'm afraid poor Tommy is elected ; this is a dam' bad country for cats." He set him down with a glance of admiring solici- tude, such as a Spartan mother might have bestowed upon her fighting offspring, and kicked open the un- locked door. The Dos S ranch house was a long, low structure of adobe bricks, divided in the middle by the open passageway which the Mexicans always affect to en- courage any vagrant breeze. On one side of the corredor was a single large room, half storehouse, half bunk room, with a litter of pack saddles, raw- hide kyacks and leather in one corner, a heap of baled hay, grain, and provisions in the other, and the rest strewn with the general wreckage of a camp cooking utensils, Dutch ovens, canvas pack covers, worn-out saddles, and ropes. On the other side the rooms were more pretentious, one of them even having a board floor. First came the large living-room with a stone chimney and a raised hearth before the fireplace; whereon, each on its [89] HIDDEN WATER separate pile of ashes, reposed two Dutch ovens, a bean kettle, and a frying-pan, with a sawed-ofF shovel in the corner for scooping up coals. Opening into the living-room were two bedrooms, which, upon ex- ploration, turned out to be marvellously fitted up, with high-headed beds, bureaus and whatnots, besides a solid oak desk. To these explorations of Hardy's Creede paid but slight attention, he being engaged in cooking a hur- ried meal and watching Tommy, who had a bad habit of leaping up on the table and stealing ; but as Hardy paused by the desk in the front bedroom he looked up from mixing his bread and said : "That 's your room, Rufe, so you can clean it up and move in. I generally sleep outdoors myself and I ain't got nothin', nohow. Jest put them guns and traps into the other room, so I can find 'em. Aw, go ahead, you '11 need that desk to keep your papers in. You Ve got to write all the letters and keep the accounts, anyhow. It always did make my back ache to lean over that old desk, and I 'm glad to git shent of it. "Pretty swell rooms, ain't they? Notice them lace curtains? The kangaroo rats have chawed the ends a little, but I tell you, when Susie and Sallie Winship was here this was the finest house for forty miles. That used to be Sallie's room, where you are now. [90] HIDDEN WATER Many 's the time in the old days that I 'ye rid up here to make eyes at Sallie, but the old lady would n't stand for no sich foolishness. Old Winship married her back in St. Louie and brought her out here to slave around cookin' for roder hands, and she wanted her daughters to live different. Nope, she did n't want no bowlegged cow-punch for a son-in-law, and I don't blame her none, because this ain't no place for a woman; but Sal was a mighty fine girl, all the same." He shook a little flour over his dough, brushed the cat off the table absently, and began pinching biscuits into the sizzling fat of the Dutch oven, which smoked over its bed of coals on the hearth. Then, hooking the redhot cover off the fire, he slapped it on and piled a little row of coals along the upturned rim. "Did n't you never hear about the Winship girls?" he asked, stroking the cat with his floury hands. "No? Well, it was on account of them that the judge took over this ranch. Old man Winship was one of these old-time Indian-fightin', poker-playin' sports that come pretty nigh havin' their own way about everythin'. He had a fine ranch up here the old Dos S used to brand a thousand calves and more, every round-up ; but when he got old he kinder speculated in mines and loaned money, and got in the hole gen- erally, and about the time the sheep drifted in on him he hauled off and died. I pulled off a big roder for [91] HIDDEN WATER *em and they sold a lot of cattle tryin' to patch things up the best they could, but jest as every- thin' was lovely the drouth struck 'em all in a lieap, and when the Widde' Winship got the estate .settled up she didn't have nothin' much left but cows and good will. She could n't sell the cows you never can, right after these dry spells and as I said, she would n't let the girls marry any of us cowmen to kinder be man for the outfit; so what does she do but run the ranch herself! "Yes, sir Susie and Sallie, that was as nice and eddicated girls as you ever see, they jest put on overalls and climbed their horses and worked them cattle themselves. Course they had roder hands to do the dirty work in the corrals brandin' and ear- markin' and the like but for ridin' the range and drivin' they was as good as the best. Well, sir, you 'd think every man in Arizona, when he heard what they was doin', would do everythin' in his power to help 'em along, even to runnin' a Dos S on an orelianna once in a while instead of hoggin' it himself ; but they 's fellers in this world, I 'm convinced, that would steal milk from a sick baby !" The brawny foreman of the Dos S dropped the cat and threw out his hands impressively, and once more the wild glow crept back into his eyes. "You remember that Jim Swope that I introduced [92] HIDDEN WATER you to down on the desert? Well, he 's a good sheep- man, but he 's on the grab for money like a wolf. He 's got it, too that 's the hell of it." Creede sighed, and threw a scrap of bacon to Tommy. "He keeps a big store down at Moroni," he con- tinued, "and the widde', not wantin' to shove her cows onto a f allin' market, runs up an account with him somethin' like a thousand dollars givin' her note for it, of course. It 's about four years ago, now, that she happened to be down in Moroni when court was in session, when she finds out by accident that this same Jim Swope, seein' that cattle was about to go up, is goin' to close her out. He 'd 'a' done it, too, like f allin' off a log, if the old judge hadn't hap- pened to be in town lookin' up some lawsuit. When he heard about it he was so durned mad he wrote out a check for a thousand dollars and give it to her; and then, when she told him all her troubles, he up and bought the whole ranch at her own price it was n't much and shipped her and the girls back to St. Louie." Creede brushed the dirt and flour off the table with a greasy rag and dumped the biscuits out of the oven. "Well," he said, "there's where I lost my last chanst to git a girl. Come on and eat." [93] CHAPTER THE CROSSING T^ROM lonely ranches along the Salagua and Verde, from the Sunflower and up the Alamo, from all the sheeped-out and desolate Four Peaks country the cowboys drifted in to Hidden Water for the round-up, driving their extra mounts before them. Beneath the brush ramada of the ranch house they threw off their canvas-covered beds and turned their pack horses out to roll, strapping bells and hobbles on the bad ones, and in a day the deserted valley of Agua Escondida became alive with great preparations. A posse of men on fresh mounts rode out on Bronco Mesa, following with unerring instinct the trail of the Dos S horses, balking their wild breaks for freedom and rushing them headlong into the fenced pasture across the creek. As the hired hands of the Dos S outfit caught up their mounts and endeavored to put the fear of God into their hearts,' the mountain boys got out the keg of horseshoes and began to shoe every man his own blacksmith. It was rough work, all around, whether blinding and topping off the half- wild ponies or throwing them [94] THE CROSSING and tacking cold-wrought "cowboy" shoes to their flintlike feet, and more than one enthusiast came away limping or picking the loose skin from a bruised hand. ,Yet through it all the dominant note of dare-devil hilarity never failed. The solitude of the ranch, long endured, had left its ugly mark on all of them. They were starved for company and excitement; obsessed by strange ideas which they had evolved out of the tumuli of their past experience and clung to with dogged tenacity; warped with egotism; stubborn, boastful, or silent, as their humor took them, but now all eager to break the shell and mingle in the rush of life. In this riot of individuals Jefferson Creede, the round-up boss, strode about like a king, untrammelled and unafraid. There was not a ridge or valley in all the Four Peaks country that he did not know, yet it was not for this that he was boss; there was not a virtue or weakness in all that crowd that he was not cognizant of, in the back of his scheming brain. The men that could rope, the men that could ride, the quitters, the blowhards, the rattleheads, the lazy, the crooked, the slow-witted all were on his map of the country ; and as, when he rode the ridges, he memorized each gulch and tree and odd rock, so about camp he tried out his puppets, one by one, to keep his map complete. [95] HIDDEN WATER As they gathered about the fire that evening it was Bill Lightfoot who engaged his portentous in- terest. He listened to Bill's boastful remarks critically, cocking his head to one side and smiling whenever he mentioned his horse. "Yes, sir," asserted Bill belligerently, "I mean it that gray of mine can skin anything in the country, for a hundred yards or a mile. I Ve got money that says so!" "Aw, bull!" exclaimed Creede scornfully. "Bull, nothin'," retorted Lightfoot hotly. "I bet ye I bet ye a thousand dollars they ain't a horse in Arizona that can keep out of my dust for a quarter !" "Well, I know you ain't got no thousand dollars ner ten," sneered Creede. "Why don't you bet yearlings? If you'd blow some of that hot air through a tube it 'd melt rocks, I reckon. But talk cow, man; we can all savvy that!" "Well, where 's the horse that can beat me?" de- manded Lightfoot, bristling. "That little sorrel out in the pasture," answered Creede laconically. "I'll bet ye!" blustered Lightfoot. "Aw, rats! He ain't even broke yet!" "He can run, all right. I '11 go you for a yearling heifer. Put up or shut up." [96] THE CROSSING And so the race was run. Early in the morning the whole rodeo outfit adjourned to the parada ground out by the pole corrals, the open spot where they work over the cattle. Hardy danced his sorrel up to the line where the gray was waiting, there was a scamper of feet, a streak of dust, and Bill Light- foot was out one yearling heifer. A howling mob of cowboys pursued them from the scratch, racing each other to the finish, and then in a yell of laughter at Bill Lightfoot they capered up the canon and spread out over The Rolls the rodeo had begun. As the shadow of the great red butte to the west, around which the wagon road toiled for so many weary miles, reached out and touched the valley, they came back in a body, hustling a bunch of cattle along before them. And such cattle ! After his year with the Chiricahua outfit in that blessed eastern valley where no sheep as yet had ever strayed Hardy was startled by their appearance. Gaunt, rough, stunted, with sharp hips and hollow flanks and bellies swollen from eating the unprofitable browse of cactus and bitter shrubs, they nevertheless sprinted along on their wiry legs like mountain bucks ; and a peculiar wild, haggard stare, stamped upon the faces of the old cows, showed its replica even in the twos and year- lings. Yet he forbore to ask Creede the question * [97] HIDDEN WATER which arose involuntarily to his lips, for he knew the inevitable answer. Day after day, as they hurriedly combed The Rolls for what few cattle remained on the lower range, the cowmen turned their eyes to the river and to the canons and towering cliffs beyond, for the sheep; until at last as they sat by the evening fire Creede pointed silently to the lambent flame of a camp fire, glowing like a torch against the southern sky. "There 's your friends, Rufe," he said, and the cowmen glanced at Hardy inquiringly. "I might as well tell you fellers," Creede con- tinued, "that one reason Rufe come up here was to see if he could n't do somethin' with these sheepmen." He paused and looked at the circle of faces with a smile that was almost a sneer. "You fellers wouldn't back me up when it come to fightin' none except Ben Reavis and the Clark boys so I told the old judge we might as well lay. down, and to send up some smooth hombre to try and jockey 'em a little. Well, Hardy 's the hombre; and bein' as you fellers won't fight, you might as well look pleasant about it. What 's that you say, Bill?" He turned with a sardonic grin to Lightfoot, who [98] THE CROSSING had already been reduced to a state of silence by the relentless persecutions of the rodeo boss. "I never said nawthin'," replied Lightfoot sul- lenly. "But if you 'd Ve gone at 'em the way we wanted to," he blurted out, as the grin broadened, "instead of tryin' to move the whole outfit by day- light, I 'd Ve stayed with you till hell froze over. I don't want to git sent up fer ten years." "No," said Creede coolly, "ner you never will." "Well, I don't see what you 're pickin' on me fer," bellowed Lightfoot, "the other fellers was there too. Why don't you sass Ensign or Pete a while?" "For a durned good reason," replied Creede steadily. "They never was for fightin', but you, with that yawp of yours, was always a-hollerin' and ribbin' me on to fight, and then, when the time come, you never said 'Boo!' at 'em. Tucked your young cannon into the seat of your pants and flew, dam' ye, and that 's all there was to it. But that 's all right," he added resignedly. "If you fellers don't want to fight you don't have to. But, dam' it, keep shut about it now, until you mean business." As to just who this man Hardy was and what he proposed to do with the sheep the members of the Four Peaks round-up were still in ignorance. All they knew was that he could ride, even when it came [99] HIDDEN WATER to drifting his horse over the rocky ridges, and that Jeff Creede took him as a matter of course. But, for a superintendent, he never seemed to have much to say for himself. It was only when he walked up to his sorrel pony in that gentle, precise way he had, and went through the familiar motions of climb- ing a "bad one" that they sensed, dimly, a past not without experience and excitement. Even in the preoccupation of their own affairs and doings they could not fail to notice a supple strength in his white hands, a military precision in his movements, and above all a look in his eyes when he became excited the steady resolute stare with which his militant father had subdued outlaw horses, buck soldiers, and Apaches, even his own son, when all had not gone well. It was this which had inspired Bill Lightfoot to restrain his tongue when he was sore over his de- feat; and even though Hardy confessed to being a rider, somehow no one ever thought of sawing off Spike Kennedy's "side winder" on him. The quiet, brooding reserve which came from his soldier life protected him from such familiar jests, and without knowing why, the men of the Four Peaks looked up to him. Even after his mission was announced, Hardy made no change in his manner of life. He rode out each day on the round-up, conning the lay of the [100] THE CROSSING land; at the corral he sat on the fence and .kept tally, frankly admitting that he copjd neither rope nor brand ; in camp he did his share not without its worries. In an interview, which tended on both sides to become heated and personal, Jim Swope had denounced Hardy for misrepresenting his orders to his mayordomo, and had stated in no uncer- tain terms his firm intention of breaking even in the Spring, if there was a blade of grass left on the upper range. The season had been a bad one for his sheep, windy and cold, with sand storms which buried the desert in a pall and drove many flocks to the hills ; and as the feed became shorter and shorter vagrant bands began [192] JUMPED to drift in along the Salagua. In the battle for the range that followed herders and punchers greeted each other with angry snarls which grew more wolfish every day, and old Pablo Moreno, shaking his white head over their quarrels, uttered gloomy prophecies of greater evils to come. Sheep would die, he said, cattle would die it was only a question now of how many, and of which. It was a coming ano seco; nay, the whole country was drying up. In Hermosillo, so they said, the women stood by the public well all night, waiting to fill their ollas; not for nine years had the rains fallen there, and now the drought was spread- ing north. Arizona, California, Nevada, all were doomed, yet paciencia, perhaps and then came the rain. Yes, it was a good rain but and then it rained again. Que bueno, who would not be made a liar for rain ? But cuidado behold, the ground was still dry ; it drank up the water as it fell and was thirsty again ; the river fell lower and lower and the water was clear ; a bad sign, a very bad sign ! But if the young should wait upon the advice of the old there would be no more miracles. Creede and Hardy passed up the weather, strapped on their six- shooters, and began to patrol the range, "talking reason" to the stray Mexicans who thought that, because their sheep were getting poor, they ought to move them to better feed. 13 [193] HIDDEN WATER The time for friendship and diplomacy was past, as Hardy politely informed his employer by letter after which he told Rafael to keep away from the post office and not bring him any more correo, if he valued his job. But though he had made his note to Judge Ware brief, it had said too much. He had suggested that if the judge did not like his change of policy he had better come down and see the actual conditions for himself and the old judge came. It was midafternoon of that fateful day when Creede and Hardy, riding in from up the river, saw Rafael's wagon in front of the house. This was not surprising in itself as he had been down to Bender for round-up supplies, but as the two partners ap- proached the house Creede suddenly grabbed Hardy's rein and drew back as if he were on top of a rattle- snake. "For God's sake," he said, "what 's that ? Listen !" He jerked a thumb toward the house, and in the tense silence Hardy could clearly discern the sound of women's vpices. Now you could ride the Four Peaks country far and wide and never hear the musk of such voices, never see calico on the line, or a lace curtain across the window. There were no women in that godless land, not since the Widow Winship took Sallie and Susie and left precipitately for St. Louis, none save the Senora Moreno and certain strapping JUMPED Apache squaws who wore buckskin tewas and carried butcher knives in their belts. Even the heart of Rufus Hardy went pit-a-pat and stopped, at the sound of that happy chatter. "They 're rustlin' the whole dam' house," exclaimed Creede, all nerves and excitement. "Did n't you hear that pan go 'bamp'? Say, I believe they 're cleanin' house ! Ruf e," he whispered, "I bet you money we 're jumped!" The possibility of having their ranch preempted during their absence had been spoken of in a general way, since Jim Swope had gone on the warpath, but in his secret soul Rufus Hardy had a presentiment which made claim- jumping look tame. There was a chastened gayety in the voices, a silvery ripple in the laughter, which told him what Creede with all his cunning could never guess; they were voices from another world, a world where Hardy had had trouble and sorrow enough, and which he had left forever. There was soldier blood in his veins and in two event- ful years he had never weakened ; but the suddenness of this assault stampeded him. "You better go first, Jeff," he said, turning his horse away, "they might " But Creede was quick to intercept him. "None o' that, now, pardner," he said, catching his rein. "You 're parlor-broke go on ahead!" [195] HIDDEN WATER There was a wild, uneasy stare in his eye, which nevertheless meant business, and Hardy accepted the rebuke meekly. Perhaps his conscience was already beginning to get action for the subterfuge and deceit which he had practised during their year together. He sat still for a moment, listening to the voices and smiling strangely. "All right, brother," he said, in his old quiet way, and then, whirling Chapuli about, he galloped up to the house, sitting him as straight and resolute as any soldier. But Creede jogged along more slowly, tuck- ing in his shirt, patting down his hair, and wiping the sweat from his brow. At the thud of hoofs a woman's face appeared at the doorway a face sweet and innocent, with a broad brow from which the fair hair was brushed evenly [back, and eyes which looked wonderingly out at the world through polished glasses. It was Lucy Ware, and when Hardy saw her he leaped lightly from his horse and advanced with hat in hand smiling, yet looking beyond her. "I 'm so glad to see you, Miss Lucy," he said, as he took her hand, "and if we had only known you were coming " "Why, Rufus Hardy!" exclaimed the young lady, "do you mean to say you never received any of my letters?" [196] JUMPED At this Creede stared, and in that self-same moment Hardy realized how the low-down strategy which he had perpetrated upon his employer had fallen upon his own head a thousandfold. But before he could stammer his apologies, Kitty Bonnair stood before him the same Kitty, and smiling as he had often seen her in his dreams. She was attired in a stunning outing suit of officer's cloth, tailored for service, yet bringing out the grace- ful lines of her figure; and as Hardy mumbled out his greetings the eyes of Jefferson Creede, so long; denied of womankind, dwelt eagerly upon her beauty. Her dainty feet, encased in tan high boots, held him in rapt astonishment; her hands fascinated him with: their movements like the subtle turns of a mesmerist ; and the witchery of her supple body, the mischief In the dark eyes, and the teasing sweetness of her voice smote him to the heart before he was so much as noticed. No less absolute, for all his strivings, was the con- quest of Rufus Hardy, the frozen bulwarks of whose heart burst suddenly and went out like spring ice in the radiance of her first smile. "I knew you 'd be glad to see me, too," she said, holding out her hand to him; and forgetful of all his bitterness he grasped it warmly. Then, tardily con- scious of his duty, he turned to Jeff. [197] HIDDEN WATER "Miss Kitty," he said, "this is my friend, Jefferson Creede Miss Bonnair." "I 'm glad to meet you, Mr. Creede," said Kitty, Bestowing her hand upon the embarrassed cowboy. "Of course you know Miss Ware!" "Howdy do, Miss," responded Creede, fumbling for his hat, and as Miss Lucy took his hand the man who had put the fear of God into the hearts of so many sheep-herders became dumb and tongue-tied with bashfulness. There was not a man in the Four Peaks country that could best him, in anger or in jest, when it called for the ready word ; but Kitty Bonnair had so stolen his wits that he could only stand and sweat like a trick-broken horse. As for Hardy he saw rainbows and his heart had gone out of business, but still he was "parlor-broke.' 5 "I am afraid you didn't find the house very orderly," he observed, as Creede backed off and the conversation sagged; and the two girls glanced at each other guiltily. "Of course you 're just as wel- come," he added hastily, "and I suppose you could n't help cleaning house a bit ; but you gave us both a bad scare, all the same. Did n't you notice how pale we looked?" he asked, to mask his embarrassment. "But you were right, Jeff," he continued enigmatically. "Does he always defer to you that way, Mr. Creede?" inquired Kitty Bonnair, with an engaging [198] JUMPED smile. "We used to find him rather perverse." She glanced roguishly at Hardy as she gave this veiled rebuke. "But what was it that you were right about ? I 'm just dying to ask you questions!" She confessed this with a naive frankness which quite won the big cowboy's heart, and, his nerve com- ing back, he grinned broadly at his former suspicions. "Well," he said, "I might as well come through with it I told him I bet we 'd been jumped." "Jumped?" repeated Miss Kitty, mystified. "Oh, is that one of your cowboy words? Tell me what it means !" "W'y, it means," drawled Creede, "that two young fellers like me and Rufe goes out to ride the range and when we come back some other outfit has moved into our happy home and we 're orphans. We Ve been havin' a little trouble with the sheep lately, and when I heard them pots and kittles rattlin' around in here I thought for sure some Mormon sheepman had got the jump on us and located the ranch." "And what would you have done if he had?" con- tinued Kitty eagerly. "Would you have shot him with that big pistol?" She pointed to the heavy Colt's which Creede had slung on his hip. But this was getting too romantic and Western, even for Jeff. "No, ma'am," he said modestly. "We just carry that to balance us in the saddle." [199] HIDDEN WATER "Oh!" exclaimed Kitty, disappointed, "and didn't you ever shoot anybody?" Creede blushed for her, in spite of himself. "Well," he replied evasively, "I don't know how it would be up where you come from, but that 's kind of a leadin' question, ain't it?" "Oh, you have, then!" exclaimed Kitty Bonnair ecstatically. "Oh, I'm so glad to see a really, truly cowboy!" She paused, and gazed up at him soul- fully. "Won't you let me have it for a minute?" she pleaded, and with a sheepish grin Creede handed over his gun. But if there had been another cowboy within a mile he would have hesitated, infatuated as he was. Every land has its symbolism and though the language of flowers has not struck root in the cow country nor yet the amorous Mexican system of "playing the bear" to give up one's pistol to a lady is the sign and token of surrender. However, though it brought the sweat to his brow, the byplay was pulled off unnoticed, Hardy and Lucy Ware being likewise deep in confidences. "How strange you look, Rufus!" exclaimed Lucy, as Kitty Bonnair began her assault upon the happi- ness of Jefferson Creede. "What have you been doing to yourself in these two years?" "Why, nothing," protested Hardy, a little wan [200] J U M P E D from his encounter with Kitty. "Perhaps you have forgotten how I used to look our hair gets pretty long up here," he added apologetically, "but "No," said Lucy firmly. "It isn't a matter of hair, although I will admit I hardly knew you. It 's in your eyes; and you have some stern, hard lines about your mouth, too. Father says you spend all your time trying to keep the sheep out and he 's very much displeased with you for disobeying his directions, too. He gave up some important busi- ness to come down here and see you, and I hope he scolds you well. Have you been writing any lately?" she asked accusingly. "No!" answered Hardy absently, "we don't have to fight them" "But, Rufus," protested Lucy Ware, laying her hand on his arm, "do take your mind from those dreadful sheep. I asked you if you have been doing any writing lately you promised to send me some poems, don't you remember? And I haven't re- ceived a thing!" "Oh!" said Hardy, blushing at his mistake. "Well, I acknowledge that I haven't done right and you have been very kind, too, Miss Lucy," he added gently. "But somehow I never finish any- thing down here and the sheep have been pretty bad lately. I have to do my work first, you know. [201] HIDDEN WATER I '11 tell you, though," he said, lowering his voice confidentially, "if I can see you when no one is around I '11 give you what little I 've written at least, some of the best. A poet at his worst, you know," he added, smiling, "is the poorest man in the world. He 's like a woman who tells everything no one could respect him. But if we can take our finer moods, and kind of sublimate them, you know, well every man is a poet some time." He hesitated, ended lamely, and fell suddenly into a settled silence. The hard lines about his lips deep- ened; his eyes, cast to the ground, glowed dully; and in every feature Lucy read the despair that was gnawing at his heart. And with it there was some- thing more a tacit rebuke to her for having brought Kitty there to meet him. "We have missed you very much," she began softly, as if reading his thoughts, "and your letters were so interesting! Ever since I showed Kitty the first one she has been crazy to come down here. Yes, she has been reading 'The Virginian' and O. Henry and 'Wolfville' until it is simply awful to hear her talk. And ride she has been taking lessons for a year! Her saddle is out there now in the wagon, and if she could have caught one of those wild horses out in that inclosed field I really believe she would have mounted him and taken to the hills like an Indian. [202] JUMPED I had to come down to take care of father, you know, and are n't you glad to see us, Rufus?" She gazed up at him anxiously, and her eyes became misty as she spoke; but Hardy was far away and he did not see. "Yes," he said absently, "but I shall be very busy. Oh, where is your father?" A light went suddenly from Lucy's eyes and her lips quivered, but her voice was as steady as ever. "He has gone down to the river," she said patiently. "Would you like to see him?" "Yes," he replied, still impersonally; and with his head down, he walked out to where Chapuli was standing. Then, as if some memory of her voice had come to him, he dropped the bridle lash and stepped back quickly into the house. "You mustn't notice my rudeness, Miss Lucy," he began abjectly. "Of course I am glad to see you; but I am a little confused, and well, you under- stand." He smiled wanly as he spoke, and held out his hand. "Is it all right?" he asked. "Good-bye, then." And as he stepped quietly out the light came back into Lucy's eyes. "I am going to hunt up the judge," he said, as he swung up on his horse; and, despite the protests of Jeff and Kitty Bonnair, who were still deep in an animated conversation, he rode off down the river. [203] HIDDEN WATER It was not exactly like a draught of Nepenthe to go out and face the righteous indignation of Judge Ware, but Hardy's brain was in such a whirl that he welcomed the chance to escape. Never for a moment had he contemplated the idea of Kitty's com- ing to him, or of his seeing her again until his heart was whole. He had felt safe and secure forever within the walled valley of Hidden Water but now from a cloudless sky the lightning had fallen and blinded him. Before he could raise a hand or even turn and flee she had come upon him and exacted his forgiveness. Nay, more she had won back his love and enslaved him as before. Could it mean what else could it mean? Nothing but that she loved him; or if not love, then she cared for him above the others. And Kitty was proud, too! Those who became her slaves must respect her whims ; she would acknowledge no fault and brook no opposition ; what- ever she did was right. Yes, it had always been the same with her: the Queen could do no wrong yet now she had put aside her regal prerogatives and come to him ! He hugged the thought to his bosom like a man infatuated, and then a chill misgiving came upon him. Perhaps after all it was but another of those childish whims which made her seem so lovable always eager, always active, always striving for the for- [204] J U M P E D bidden and unusual, yet so dear with her laughing eyes and dancing feet that all the world gave way before her. He bowed his head in thought, follow- ing the judge's tracks mechanically as he cantered down the trail, and when he came to the hill above the whirlpool and looked down at the empty landscape he was still wrestling with his pride. Never in the two years of his exile had he so much as mentioned her name to any one; it was a thing too sacred for confidences, this love which had changed the deep current of his life, a secret for his own soul and God and yet, Lucy Ware might help him! And where in all the world would he find a more faithful friend than Lucy Ware? A secret shared with her would be as safe as if still locked in his own breast and Lucy could understand. Perhaps she understood already; perhaps his heart stopped, and pounded against his side perhaps Kitty had told Lucy her story already and asked her to intercede! He dwelt upon the thought again as he gazed dumbly about for his employer; and then suddenly the outer world the plain, rough, rocks-and-cactus world that he had lived in before they came flashed up before him in all its uncompromising clearness; the judge was nowhere in sight ! A sudden memory of Creede's saying that he could lose his boss any time within half a mile of camp [205] HIDDEN WATER startled Hardy out of his dreams and he rode swiftly forward upon the trail. At the foot of the hill the tracks of Judge Ware's broad shoes with their nice new hob-nails stood out like a bas-relief, pointing up the river. Not to take any chances. Hardy followed them slavishly through the fine sand until they turned abruptly up onto a ridge which broke off at the edge of the river bottom. Along the summit of this they showed again, plainly, heading north; then as the ravine swung to the west they scrambled across it and began to zigzag, working off to the east where Black Butte loomed up above the maze of brushy ridges like a guiding sen- tinel. At first Hardy only smiled at the circuitous and aimless trail which he was following, expecting to encounter the judge at every turn; but as the tracks led steadily on he suddenly put spurs to his horse and plunged recklessly up and down the sides of the brushy hogbacks in a desperate pursuit, for the sun was sinking low. The trail grew fresher and fresher now; dark spots where drops of sweat had fallen showed in the dry sand of the washes; and at last, half an hour before sundown, Hardy caught sight of his wandering employer, zealously ascending a particularly rocky butte. "Hello there, Judge!" he called, and then, as Judge [206] JUMPED Ware whirled about, he inquired, with well-feigned surprise: "Where 'd you drop down from?" This was to let the old gentleman down easy lost people having a way of waxing indignant at their rescuers and the judge was not slow to take ad- vantage of it. "Why, howdy do, Rufus!" he exclaimed, sinking down upon a rock. "I was just taking a little short cut to camp. My, my, but this is a rough country. Out looking for cattle?" "Well yes," responded Hardy. "I was taking a little ride. But say, it 's about my supper time. You better give up that short-cut idea and come along home with me." "We-ell," said the judge, reluctantly descending the butte, "I guess I will. How far is it?" "About two miles, by trail." "Two miles!" exclaimed Judge Ware, aghast. "Why, it 's just over that little hill, there. Why don't you take a short cut?" "The trail is the shortest cut I know," replied Hardy, concealing a smile. "That 's the way the cattle go, and they seem to know their business. How does the country look to you?" But the old judge was not to be led aside by persi- flage he was interested in the matter of trails. [207] HIDDEN WATER "Cattle trails!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to say that you do all your travelling on these crooked cow paths? Why, it is a matter of scientific obser- vation that even on the open prairie a cow path loses nearly a quarter of its headway by constant winding in and out, merely to avoid frail bushes and infinites- imal stones. Now if you and Jeff would spend a little of your leisure in cutting trails, as they do in forestry, you would more than save yourselves the time and labor involved, I 'm sure." "Yes?" said Hardy coldly. There was a subtle tone of fault-finding in his employer's voice which already augured ill for their debate on the sheep ques- tion, and his nerves responded instinctively to the jab. Fate had not been so kind to him that day, that he was prepared to take very much from any man, and so he remained quiet and let the judge go the whole length. "Why, yes, if you would stay about the ranch a little closer instead of going off on these armed forays against sheep now just for example, how much would it cost to clear a passable trail over that ridge to the ranch?" He pointed at the hill which in his misguided enthu- siasm he had been mounting, and Hardy's eyes glit- tered wickedly as he launched his barbed jest. [208] JUMPED "About a billion dollars, I guess," he answered, after mature consideration. "A billion dollars !" repeated the judge. "A billion dollars! Now here, Rufus," he cried, choking with exasperation, "I am in earnest about this matter! I don't altogether approve of the way you and Jeff have been conducting my affairs down here, anyway, and I intend to take a hand myself, if you don't mind. I may not know as much as you about the minor details of the cattle business, but I have been looking into forestry quite extensively, and I fail to see anything unreasonable in my suggestion of a trail. How far is it, now, over that hill to the ranch?" "About twenty-five thousand miles," replied Hardy blandly. "Twenty-five thousand ! Why" "At least, so I am informed," explained Hardy. "Geographers agree, I believe, that that is the approx- imate distance around the world. The ranch is over here, you know." He pointed with one small, sinewy hand in a direc- tion diametrically opposite to the one his boss had indicated, and struck out down a cow trail. It was a harsh blow to the old judge, and rankled in his bosom for some time; but after making sure that his superintendent was correct he followed meekly behind 14 [209] HIDDEN WATER Mm into camp. On the way, as an afterthought, he decided not to put down his foot in the matter of the sheep until he was quite sure of the material facts. They found Creede in the last throes of agony as he blundered through the motions of cooking supper. Half an hour of house-cleaning had done more to disarrange his kitchen than the services of two charm- ing assistants could possibly repair. His Dutch oven was dropped into the wood box; his bread pan had been used to soak dirty dishes in; the water bucket was empty, and they had thrown his grease swab into the fire. As for the dish-rag, after long and faithful service it had been ruthlessly destroyed, and he had to make another one out of a flour sack. Add to this a hunger which had endured since early morning and a series of rapid-fire questions, and you have the true recipe for bad bread, at least. Kitty Bonnair had taken a course in sanitation and domestic science in her college days, since which time the world had been full of microbes and every unpleas- ant bacillus, of which she discoursed at some length. But Jefferson Creede held steadily to his fixed ideas, and in the end he turned out some baking-powder biscuits that would have won honors in a cooking school. There was nothing else to cook, his kettle of beans having been unceremoniously dumped [210] JUMPED because the pot was black; but Kitty had the table spotlessly clean, there was an assortment of potted meats and picnic knicknacks in the middle of it, and Lucy had faithfully scoured the dishes ; so supper was served with frills. If the ladies had taken hold a little strong in the first spasms of house-cleaning, Jeff and Rufus were far too polite to mention it; and while the dishes were being washed they quietly gathered up their belong- ings, and moved them into the storeroom. Their beds being already spread beneath the ramada, it was not difficult to persuade the girls to accept Hardy's room, which for a man's, was clean, and the judge fell heir to Jeff 's well-littered den. All being quickly arranged and the beds made, Creede threw an armful of ironwood upon the fire and they sat down to watch it burn. Three hours before, Hidden Water had Been the* hangout of two sheep-harrying barbarians, bushy- headed and short of speech; now it was as bright and cheerful as any home and the barbarians were changed to lovers. Yet, as they basked in the warmth of the fireside there was one absent from his accustomed place a creature so fierce and shy that his wild spirit could never become reconciled to the change. At the first sound of women's voices little Tommy had dashed [211] HIDDEN W ATE 11 through his cat-hole and fled to the bowlder pile at the foot of the cliff, from whose dank recesses he peered forth with blank and staring eyes. But now, as the strange voices grew quiet and night settled down over the valley, he crept forth and skulked back to the house, sniffing about the barred windows, peeking in through his hole in the door; and at last, drawing well away into the darkness, he raised his voice in an appealing cry for Jeff. As the first awful, raucous outburst broke the outer silence Kitty Bonnair jumped, and Lucy and her father turned pale. "What 's that?" cried Kitty, in a hushed voice, "a mountain lion?" "Not yet," answered Creede enigmatically. "He will be though, if he grows. Aw, say, that 's just my cat. Here, pussy, pussy, pussy! D'ye hear that, now? Sure, he knows me ! Wait a minute and I '11 try an' ketch 'im." He returned a few minutes later, with Tommy held firmly against his breast, blacker, wilder, and scrawnier than ever, but purring and working his claws. "How 's this for a mountain lion?" said Creede, stopping just inside the door and soothing down his pet. "D' ye see that hook?" he inquired, holding up the end of Tommy's crooked tail and laughing at [212] JUMPED Kitty's dismay. "He uses that to climb cliffs with- That 's right he 's a new kind of cat. Sure, they used to be lots of 'em around here, but the coyotes got all the rest. Tom is the only one left. Want to pet him? Well whoa, pussy, come up careful* then; he 's never ouch!" At the first whisk of skirts, Tommy's yellow eyes turned green and he sank every available hook and claw into his master's arm; but when Kitty reached out a hand he exploded in a storm of spits and hisses and dashed out through the door. "Well, look at that, now," said Creede, grinning and rubbing his arm. "D' ye know what 's the matter with him? You're the first woman he ever saw in his life. W'y, sure! They ain't no women around here. I got him off a cowman over on the Verde. He had a whole litter of 'em used to pinch Tom's tail to make him fight so when I come away I jest quietly slipped Mr. Tommy into my shaps." "Oh, the poor little thing," said Kitty; and then she added, puckering up her lips, "but I don't like cats." "Oh, I do!" exclaimed Lucy Ware quickly, as Creede's face changed, and for a moment the big cowboy stood looking at them gravely. "That 's good," he said, smiling approvingly at Lucy; and then, turning to Kitty Bonnair, he said: "You want to learn, then." [213] HIDDEN WATER But Kitty was not amenable to the suggestion. "No!" she cried, stamping her foot. "I don't! They 're such stealthy, treacherous creatures and they never have any affection for people." "Ump-um!" denied Creede, shaking his head slowly. "You don't know cats jest think you do, maybe. W'y, Tommy was the only friend I had here for two years. D' ye think he could fool me all that time? Rufe here will tell you how he follows after me for miles and cryin', too when the coyotes might git 'im any time. And he sleeps with me everjr night," he added, lowering his voice. "Well, you can have him," said Kitty lightly. "Do they have any real mountain lions here ?" "Huh?" inquired Creede, still big-eyed with his emotions. "Oh, yes; Bill Johnson over in Hell's Hip Pocket makes a business of huntin' 'em. Twenty dollars bounty, you know." "Oh, oh!" cried Kitty. "Will he take me with him? Tell me all about it !" Jefferson Creede moved over toward the door with a far-away look in his eyes. "That 's all," he said indifferently. "He runs 'em with hounds. Well, I '11 have to bid you good-night." He ducked his head, and stepped majestically out the door; and Hardy, who was listening, could hear him softly calling to his cat. [214] JUMPED "Oh, Rufus!" cried Kitty appealingly, as he rose to follow, ff do stop and tell me about Bill Johnson, and, yes Hell's Hip Pocket!" "Why, Kitty!" exclaimed Lucy Ware innocently, and while they were discussing the morals of geo- graphical swearing Hardy made his bow, and passed out into the night. The bitter-sweet of love was upon him again, mat- ing the stars more beautiful, the night more myste- rious and dreamy ; but as he crept into his blankets he sighed. In the adjoining cot he could hear Jeff stripping slivers from a length of jerked beef, and Tommy mewing for his share. "Want some jerky, Rufe?" asked Creede, and then, commenting upon their late supper, he re- marked : "A picnic dinner is all right for canary birds, but it takes good hard grub to feed a man. I 'm goin' to start the roder camp in the mornin' and cook me up some beans." He lay for a while in silence, industri- ously feeding himself on the dry meat, and gazing at the sky. "Say, Rufe," he said, at last, "ain't you been holdin' out on me a little?" "Um-huh," assented Hardy. "Been gettin' letters from Miss Lucy all the time, eh?" [215] HIDDEN WATER "Sure." "Well," remarked Creede, "you 're a hell of a feller! But I reckon I learned something" he added philosophically, "and when I want somebody to tell my troubles to, I '11 know where to go. Say, she 's all right, ain't she?" "Yeah." "Who 're you talkin' about?" "Who 're you?" "Oh, you know, all right, all right but, say!" "Well?" "It 's a pity she don't like cats." CHAPTER XII THE GARDEN IN THE DESERT sun was well up over the canon rim when the tired visitors awoke from their dreams. Kitty Bonnair was the first to open her eyes and peep forth upon the fairy world which promised so much of mystery and delight. The iron bars of their window, deep set in the adobe walls, suggested the dungeon of some strong prison where Spanish maidens lan- guished for sight of their lovers; a rifle in the corner, overlooked in the hurried moving, spoke eloquently of the armed brutality of the times; the hewn logs which supported the lintels completed the picture of primitive life ; and a soft breeze, breathing in through the unglazed sills, whispered of dark canons and the wild, free out-of-doors. As she lay there drinking it all in a murmur of voices came to her ears; and, peering out, she saw Creede and Rufus Hardy squatting by a fire out by the giant mesquite tree which stood near the bank of the creek. Creede was stirring the contents of a fry- ing pan with a huge iron spoon, and Rufus was cook- ing strips of meat on a stick which he turned above a [217] HIDDEN WATER bed of coals. There was no sign of hurry or anxiety about their preparations; they seemed to be convers- ing amiably of other things. Presently Hardy picked up a hooked stick, lifted the cover from the Dutch oven, and dumped a pile of white biscuits upon a greasy cloth. Then, still deep in their talk, they filled their plates from the fry-pan, helped themselves to meat, wrapped the rest of the bread in the cloth, and sat comfortably back on their heels, eating with their fingers and knives. It was all very simple and natural, but somehow she had never thought of men in that light before. They were so free, so untrammelled and self-sufficient ; yes, and so barbarous, too. Rufus Hardy, the poet, she had known quiet, soft-spoken, gentle, with dreamy eyes and a doglike eagerness to please but, lo! here was another Rufus, still gentle, but with a stern look in his eyes which, left her almost afraid and those two lost years lay between. How he must have changed in all that time! The early morning was Kitty's time for meditation and good resolutions, and she resolved then and there to be nice to Rufus, for he was a man and could not understand. As the sound of voices came from the house Jeffer- son Creede rose up from his place and stalked across the open, rolling and swaying in his high-heeled boots like a huge, woolly bear. [218] THE GARDEN IN THE DESERT "Well, Judge," he said, after throwing a mountain of wood on the fire as a preliminary to cooking break- fast for his guests, "I suppose now you 're here you 'd like to ride around a little and take stock of what you Ve got. The boys will begin comin' in for the roder to-day, and after to-morrow I '11 be pretty busy; but if you say so I '11 jest ketch up a gentle horse, and show you the upper range before the work begins." "Oh, won't you take me, too?" cried Kitty, skip- ping in eagerly. "I Ve got the nicest saddle and I bet I can ride any horse you Ve got." She assumed a cowboy-like strut as she made this assertion, shaking her head in a bronco gesture which dashed the dark hair from her eyes and made her look like an unbroken thoroughbred. Never in all his life, even in the magazine pictures of stage beauties which form a conspicuous mural decoration in those parts, had Creede seen a woman half so charming, but even in his love blindness he was modest. "We '11 have to leave that to the judge," he said deferentially, "but they 's horses for everybody." He glanced inquiringly at Lucy, who was busily un- packing her sketching kit; but she only smiled, and shook her head. "The home is going to be my sphere for some time," she remarked, glancing about at the half- [219] HIDDEN WATER 4 cleaned room, "and then," she added, with decision, "I *m going to make some of the loveliest water colors in the world. I think that big giant cactus standing on that red-and-gray cliff over there is simply won- Xf Um, pretty good," observed Creede judicially. ""But you jest ought to see 'em in the gorge where Hidden Water comes out! Are ye goin' along, Rufe?" he inquired, bending his eyes upon Hardy with a knowing twinkle. "No? Well, you can show her where it is ! Did n't you never hear why they call this Hidden Water?" he asked, gazing benignly upon the young ladies. "Well, listen. "They 's a big spring of water right up here, not Iialf a mile. It 's an old landmark the Mexicans call it Agua Escondida but I bet neither one of you can find it and I '11 take you right by the gulch where it comes out. They can't nobody find it, unless they're wise enough to follow cow tracks and of course, we don't expect that of strangers. But if you ever git lost and you 're within ten miles of home jest take the first cow trail you see and follow it downhill and you '11 go into one end or the other of Hidden Water canon. Sure, it 's what you might call the Hello- Central of the whole Four Peaks country, with cow paths instead of wires. The only thing lackin' is the girls, to talk back, and call you down for your [220] THE GARDEN IN THE DESERT ungentlemanly language, and well, this country is comin' up every day !" He grinned broadly, wiping his floury hands on his overalls in defiance of Miss Kitty's most rudi- mentary principles; and yet even she, for all her hygiene, was compelled to laugh. There was some- thing about Creede that invited confidence and femi- nine badgering, he was so like a big, good-natured Hoy. The entire meal was enlivened by her efforts, in the person of a hello girl, to expurgate his lan- guage, and she ended by trying to get him to swear politely. But in this the noble cowboy was inexorable. "No, ma'am," he said, with an excess of moral conviction. "I never swear except for cause and then I always regret it. But if you want to git some of the real thing to put in your phonygraft jest come down to the pasture to-morrow when the boys are breakin' horses. Your hair 's kind of wavy, I notice, but it will put crimps in it to hear Bill Lightfoot or some of them Sunflower stiffs when they git bucked onto a rock pile. And say, if you call yourself a rider I can give you a snake for to-day." "Oh, thank you, Mr. Creede," answered Miss Kitty, bowing low as she left the table. "It 's tail, if it chanced to be a rattler, would be most acceptable, I am sure, and I might make a belt out of its skin. But [221] HIDDEN WATER for riding purposes I prefer a real, gentle little horse. Now hurry up, and I '11 be dressed in half an hour." Ten minutes later Creede rode up to the house, leading a sober gray for the judge, but for Kitty Bonnair he had the prettiest little calico-horse in the bunch, a pony painted up with red and yellow and white until he looked like a three-color chromo. Even his eye was variegated, being of a mild, pet- rabbit blue, with a white circle around the orbit; and his name, of course, was Pinto. To be sure, his face was a little dished in and he showed other signs of his scrub Indian blood, but after Creede had cinched on the new stamped-leather saddle and adjusted the ornate hackamore and martingale, Pinto was the sportiest-looking horse outside of a Wild West show. There was a long wait then, while Diana completed her preparations for the hunt; but when Kitty Bon- nair, fully apparelled, finally stepped through the door Creede reeled in the saddle, and even Rufus Hardy gasped. There was nothing immodest about her garb in fact, it was very correct and proper but not since the Winship girls rode forth in overalls had Hidden Water seen its like. Looking very trim and boyish in her khaki riding breeches, Kitty strode forth unabashed, rejoicing in her freedom. A little scream of delight escaped her as she caught sight of the calico-pony; she patted his nose a moment, in- [222] THE GARDEN IN THE DESERT quired his name, and then, scorning all assistance, swung lightly up into the saddle. No prettier picture had ever been offered to the eye; so young, so supple and strong, with such a wealth of dark, wavy hair, and, withal, so modest and honestly happy. But, somehow, Jefferson Creede took the lead and rode with his eyes cast down, lest they should be dazzled by the vision. Besides, Jeff had been raised old-fashioned, and Golden Gate Park is a long, long ways, chronologically, from Hidden Water. As the procession passed away up the canon, with Creede in sober converse with the judge and Kitty scampering about like an Indian on her pinto horse, Hardy and Lucy Ware glanced at each other, and laughed. "Did you ever see any one like her?" exclaimed Lucy, and Hardy admitted with a sigh that he never had. "And I am afraid," observed Miss Lucy frankly, "you were not altogether pleased to see her at first. But really, Rufus, what can any one hope to do with Kitty? When she has set her heart on anything she will have it, and from the very moment she read your first letter she was determined to come down here. Of course father thinks he came down to look into this matter of the sheep, and I think that I came down to look after him, but in reality I have no doubt [223] HIDDEN WATER we are both here because Kitty Bonnair so wills it." "Very likely," replied Hardy, with a doubtful smile. "But since you are in her counsels perhaps you can tell what her intentions are toward me. I used to be one of her gentlemen-in-waiting, you know, and this visit looks rather ominous for me." "Well, just exactly what are you talking about, Rufus?" "I guess you know, all right," replied Hardy. "Have I got to ride a bucking bronco, or kill a sheep- herder or two or is it just another case of c move on'?" He paused and smiled bitterly to himself, but Lucy was not in a mood to humor him in his mis- anthropy. "I must confess," she said, "that you may be called upon to do a few chivalrous feats of horsemanship, but as for the sheep-herder part of it, I hope you will try to please me by leaving them alone. It worries me, Rufus," she continued soberly, "to see you becom- ing so strong-willed and silent. There was a whole year, when none of us heard a word from you and then it was quite by accident. And father thinks you stopped writing to him with the deliberate intention of driving the sheep away by violence." "Well, I 'm glad he understands so well," replied [224] tTHE GARDEN IN THE DESERT Hardy naively. "Of course I would n't embarrass him by asking for orders, but "Oh, Rufus!" exclaimed Miss Lucy impatiently, "do try to be natural again and take your mind off those sheep. Do you know what I am thinking of doing?" she demanded seriously. "I am thinking of asking father to give me this ranch he said he would if I wanted it and then I '11 discharge you! You shall not be such a brutal, ugly man ! But come, now, I want you to help clear the table, and then we will go up to Hidden Water and read your poems. But tell me, have you had any trouble with the sheep- men?" "Why, no!" answered Hardy innocently. "What made you ask?" "Well, you wrote father you expected trouble and and you had that big, long pistol when you came in yesterday. Now you can't deny that!" "I 'm afraid you Ve had some Western ideas im- planted in your bosom by Kitty, Miss Lucy," pro- tested Hardy. "We never shoot each other down here. I carry that pistol for the moral effect and it 's necessary, too, to protect these sheepmen against their own baser natures. You see they 're all armed, and if I should ride into their camp without a gun and ask them to move they might be tempted to do something overt. But as it is now, when Jeff and I 15 [225] HIDDEN WATER begin to talk reason with them they understand. No, we're all right; it's the sheep-herders that have all the trouble." "Rufus Hardy," cried Miss Lucy indignantly, "if you mention those sheep again until you are asked about them, I '11 have you attended to. Do you realize how far I have come to see your poems and hear you talk the way you used to talk? And then to hear you go on in this way! I thought at first that Mr. Creede was a nice man, but I am beginning to change my opinion of him. But you have just got to be nice to me and Kitty while we are here. I had so many things to tell you about your father, and Tupper Browne, and The Circle, but you just sit around so kind of close-mouthed and silent and never ask a question! Wouldn't you like to know how your father is?" she asked. "Why, yes," responded Hardy meekly. "Have you seen him lately?" "I saw him just before we came away. He is dreadfully lonely, I know, but he would n't send any message. He never says anything when I tell him what you are doing, just sits and twists his mustache and listens ; but I could tell by the way he said good- bye that he was glad I was coming. I am sorry you can't agree isn't there something you could do to make him happier?" [226] THE GARDEN IN THE DESERT Hardy looked up from his dish- washing with a slow smile. "Which do you think is more important?" He asked, "for a man to please his father or his best friend?" Lucy suspected a trap and she made no reply. "Did you ever quote any of my poetry to father?" inquired Hardy casually. "No? Then please don't. But I '11 bet if you told him I was catching wild horses, or talking reason to these Mexican herders, you 'd have the old man coming. He 's a fighter, my father, and if you want to make him happy when you go back, tell him his son has just about given up literature and is the champion bronco-twister of the Four Peaks range." "But Ruf us would that be the truth?" Hardy laughed. "Well, pretty near it but I 'm trying to please my best friend now." "Oh," said Lucy, blushing. "Will will that make much difference?" she asked. "All the difference in the world," declared Hardy warmly. "You want me to become a poet he wants me to become a fighter. Well now, since I have n't Been able to please him, I 'm going to try to please you for a while." "Oh, Rufus," cried Lucy, "am I really your best friend?" [227] HIDDEN WATER "Why sure! Did n't you know that?" He spoke the words with a bluff good-fellowship which pleased her, in a way, but at the same time left her silent. And he, too, realized that there was a false note, a rift such as often creeps in between friends and if not perceived and checked widens into a breach. "You know," he said, quietly making his amends, "when I was a boy my father always told me I talked too much; and after mother died I -well, I didn't talk so much. I was intended for a soldier, you know, and good officers have to keep their own counsel. But well, I guess the habit struck in so if I don't always thank you, or tell you things, you will understand, won't you? I was n't raised to please folks, you know, but just to fight Indians, and all that. How would you like to be a soldier's wife?" "Not very well, I am afraid," she said. "All the fear and anxiety, and well, I 'm afraid I could n't love my husband if he killed anybody." She paused and glanced up at him, but he was deep in thought. "My mother was a soldier's wife," he said, at last; and Lucy, seeing where his thoughts had strayed, re- spected his silence. It was something she had learned long before, for while Rufus would sometimes men- tion his mother he would never talk about her, even to Lucy Ware. So they finished their housework, deep in their own thoughts. But when at last they [228] THE GARDEN IN THE DESERT stepped out into the sunshine Lucy touched him on the arm. "Would n't you like to bring your poems with you?" she suggested. "We can read them when we have found the spring. Is it very beautiful up there?" "Yes," answered Hardy, "I often go there to write, when nobody is around. You know Jeff and all these cowboys around here don't know that I write verse. They just think I 'm a little fellow from somewhere up in California that can ride horses pretty good. But if I had handed it out to them that I was a poet, or even a college man, they would have gone to tuck- ing snakes into my blankets and dropping chili bravos into my beans until they got a rise out of me, sure. I learned that much before I ever came up here. But I Ve got a little place I call my garden up in the canon, above Hidden Water and sometimes I sneak off up there, and write. Would you like to see a poem I wrote up there? All right, you can have the rest some other time." He stepped into the store- room, extracted a little bundle from his war bag, and then they passed on up the valley together. The canon of the Alamo is like most Arizona stream beds, a strait- jacket of rocky walls, opening out at intervals into pocket-like valleys, such as the broad and fertile flat which lay below Hidden Water. [229] HIDDEN WATER On either side of the stream the banks rise in benches, each a little higher and broader and more heavily covered: the first pure sand, laid on by the last freshet; the next grown over with grass and weeds; the next bushed up with baby willows and arrow weed; and then, the high bench, studded with mesquite and polo verdes; and at the base of the solid rim per- haps a higher level, strewn with the rocks which time and the elements have hurled down from the cliff, and crested with ancient trees. Upon such a high bench stood the Dos S ranch house, with trails leading off up and down the flat or plunging down the bank, the striated cliff behind it and the water-torn valley , below. Up the canon a deep-worn path led along the base of the bluff; and as the two best friends followed along its windings Hardy pointed out the mysteries of the land : strange trees and shrubs, bristling with thorns; cactus in its myriad forms; the birds which flashed past them or sang in the wild gladness of springtime; lizards, slipping about in the sands or pouring from cracks in the rocks all the curious things which his eyes had seen and his mind taken note of in the long days of solitary riding, and which his poet's soul now interpreted into a higher meaning for the woman who could understand. So intent were they upon the wonders of that great display that [230] THE GARDEN IN THE DESERT Lucy hardly noticed where they were, until the trail swung abruptly in toward the cliff and they seemed to be entering a cleft in the solid rock. "Where do we go now?" she asked, and Hardy laughed at her confusion. "This is the gate to Hidden Water," he said, lower- ing his voice to its old-time poetic cadence. "And strait is the way thereof," he added, as he led her through the narrow pass, "but within are tall trees and running water, and the eagle nests undisturbed among the crags." "What are you quoting?" exclaimed Miss Lucy, and for an answer Ruf us beckoned her in and pointed with his hand. Before them stood the tall trees with running water at their feet, and a great nest of sticks among the crags. "Hidden Water!" he said, and smiled again mys- teriously. Then he led the way along the side of the stream, which slipped softly over the water- worn bowlders, dimpling in pool after pool, until at the very gate of the valley it sank into the sand and was lost. Higher and higher mounted the path; and then, at the foot of a smooth ledge which rose like a bulwark across the gorge, it ended suddenly by the side of a cattle- tracked pool. "This is the wall to my garden," said Hardy, point- [231] HIDDEN WATER ing to the huge granite dyke, "beyond which only the elect may pass." He paused, and glanced over at her quizzically. "The path was not made for ladies, I am afraid," he added, pointing to a series of foot holes which ran up the face of the Iedge "Do you think you can climb it?" Lucy Ware studied his face for a moment; then, turning to the Indian stairway, she measured it with a practised eye. "You go up first," she suggested, and when he had scaled the slippery height and turned he found her close behind, following carefully in his steps. "Well, you are a climber!" he cried admiringly. "Here, give me your hand." And when he had helped her up he still held it or perhaps she clung to his. Before them lay a little glade, shut in by painted rocks, upon whose black sides were engraved many curious pictures, the mystic symbols of the Indians; and as they stood gazing at it an eagle with pointed wings wheeled slowly above them, gazing with clear eyes down into the sunlit vale. From her round nest in the crotch of a sycamore a great horned owl plunged out at their approach and glided noiselessly away; and in the stillness the zooning of bees among the rocks came to their ears like distant music. Beneath their feet the grass grew long and matted, THE GARDEN IN THE DESERT shot here and there with the blue and gold of flowers, like the rich meadows of the East; and clustering along the hillsides, great bunches of grama grass waved their plumes proudly, the last remnant of all that world of feed which had clothed the land like a garment before the days of the sheep. For here, at least, there came no nibbling wethers, nor starving cattle; and the mountain sheep which had browsed there in the old days were now hiding on the topmost crags of the Superstitions to escape the rifles of the destroyers. All the world without was laid waste and trampled by hurrying feet, but the garden of Hidden Water was still kept inviolate, a secret shrine consecrate to Nature and Nature's God. As she stood in the presence of all its beauty a mist came into Lucy's eyes and she turned away. "Oh, Rufus," she cried, "why don't you live up here always instead of wasting your life in that awful struggle with the sheep ? You could why, you could do anything up here!" "Yes," assented Hardy, "it is a beautiful spot I often come up here when I am weary with it all but a man must do a man's work, you know; and my work is with the sheep. When I first came to Hidden Water I knew nothing of the sheep. I thought the little lambs were pretty; the ewes were mothers, the herders human beings. I tried to be friends with [233] HIDDEN WATER them, to keep the peace and abide by the law; but now that I 've come to know them I agree with Jeff, who has been fighting them for twenty years. There is something about the smell of sheep which robs men of their humanity; they become greedy and avari- cious; the more they make the more they want. Of all the sheepmen that I know there is n't one who would go around me out of friendship or pity and I have done favors for them all. But they 're no friends of mine now," he added ominously. "I have to respect my friends, and I can't respect a man who is all hog. There 's no pretence on either side now, though they 're trying to sheep us out and we are trying to fight them off, and if it ever comes to a show-down well ' ' He paused, and his eyes glowed with a strange light. "You know I have n't very much to live for, Miss Lucy," he said earnestly, "but if I had all that God could give me I 'd stand by Jeff against the sheep. It 's all right to be a poet or an artist, a lover of truth and beauty, and all that, but if a man won't stand up for his friends when they 're in trouble he 's a kind of closet philosopher that shrinks from all the realities of life a poor, puny creature, at the best." He stood up very straight as he poured out this torrent of words, gazing at her intently, but with his [234] THE GARDEN IN THE DESERT eyes set, as if he beheld some vision. Yet whether it was of himself and Jeff, fighting their hopeless battle against the sheep, or of his life as it might have been if Kitty had been as gentle with him as this woman by his side, there was no telling. His old habit of reticence fell back upon him as suddenly as it had been cast aside, and he led the way up the little stream in silence. As he walked, the ardor of his passion cooled, and he began to point out things with his eloquent hands the minnows, wheeling around in the middle of a glassy pool; a striped bullfrog, squatting within the spray of a waterfall ; huge combs of honey, hanging from shelving caverns along the cliff where the wild bees had stored their plunder for years. At last, as they stood before a drooping elder whose creamy blossoms swayed beneath the weight of bees, he halted and motioned to a shady seat against the canon wall. "There are gardens in every desert," he said, as she sank down upon the grassy bank, "but this is ours." They sat for a while, gazing contentedly at the clusters of elder blossoms which hung above them, filling the air with a rich fragrance which was spiced by the tang of sage. A ruby-throated humming-bird flashed suddenly past them and was gone; a red- shafted woodpecker, still more gorgeous in his scarlet plumage, descended in uneven flights from the [235] HIDDEN WATER sdhuaros that clung against the cliff and, fastening upon a hollow tree, set up a mysterious rapping. "He is hunting for grubs/' explained Hardy. "Does that inspire you?" "Why, no," answered Lucy, puzzled. "The Mexicans call him pajaro corazon pdh-hah- ro cor-ah-sone" continued the poet. "Does that appeal to your soul?" "Why, no. What does it mean woodpecker?" Hardy smiled. "JSTo," he said, "a woodpecker with them is called carplntero carpenter, you understand because he hammers on trees ; but my friend up on the stump yonder is Pajaro Corazon bird of the heart. I have a poem dedicated to him." Then, as if to excuse himself from the reading, he hastened on : "Of course, no true poet would commit such a breach he would write a sonnet to his lady's eyebrow, a poem in memory of a broken dream, or some sad lament for Love, which has died simultaneously with his own blasted hopes. But a sense of my own unim- portance has saved me or the world, at any rate from such laments. Pajaro Corazon and Chupa Rosa, a little humming-bird who lives in that elder tree, have been my only friends and companions in the muse, until you came. I would n't abuse Chupa Rosa's confidence by reading my poem to her. Her lover has turned out a worthless fellow and left her [236] THE GARDEN IN THE DESERT that was him you saw flying past just now, going up the canon to sport around with the other hummers but here is my poem to Pajaro Corazon." He drew forth his bundle of papers and in a shame- faced way handed one of them to Lucy. It was a slip of yellow note paper, checked along the margin with groups of rhyming words and scansion marks, and in the middle this single verse. "Pa j aro Corazon ! Bird of the Heart ! Some knight of honor in those bygone days Of dreams and gold and quests through desert lands, Seeing thy blood-red heart flash in the rays Of setting sun which lured him far from Spain- Lifted his face and, reading there a sign From his dear lady, crossed himself and spake Then first, the name which still is thine." Lucy folded the paper arid gazed across at him rapturously. "Oh, Rufus," she cried, "why did n't you send it to me?" "Is it good?" asked Hardy, forgetting his pose; and when she nodded solemnly he said: "There is another verse look on the other side." Lucy turned the paper over quickly and read again : "Pajaro Corazon ! Bird of the Heart ! Some Padre, wayworn, stooping towards his grave, Whom God by devious ways had sent so far, So far from Spain still pressing on to save [237] HIDDEN WATER The souls He loved, now, raising up his eyes And seeing on thy breast the bleeding heart Of Jesus, cast his robes aside and spake Thy name and set that place apart." As she followed the lines Hardy watched her face with eyes that grew strangely soft and gentle. It was Lucy Ware of all the world who understood him. Others laughed, or pitied, or overdid it, or remained unmoved, but Lucy with her trusting blue eyes and broad poet's brow a brow which always made him think of Mrs. Browning who was a poet indeed, she always read his heart, in her he could safely trust. And now, when those dear eyes filled up with tears he could have taken her hand, yes, he could have kissed her if he had not been afraid. "Rufus," she said at last, "y u are a poet." And then she dried her eyes and smiled. "Let me read some more," she pleaded; but Hardy held the bundle resolutely away. "No," he said gently, "it is enough to have pleased you once. You know poetry is like music; it is an expression of thoughts which are more than thoughts. They come up out of the great sea of our inner soul like the breath of flowers from a hidden garden, like the sound of breakers from the ocean cliffs ; but not every one can scent their fragrance, and some ears are too dull to hear music in the rush of waters. And [238] THE GARDEN IN THE DESERT when one has caught the music of another's song then it is best to stop before before some discord comes. Lucy," he began, as his soul within him rose up and clamored for it knew not what, "Lucy- He paused, and the woman hung upon his lips to catch the words. "Yes?" she said, but the thought had suddenly left him. It was a great longing that he knew a great desire, unsensed because unknown but deep, deep. "Yes Rufus?" she breathed, leaning over; but the light had gone out of his eyes and he gazed at her strangely. "It is nothing," he murmured, "nothing. I I have forgotten what I was going to say." He sighed, and looked moodily at his feet. "The thoughts of a would-be poet," he mused, cynically. "How valu- able they are how the world must long for them when he even forgets them himself! I guess I 'd better keep still and let you talk a while," he ended, absently. But Lucy Ware sat gazing before her in silence. "Isn't it time we returned?" she asked, after a while. "You know I have a great deal to do." "Oh, that 's all right," said Hardy, easily, "I '11 help you. What do you want to do clean house?" Lucy could have cried at her hero's sudden lapse from Parnassus to the scullery, from love to the com- [239] HIDDEN WATER monplaces of living; but she had schooled herself to bear with him, since patience is a woman's part. Yet her honest blue eyes were not adapted to concealment and, furtively taking note of her distress, Hardy fell into the role of a penitent. "Is my garden such a poor place," he inquired gravely, "that you must leave it the moment we have come? You have not even seen Chupa Rosa" "Well, show me Chupa Rosa and then we will go." She spoke the words reluctantly, rising slowly to her feet; and Hardy knew that in some hidden way lie had hurt her, yet in what regard he could not tell. A vague uneasiness came over him and he tried awk- wardly to make amends for his fault, but good inten- tions never yet crossed a river or healed a breach. "Here is her nest," he said, "almost above our seat. Look, Lucy, it is made out of willow down and spider webs, bound round and round the twig. Don't you want to see the eggs ? Look !" He bent the limb until the dainty white treasures, half buried in the fluffy down, were revealed but still she did not smile. "Oh, stop, Rufus!" she cried, "what will the mother- bird think? She might be frightened at us and leave her nest. Come, let 's hurry away before she sees us !" She turned and walked quickly down the valley, [240] THE GARDEN IN THE DESERT never pausing to look back, even when Ruf us stopped to pluck a flower from among the rocks. "Here," he said, after he had helped her down the Indian stairway; and when she held up her hand, passively, he dropped a forget-me-not into it. "Oh!" she cried, carried away for a moment, "do they grow down here?" "Yes," he said, soberly, "even here. And they sometimes you find them where you would n't expect in rough places, you know, and among the stones. I I hope you will keep it," he said, simply. And Lucy divined what was in his heart, better perhaps than he himself; but when at last she was alone she buried her face in the pillow, and for a long time the house was very still. 16 CHAPTER XIII A SNOW-SCENE HHHERE was a big fire out under the mesquite that night and a band of cowboys, in all the bravery of spurs, shaps, and pistols, romped around it in a stage-struck exuberance of spirits. The night was hardly cold enough to call for fringed leather chaparejos, and their guns should have been left in their blankets; nor are long-shanked Texas spurs quite the proper thing about camp, having a dirty way of catching and tripping their wearers; but the rodeo outfit felt that it was on dress parade and was trying its best to look the cowboy part. Bill Light- foot, even had a red silk handkerchief draped about his neck, with the slack in front, like a German napkin; and his cartridge belt was slung so low that it threatened every moment to drop his huge Colt's revolver into the dirt but who could say a word? The news of Judge Ware's visit had passed through the Four Peaks country like the rumor of an Indian uprising and every man rode into Hidden Water with an eye out for calico, some with a fool- ish grin, some downcast and reserved, some swag- [242] A SNOW-SCENE gering in the natural pride of the lady's man. But a becoming modesty had kept Lucy Ware indoors, and Kitty had limited herself to a furtive survey of the scene from behind what was left of Sallie Win- ship's lace curtains. With the subtle wisdom of a rodeo boss Jefferson Creede had excused himself to the ladies at the first sound of jangling horse-bells, and now he kept resolutely away from the house, busying himself with the manifold duties of his posi- tion. To the leading questions of Bill Lightf oot and the "fly bunch" which followed his lead he turned a deaf ear or replied in unsatisfying monosyllables; and at last, as the fire lit up the trees and flickered upon their guns and silver-mounted trappings and no fair maids sallied forth to admire them, the over- wrought emotions of the cowboys sought expression in song. "Oh my little girl she lives in the town," chanted Lightfoot, and the fly bunch, catching the contagion, joined promptly in on the refrain: "A toodle link, a toodle link, a too oo-dle a day!" At this sudden and suggestive outbreak Jeff Creede surveyed Bill Lightfoot coldly and puffed on his cigarette. Bill was always trying to make trouble. "And every time I see 'er, slie asts me f'r a gown,'* [213] HIDDEN WATER carolled the leading cowboy; and the bunch, not to seem faint-hearted, chimed in again: "Reladin to reladin, and reladin to relate!" Now they were verging toward the sensational part of the ballad, the place where a real gentleman would quit, but Lightfoot only tossed his head defiantly. "O-Oh " he began, and then he stopped with his mouth open. The rodeo boss had suddenly risen to an upright position and fixed him with his eye. "I like to see you boys enjoyin' yourselves," he observed, quietly, "but please don't discuss politics or religion while them ladies is over at the house. You better switch off onto 'My Bonnie Lies over the Ocean/ Bill." And Bill switched. "What's the matter?" he demanded aggrieved, "ain't anybody but you got any rights and privileges around here? You go sportin' around and havin' a good time all day, but as soon as one of us punchers opens his mouth you want to jump down his throat. What do we know about ladies I ain't seen none!" The discussion of the moral code which followed was becoming acrimonious and personal to a degree when a peal of girlish laughter echoed from the ranch house and the cowboys beheld Judge Ware [244] A SNOW-SCENE and Hardy, accompanied by Miss Lucy and Kitty Bonnair, coming towards their fire. A less tactful man might have taken advantage of the hush to utter a final word of warning to his rebellious subjects, but Creede knew Kitty Bonnair and the human heart too well. As the party came into camp he rose quietly and introduced the judge and the ladies to every man present, without deviation and without exception, and then, having offered Miss Ware his cracker box, he moved over a man or two and sat down. In the bulk of his mighty frame, the rugged power of his countenance, and the unconscious authority of his words he was easily master of them all; but though he had the voice of Mars and a head like Olympian Zeus he must needs abase his proud spirit to the demands of the occasion, for the jealousy of mortal man is a proverb. Where the punchers that he hired for thirty dollars a month were decked out in shaps and handkerchiefs he sat in his shirt-sleeves and over- alls, with only his high-heeled boots and the enormous black sombrero which he always wore, to mark him for their king. And the first merry question which Miss Kitty asked he allowed to pass unnoticed, until Bill Lightfoot to save the credit of the bunch answered it himself. [245] HIDDEN WATER "Yes, ma'am," he replied politely. "That was a genuwine cowboy song we was singin' we sing 'em to keep the cattle awake at night." "Oh, how interesting!" exclaimed Kitty, leaning forward in her eagerness. "But why do you try to keep them awake? I should think they would be so tired, after travelling all day." "Yes, ma'am," responded Bill, twisting his silk handkerchief nervously, "but if they go to sleep and anything wakes 'em up quick they stompede so we ride through 'em and sing songs." "Just think of that, Lucy!" cried Miss Kitty en- thusiastically. "And it was such a pretty tune, too ! Won't you sing it again, Mr. Lightfoot? I 'd just love to hear it!" Here was a facer for Mr. Lightfoot, and Jefferson Creede, to whom all eyes were turned in the crisis, smiled maliciously and let him sweat. "Bill ain't in very good voice to-night," he observed at last, as the suspense became unbearable, "and we 're kinder bashful about singin' to company, any- way. But if you want to hear somethin' good, you want to git Bill goin' about Coloraydo. Sure, Mr. Lightfoot is our best story-teller ; and he 's had some mighty excitin' times up there in them parts, hain't you, Bill?" Bill cast a baleful glance at his rival and thrust [246] A SNOW-SCENE out his chin insolently. His Coloraydo experiences were a matter of jest with Jeff Creede, but with the ladies it might be different. His courage rose before the flattering solicitude of Kitty Bonnair and he re- solved then and there to fool Mr. Creede or know the reason why. "Well," he replied, stoutly, "they may look kinder tame alongside of your Arizona lies, but " "Oh, Mr. Lightfoot, do tell me all about it!" broke in Kitty, with an alluring smile. "Colorado is an awfully wild country, isn't it? And did you ever have any adventures with bears?" "Bears!" exclaimed Bill contemptuously. "Bears! Huh, we don't take no more account of ordinary bears up in Coloraydo than they do of coons down here. But them big silver-tips ump-um excuse me!" He paused and swaggered a little on the precarious support of his cracker box. "And yet, Miss Bunnair," he said, lowering his voice to a con- fidential key, "I slept a whole night with one of them big fellers and never turned a hair. I could Ve killed him the next day, too, but I was so grateful to him I spared his life." This was the regular "come-on" for Lightfoot's snow-storm story, and Creede showed his white teeth scornfully as Bill leaned back and began the yarn. "You see, Miss Bunnair," began the Colorado cow- [247] HIDDEN WATER boy, rolling his eyes about the circle to quell any tendency to give him away, "Coloraydo is an alto- gether different country from this here. The moun- tains is mighty steep and brushy, with snow on the peaks, and the cactus ain't more 'n a inch high out on the perairie. But they 's plenty of feed and water you betcher life I wisht I was back there now in- stead of fightin' sheep down here! The only thing aginst that country up there is the blizzards. Them storms is very destructive to life. Yes, ma'am. They 's never any notice given but suddenly the wind will begin to blow and the cattle will begin to drift, and then about the time your horse is give out and your ears frozen it '11 begin to snow! "Well, this time I 'm tellin' about I was up on the Canadian River west of the Medicine Bow Mountains and she came on to snow and snow, I thought it would bury me alive! I was lost in a big park a kind of plain or perairie among the mountains. Yes 'm, they have 'm there big level places and it was thirty miles across this here level perairie. The wind was bio win' something awful and the snow just piled up on my hat like somebody was shovellin' it off a roof, but I kept strugglin' on and tryin' to git to the other side, or maybe find some sheltered place, until it was like walkin' in your sleep. And that light fluffy snow jest closed in over me until I was [248] A SNOW- SCENE covered up ten feet deep. Of course my horse had give out long ago, and I was jest beginnin' to despair when I corne across one of them big piles of rocks they have up there, scattered around promiscus-like on the face of nature; and I begin crawlin' in and crawlin' in, hopin' to find some cave or somethin', and jest as I was despairin' my feet fell into a kind of trail, kinder smooth and worn, but old, you know, and stomped hard under the snow. Well, I follers along this path with my feet until it come to a hole in the rocks; and when I come to that hole I went right in, fer I was desprit; and I crawled in and crawled in until I come to a big nest of leaves, and then I begin to burrow down into them leaves. And as soon as I had made a hole I pulled them leaves over me and fell to sleep, I was that exhausted. "But after a while I had some awful bad dreams, and when I woke up I felt somethin' kickin' under me. Yes 'm, that 's right ; I felt somethin' kinder movin' around and squirmin', and when I begin to investergate I found I was layin' down right square on top of a tremenjous big grizzly bear! Well, you fellers can laugh, but I was, all the same. What do you know about it, you woolies, punchin' cows down here in the rocks and cactus ? "How's that, Miss Bunnair? W'y sure, he was hibernatin' ! They all hibernate up in them cold [249] HIDDEN WATER countries. Well, the funny part of this was that Old Brin had gone to sleep suckin' his off fore foot, jest like a little baby, and when I had piled in on top of him I had knocked his paw out of his mouth and he was tryin 9 to git it back. But he was all quilled up with himself under them leaves, and his claws was so long he could n't git that foot back into his mouth nohow. He snooped and grabbed and fumbled, and every minute he was gittin' madder and madder, a- suckin' and slobberin' like a calf tryin' to draw milk out of the hired man's thumb, and a-gruntin' and groanin' somethin' awful. "Well, I see my finish in about a minute if he ever got good an' woke up, so I resolved to do somethin' desprit. I jest naturally grabbed onto that foot and twisted it around and stuck it into his mouth myself! Afraid? Ump-um, not me the only thing I was afraid of was that he 'd git my hand and go to suckin' it by mistake. But when I steered his paw around in front of him he jest grabbed onto that big black pad on the bottom of his foot like it was m'lasses candy, and went off to sleep again as peaceful as a kitten." The man from Coloraydo ended his tale abruptly, with an air of suspense, and Kitty Bonnair took the cue. "What did I do then?" demanded Lightfoot, with [250] A SNOW- SCENE a reminiscent smile, "Well, it was a ground-hog case with me if I moved 1 5 d freeze to death and if I knocked his paw out 'n his mouth again he 'd mash my face in with it so I jest snuggled down against him, tucked my head under his chin, and went to sleep, holding that paw in his mouth with both hands." "Oh, Mr. Lightfoot," exclaimed Kitty, "how could you? Why, that's the most remarkable experience I ever heard of ! Lucy, I 'm going to put that story in my book when I get home, and but what are you laughing at, Mr. Creede?" "Who? Me?" inquired Jeff, who had been rocking about as if helpless with laughter. "W'y, I ain't laughin'l" "Yes, you are too!" accused Miss Kitty. "And I want you to tell me what it is. Don't you think Mr. Lightfoot's story is true?" "True?" echoed Creede, soberly. "W'y, sure it 's true. I ain't never been up in those parts ; but if Bill says so, that settles it. I never knew a feller from Coloraydo yet that could tell a lie. No, I was jest laughin' to think of that old bear suckin' his paw that way." He added this last with such an air of subterfuge and evasion that Kitty was not deceived for a moment. [251] HIDDEN WATER "No, you 're not, Mr. Creede," she cried, "you 're just making fun of me so there!" She stamped her foot and pouted prettily, and the big cowboy's face took on a look of great concern. "Oh, no, ma'am," he protested, "but since it 's gone so far I reckon I '11 have to come through now in order to square myself. , Of course I never had no real adventures, you know, nothin' that you would care to write down or put in a book, like Bill's, but jest hearin' him tell that story of gittin' snowed in reminded me of a little experience I had up north here in Coconino County. You know Arizona ain't all sand and cactus not by no means. Them San Francisco Mountains up above Flag are sure snow- crested and covered with tall timber and it gits so cold up there in the winter-time that it breaks rocks. No, that 's straight ! Them prospectors up there when they run short of powder jest drill a line of holes in a rock and when one of them awful cold snaps comes on they run out and fill the holes up with hot water out of the tea-kittle. Well, sir, when that water freezes, which it does in about a minute, it jest naturally busts them rocks wide open but that ain't what I started to tell you about." He paused and contemplated his hearers with im- pressive dignity. "Cold ain't nothin'," he continued gravely, "after [252] A SNOW -SCENE you git used to it; but once in a while, ladies, she snows up there. And when I say 'snows' I don't refer to such phenominer as Bill was tellin' about up in Coloraydo, but the real genuwine Arizona article the kind that gits started and can't stop, no more 'n a cloudburst. Well, one time I was knockin' around up there in Coconino when I ought to Ve been at home, and I come to a big plain or perairie that was seventy miles across, and I got lost on that big plain, right in the dead of winter. They was an awful cold wind blowin' at the time, but I could see the moun- tains on the other side and so I struck out for 'em. But jest as I got in the middle of that great plain or perairie, she come on to snow. At first she come straight down, kinder soft and fluffy; then she began to beat in from the sides, and the flakes began to git bigger and bigger, until I felt like the Chinaman that walked down Main Street when they had that snow- storm in Tucson. Yes, sir, it was jest like havin' every old whiskey bum in town soakin' you with snow-balls and all the kids thrown in. "My horse he began to puff and blow and the snow began to bank up higher and higher in front of us and on top of us until, bymeby, he could n't stand no more, and he jest laid down and died. Well, of course that put me afoot and I was almost despairin'. The snow was stacked up on top of me about ten feet [253] HIDDEN WATER deep and I was desprit, but I kept surgin' right ahead, punchin' a hole through that fluffy stuff, until she was twenty foot deep. But I was n't afraid none ' ump-um, not me I jest kept a-crawlin' and a- crawlin', hopin' to find some rocks or shelter, until she stacked up on top of me thirty foot deep. Thir- ty foot and slumped down on top o' me until I felt like a horny-toad under a haystack. Well, I was gittin' powerful weak and puny, but jest as I was despairin' I come across a big rock, right out there in the middle of that great plain or perairie. I tried to crawl around that old rock but the snow was pushin' down so heavy on top o' me I could n't do nothin', and so when she was fif-ty-two foot deep by actual measurement I jest give out an' laid down to die." Pie paused and fixed a speculative eye on Bill Lightfoot. "I reckon that would be considered pretty deep up in Coloraydo," he suggested, and then he began to roll a cigarette. Sitting in rigid postures before the fire the punchers surveyed his face with slow and sus- picious glances; and for once Kitty Bonnair was silent, watching his deliberate motions with a troubled frown. Balanced rakishly upon his cracker box Bill Lightfoot regarded his rival with a sneering smile, a retort trembling on his lips, but Creede only leaned [254] f A SNOW-SCENE forward and picked a smoking brand from the fire- he was waiting for the "come-on." Now to ask the expected question at the end of such a story was to take a big chance. Having been bitten a time or two all around, the rodeo hands were wary of Jeff Creede and his barbed jests; the visitors, being ignorant, were still gaping expectantly ; it was up to Bill Lightfoot to spring the mine. For a moment he hesitated, and then his red-hot impetuosity, which had often got him into trouble before, carried him away. "W'y, sure it would be deep for Coloraydo," he answered, guardedly. Jefferson Creede glanced up at him, smoking luxuriously, holding the cigarette to his lips with his hand as if concealing a smile. "Aw, rats," snapped out Lightfoot at last, "why don't you finish up and quit? What happened then?" "Then?" drawled Creede, with a slow smile. "W'y, nothin', Bill I died!" " Ah-hah-hah !" yelled the punchers, throwing up handf uls of dirt in the extravagance of their delight, and before Bill could realize the enormity of the sell one of his own partisans rose up and kicked the cracker box out from under him in token of utter defeat. For an hour after their precipitate retreat [255] HIDDEN WATER the visitors could hear the whoops and gibes of the cowboys, the loud-mouthed and indignant retorts of Lightfoot, and the soothing remonstrances of Jeffer- son Creede and from the house Kitty the irrepres- sible, added to their merriment a shriek of silvery laughter. But after it was all over and he had won, the round-up boss swore soberly at himself and sighed, for he discerned on the morrow's horizon the Indian signs of trouble. [2561 CHAPTER XIV FOREBODINGS the Eastern eye, blinded by local color, the Four Peaks country looked like a large and pleasantly variegated cactus garden, sparsely populated with rol- licking, fun-loving cowboys who wore their interest- ing six-shooters solely to keep their balance in the saddle. The new grass stood untrampled beneath the bushes on Bronco Mesa, there were buds and flowers everywhere, and the wind was as sweet and untainted as if it drew out of Eden. But somewhere, somewhere in that great wilderness of peaks which lay to the south and through which only the dogged sheepmen could fight their way, stealthily hidden, yet watching,, lay Jasper Swope and his sheep. And not only Jasper with his pet man-killing Chihuahuano and all those low-browed compadres whom he called by cir- cumlocution "brothers," but Jim, sore with his defeat, and many others and every man armed. After the first rain they had disappeared from the desert absolutely, their tracks pointing toward the east. The drought had hit them hard, and the cold of Winter; yet the ewes had lambed in the springtime, 17 [257] HIDDEN WATER and as if by magic the tender grass shot up to feed their little ones. Surely, God was good to the sheep. They were ranging far, now that the shearing was over, but though they fed to the topmost peaks of the Superstitions, driving the crooked-horned mountain sheep from their pastures, their destiny lay to the north, in the cool valleys of the Sierra Blancas; and there in the end they would go, though they left havoc in their wake. Once before the sheep had vanished in this same way, mysteriously ; and at last, travelling circuitous ways and dealing misery to many Tonto cowmen, they had poured over the very summit of the Four Peaks and down upon Bronco Mesa. And now, though they were hidden, every man on the round-up felt their presence and knew that the upper range was in jeopardy. After amusing the ladies with inconsequential tales, the rodeo outfit therefore rose up and was gone before the light, raking the exposed lowland for its toll of half -fed steers; and even Rufus Hardy, the parlor- broke friend and lover, slipped away before any of them were stirring and rode far up along the river. What a river it was now, this unbridled Salagua which had been their moat and rampart for so many years ! Its waters flowed thin and impotent over the rapids, lying in clear pools against the base of the black cliffs, and the current that had uprooted trees like feathers [2581 FOREBODINGS was turned aside by a snag. Where before the sheep had hung upon its flank hoping at last to swim at Hidden Water, the old ewes now strayed along its sandy bed, browsing upon the willows. From the towering black buttes that walled in Hell's Hip Pocket to the Rio Verde it was passable for a spring lamb, and though the thin grass stood up fresh and green on the mesas the river showed nothing but drought. Drought and the sheep, those were the twin evils of the Four Peaks country; they lowered the price of cattle and set men to riding the range rest- lessly. For the drought is a visitation of God, to be accepted and endured, but sheep may be turned back. As he rode rapidly along the river trail, halting on each ridge to search the landscape for sheep, Hardy's conscience smote him for the single day he had spent in camp, dallying within sight of Kitty or talking with Lucy Ware. One such day, if the sheepmen were prepared, and Bronco Mesa would be a desert. Threats, violence, strategy, would be of no avail, once the evil was done; the sheep must be turned back at the river or they would swarm in upon the whole upper range. One man could turn them there, for it was the dead line; but once across they would scat- ter like quail before a hawk, crouching and hiding in the gulches, refusing to move, yet creeping with brut- ish stubbornness toward the north and leaving a clean [259] HIDDEN WATER swath behind. There were four passes that cut their way down from the southern mountains to the banks of the river, old trails of Apaches and wild game, and to quiet his mind Hardy looked for tracks at every crossing before he turned Chapuli's head toward camp. The smoke was drifting from the chimney when, late in the afternoon, he rode past the door and saw Lucy Ware inside, struggling with an iron kettle before the fireplace. Poor Lucy, she had under- taken a hard problem, for there is as much difference between camp cooking and home cooking as there is between a Dutch oven and a steel range, and a cooking-school graduate has to forget a whole lot be- fore she can catch the knack of the open fire. For the second time that day Rufus Hardy's conscience, so lately exercised over his neglect of the sheep, rose up and rebuked him. Throwing Chapuli into the corral he kicked off his spurs and shaps and gave Lucy her first lesson in frontier cookery; taught her by the force of his example how to waste her wood and save her back; and at the end of the short demon- stration he sat down without ceremony, and fell to eating. "Excuse me," he said, "if I seem to be greedy, but I had my breakfast before sun-up. Where 's your father, and Kitty?" [260] FOREBODINGS "Oh, they had the Mexican boy catch their horses for them and have ridden up the valley to watch for the cattle. I stayed behind to make my first water color, and then I thought you would be coming back soon, so I tried to cook supper instead. I 'm a pretty good housekeeper at home," she said apologetically. Hardy watched her as she experimented pains- takingly with the fire, scooping out shovelfuls of coal from beneath the glowing logs and planting her pots and kettles upon them with a hooked stick, according to instructions. "You look like a picture of one of our sainted Puritan ancestors," he observed, at last, "and that 's just exactly the way they cooked, too over an open fire. How does it feel to be Priscilla?" "Well, if Priscilla's hands looked like mine," ex- claimed Lucy despairingly, "John Alden must have been madly in love with her. How do you keep yours clean?" "That 's a secret," replied Hardy, "but I '11 tell you. I never touch the outside of a pot and I scour them with sandsoap. But I wish you J d stop cooking, Lucy; it makes me feel conscience-stricken. You are my guests, remember, even if I do go off and neglect you for a whole day; and when you go back to Berkeley I want you to have something more interest- [261] HIDDEN WATER ing than housekeeping to talk about. Did n't I see two ladies' saddles out in the wagon?" Miss Lucy's eyes lighted up with pleasure as, antic- ipating his drift, she nodded her head. '"Well then," said Hardy, with fina|ity, "if you '11 get up early in the morning, I '11 catch you a little pony that I gentled myself, and we can ride up the -river together. How does that strike you ?" "Tine!" exclaimed Lucy, with sudden enthusiasm. *'Oh, Rufus," she cried impulsively, "if you only 'inew how weak and helpless a thing it is to be a woman and how glad we are to be noticed ! Why, I was just thinking before you came in that about the only really helpful thing a woman could do in this world was just to stay around home and cook the meals." *'Well, you just let me cook' those meals for a while," said Rufus, with brotherly authority, "and jeome out and be a man for a change. Can you ride pretty well?" Lucy glanced at him questioningly, and thought she read what was in his mind. "Yes," she said, "I can ride, but but I just couldn't bring myself to dress like Kitty!" she burst aoiiL "I know it 's foolish, but I can't bear to have people notice me so. But I 'U be a man in everything else, if you '11 only give me a chance." She stood [2621 FOREBODINGS before him, radiant, eager, her eyes sparkling like a child's, and suddenly Hardy realized how much she lost by being always with Kitty. Seen by herself she was as lithe and graceful as a fairy, with a steady gaze very rare in women, and eyes which changed like the shadows in a pool, answering every mood in wind and sky, yet always with their own true light. Her cheeks glowed with the fresh color which her father's still retained, and she had inherited his generous nature, too; but in mind and stature she took after her dainty mother, whose exquisite grace and beauty had made her one of the elect. Perhaps it was this quality of the petite in her which appealed to him for a little man cannot endure to be laughed at for his size, even in secret or perhaps it was only the intuitive response to a something which in his pre- possession he only vaguely sensed, but Rufus Hardy felt his heart go out to her in a moment and his voice sank once more to the caressing fulness which she most loved to hear. "Ah, Lucy," he said, "you need never try to be a man in order to ride with me. It would be hard luck if a woman like you had to ask twice for anything. Will you go out with me every day? No? Then I shall ask you every day, and you shall go whenever you please ! But you know how it is. The sheepmen are hiding along the river waiting for a chance to [263] HIDDEN WATER sneak across, and if I should stay in camp for a single day they might make a break and then we would have a war. Your father does n't understand that, but I do; and I know that Jeff will never sub- mit to being sheeped out without a fight. Can't you see how it is ? I should like to stay here and entertain you, and yet I must protect your father's cattle, and I must protect Jeff. But if you will ride out with me when it is not too hot, I it well, you '11 go to- morrow, won't you?" He rose and took her hand impulsively, and then as quickly dropped it and turned away. The muffled chuck, chuck, of a horse's feet stepping past the door smote upon his ear, and a moment later a clear voice hailed them. "What are you children chattering about in there?" cried Kitty Bonnair, and Hardy, after a guilty silence, replied: "The ways of the weary world. Won't you come in and have the last word?" He stepped out and held Pinto by the head, and Kitty dropped off and sank wearily into a rawhide chair. "Oh, I 'm too tired to talk, riding around trying to find those cattle and just as I was tired out we saw them coming, away out on The Rolls. Lucy, do [264] FOREBODINGS put on your riding habit and go back on Pinto you have n't been out of the house to-day!" As half an hour later Lucy Ware trotted obediently away, riding up the canon toward the distant bawling of cattle, Kitty turned suddenly upon Hardy with half -closed, accusing eyes. "You seem to be very happy with Lucy," she said, with an aggrieved smile. "But why," she continued, with quickening animus, "why should you seek to avoid me? Is n't it enough that I should come clear down here to see you? But when I want to have a word with you after our long silence I have to scheme and manage like a gypsy!" She paused, and flicked her booted leg with the lash of a horsehair quirt, glancing at him furtively with eyes that drooped with an appealing sadness. "If I had known how hard-hearted you could be," she said, after a silence, "I should never have spoken as I did, if the words choked me. But now that I have come part way and offered my poor friendship again, you might oh Rufus, how could you be so inconsiderate! No one can ever know what I suffered when you left that way. Every one knew we were the best of friends, and several people even knew that you had been to see me. And then, with- out a word, without a sign, with no explanation, to [265] HIDDEN WATER leave and be gone for years think what they must have thought! Oh, it was too humiliating!" She paused again, and to Hardy's apprehensive eyes she seemed on the verge of tears. So he spoke, blindly and without consideration, filled with a man's anxiety to stave off this final catastrophe. "I 'm sorry," he began, though he had never meant to say it, "but but there was nothing else to do! You you told me to go. You said you never wanted to see me again, and you were not very kind to me, then." He paused, and at the memory of those last words of hers, uttered long ago, the flush of shame mantled his cheeks. "Every man has his limit," he said bluntly, "and I am no dog, to be scolded and punished and sent away. I have been ashamed many times for what I did, but I had to keep my own respect and so I left. Is it too much for a man to go away when he is told?" Kitty Bonnair fixed him with her dark eyes and shook her head sadly. "Ah, Rufus," she sighed, "when will you ever learn that a woman does not always mean all she says? When you had made me so happy by your tender consideration for you could be considerate when you chose I said that I loved you; and I did, but not in the way you thought. I did mean it [266] FOREBODINGS at the moment, from my heart, but not for lif ie ft was no surrender, no promise I just loved you for being so good and kind. But when, taking advan- tage of what I said in a moment of weakness, yon tried to claim that which I had never given, I I said more than I meant again, Don't you under- stand? I was hurt, and disappointed, and I spoke i without thinking, but you must not hold that against me forever! And after I have come clear down here to avoid me to always go out with Lucy and leave me alone to force me to arrange a meet- ing-" She stopped, and Hardy shifted uneasily in his seat. In his heart of hearts he had realized from the first his inequality in this losing battle. He was: like a man who goes into a contest conquered already by his ineptitude at arms and Kitty would have her way! Never but once had he defied her powerv and that had been more a flight than a victory. There was fighting blood in his veins, but it turned to water before her. He despised himself for it; but all the while, in a shifting, browbeaten way, he was seeking" for an excuse to capitulate. "But, Kitty," he pleaded, "be reasonable. I have my duties down here the sheep are trying to come in on us I have to patrol the river. This morn- ing before you were awake I was in the saddle, ancF. [267] HIDDEN WATER now I have just returned. To-morrow I shall be off again, so how can I arrange a meeting?" He held out his hands to her appealingly, carried A way by the force of his own logic. "You might at least invite me to go with you," she said. "Unless you expect me to spend all my time getting lost with Judge Ware," she added, with a plaintive break in her voice. "Why, yes yes," began Hardy haltingly. "I I have asked Lucy to go with me to-morrow, but" "Oh, thank you thank you!" burst out Kitty mockingly. "But what?" "Why, I thought you might like to come along too," suggested Hardy awkwardly. "What? And rob her of all'her pleasure?" Kitty smiled bitterly as she turned upon him. "Why, Uufus Hardy," she exclaimed, indignantly, "and she just dotes on every word you say! Yes, she does any one can see that she simply adores you. I de- clare, Rufus, your lack of perception would make an ^ngel weep especially if it was a lady angel. But you may as well understand once and for all that I will never deprive dear, patient, long-suffering Lucy of anything she sets her heart on. No, I will not go with you the next day. If you have n't consideration enough to invite me first, I have sense [268] FOREBODINGS enough to stay away. It was only yesterday that you took Lucy up to Hidden Water, and to-day I find you with her again; and to-morrow well, I perceive that I must amuse myself down here. But oh, look, look ! There 's a cowboy up on that high cliff!" She started up, pointing at a horseman who was spurring furiously along the side of the canon after a runaway steer. "Oh, look!" she cried again, as Hardy surveyed him indifferently. "He is whirling his lasso. Oh! He has thrown it over that big cow's horns! Goodness me, where is my horse? No, I am going on foot, then! Oh, Lucy Lucy dear," she screamed, wav- ing her hand wildly, "do let me have Pinto, just for a moment! All right and Lucy wasn't that Mr. Creede?" She lingered on the ground long enough to give her an ecstatic kiss and then swung up into the saddle. "Yes, I knew it and is n't he just perfectly grand on that big horse? Oh, I've been wanting to see this all my life and I owe it all to you!" With a smile and a gay salutation, she leaned forward and galloped out into the riot and confusion of the rodeo, skirting the edge of the bellowing herd until she disappeared in the dust. And somehow, even by the childlike obliviousness with which she [269] HIDDEN WATER scampered away, she managed to convey a pang to her errant lover which clutched at his heart for days. And what days those were for Jefferson Creedel Deep and devious as was his knowledge of men in the rough, the ways of a woman in love were as cryptic to him as the poems of Browning. The first day that Miss Kitty rode forth to be a cowboy it was the rodeo boss, indulgent, but aware of the tenderfoot's ability to make trouble, who soberly assigned his fair disciple to guard a pass over which no cow could possibly come. And Kitty, sensing the deceit, had as soberly amused herself by gathering flowers among the rocks. But the next day, having learned her first lesson, she struck for a job to ride, and it was the giddy-headed lover who permitted her to accom- pany him although not from any obvious or selfish motives. Miss Bonnair was the guest of the ranch, her life and welfare being placed for the time in the keeping of the boss. What kind of a foreman would it be who would turn her over to a hireling or intrust her innocent mind to a depraved individual like Bill Lightfoot? And all the decent cowmen were scared of her, so who was naturally indicated and elected but JeffersonD. Creede? There wasn't any branding at the round corral that night. The gather was a fizzle, for some reason, [270] FOREBODINGS though Miss Kitty rode Pinto to a finish and killed a rattlesnake with Creede's own gun. Well, they never did catch many cattle the first few days, after they had picked up the tame bunch that hung around the water, and the dry weather seemed to have driven the cows in from The Rolls. But when they came in the second afternoon, with only a half of their gather, Creede rode out from the hold-up herd to meet them, looking pretty black. It is the duty of a rodeo boss to know what is going on, if he has to ride a horse to death to find out ; and the next day, after sending every man down his ridge, Jeff left Kitty Bonnair talking lion hunt with old Bill Johnson who had ridden clear over from Hell's Hip Pocket to gaze upon this horse- riding Diana, and disappeared. As a result, Bat Wings was lathered to a fine dirt-color and there was one man in particular that the boss wanted to see. "Jim," he said, riding up to where one of the Clark boys was sullenly lashing the drag with his reata, "what in the hell do you mean by lettin' all them cattle get away? Yes, you did too. I saw you tryin* to turn 'em back, so don't try to hand me anything like that. I used to think you was a good puncher, Jim, but a man that can't keep a herd of cows from goin' through a box pass ought to be smokin' cigar- HIDDEN WATER ettes on the day herd. You bet ye ! All you had to do was be there and that 's jest exactly where you was n't ! I was up on top of that rocky butte, and I know. You was half a mile up the canon mousin' around in them cliffs, that 's where you was, and the only question I want to ask is, Did you find the Lost Dutchman? No? Then what in hell was you doin'?" The rodeo boss crowded his horse in close and thrust his face forward until he could look him squarely in the eye, and Clark jerked' back his head resentfully. "What is it to you?" he demanded belligerently. "Oh, nawthin'," returned the boss lightly, "jest wanted to know." "Uhr!" grunted the cowboy contemptuously. "Well, I was killin' snakes, then! What ye goin' to do about it?" "Snakes!" cried Creede incredulously. "Killin' snakes! Since when did you call a feud on them?" "Since thet young lady come," replied Clark, glancing around to see if any one had the nerve to laugh. "I heerd her say she was collect in' rattles; an' I thought, while I was waitin', I might as well rustle up a few. Oh, you don't need to look pop-eyed they 's others!" He rolled his eyes significantly at the group of [272] FOREBODINGS assembled cowboys, and Creede took it all in at a flash. There were others he himself had a set of rattles in his shap pocket that were not two hours from the stump. The situation called for diplomacy. "Well," he drawled, scratching his bushy head to cover his confusion, "this reflects great credit on your bringin' up, Jim, and I 'm sure Miss Bonnair will appreciate what you 've done for her, especially as I happened to notice a couple o' head of your own cows in that bunch, but it 's a mighty expensive way to collect snake-tails. We ain't gittin' the cattle, boys; that 's the size of it, and they 're as much yours as they are mine. Now I suggest that we run these few we 've got down to the corral and brand 'em quick and then the whole shootin'-match goes over to the big white cliff and rounds up every rattlesnake in the rock pile ! Is it a go ?" "Sure!" yelled the bunch impetuously, and as they charged down upon the herd Creede quietly fished out his snake-tail and dropped it in the dirt. If he lacked a virtue he could feign it, anyhow but there was no doubt about it, Miss Kitty was put- ting his rodeo on the bum. There had never been so many men to feed and so few calves to brand in the history of Hidden Water. Even old Bill Johnson had got the fever from hearing the boys talk and was hang- ing around the fire. But then, what were a few head !8 [273] HIDDEN WATER of cows compared to well, what was it, anyway? The only man who could stay away was Ruf e, and he was in good company. Yet Creede was not satisfied with this explana- tion. Miss Kitty was always asking questions about Ruf e they had known each other well in Berkeley and at the same time the little partner with whom he had been so friendly never came around any more. He was always very polite, and she called him by his first name and then one of them rode up the river and the other followed the round-up. The night after the big snake-killing Jefferson Creede picked up his blankets and moved quietly back to the ramada with Hardy. "Them locoed punchers have been skinnin' rattlers and stretchin' their hides," he said, "until the camp stinks like a buzzard roost. I 'm due to have some bad dreams to-night anyhow, on the strength of this snake-killin', but it 'd give me the jumpin' jimjams if I had to sleep next to them remains. Did n't git back in time to join in, did ye? Well, no great loss. I always did intend to clean out that snake hole over 'n the cliff, and the boys was stoppin' every time they heard one sing, anyhow, in order to git the rattles for Miss Bonnair, so I thought we might as well git it off our minds before somethin' worse turned up. See any sheep tracks?" [274] FOREBODINGS He kicked off his boots, poked his six-shooter under his pillow, and settled down comfortably for the night. "Nary one, eh?" he repeated musingly. "Well, when you see one you '11 see a million that 's been my experience. But say, Rufe, why don't you come and ride with the boys once in a while? The rodeo has been goin 5 rotten this year we ain't gittin' half of 'em and you 'd come in mighty handy. Besides, I Ve been braggin' you up to Miss Bon- nair." He dropped this last as a bait, but Hardy did not respond. "I told her you was the best bronco-buster in the Four Peaks country," continued Creede deliberately, "and that you could drift Chapuli over the rocks like a sand lizard; but I 'm too heavy for anything like that now, and Bill Lightfoot has been puttin' up the fancy work, so far. You know how I like Bill." Once more he waited for an answer, but Hardy was wrestling with those elementary passions which have been making trouble since Helen of Troy left home, and he received the remark in silence. "I '11 tell you, Rufe," said Creede, lowering his voice confidentially. "Of course I see how it is with you and Miss Ware, and I 'm glad of it; but things [275] HIDDEN WATER ain't goin' so lovely for me. It ain't my fault if Miss Bonnair happens to like my company, but Bill and some of the other boys have got their backs up over it, and they Ve practically gone on a strike. Leastwise we ain't gittin' the cattle, and God knows the range won't more 'n carry what 's left. I Ve got to git out and do some ridin', and at the same time I want to do the right thing by Miss Bonnair, so if you could jest kindly come along with us to-morrow I '11 be much obliged." The elemental passions man-love, jealousy, the lust for possession are ugly things at best, even when locked in the bosom of a poet. In their simplest terms they make for treachery and stealth; but when complicated with the higher call of friendship and duty they gall a man like the chains of Prometheus and send the dragon-clawed eagles of Jove to tear at his vitals. Never until this naive confession had Hardy suspected the sanity of his friend nor the con- stancy of Kitty Bonnair. That she was capable of such an adventure he had never dreamed and yet and yet where was there a more masterful man than Jeff? Anything can happen in love; and who was there more capable of winning a romantic woman's regard than good-natured, impulsive, domi- neering Jeff ? The thoughts flashed through his brain with the [276] FOREBODINGS rapidity of lightning, and only his instinct of reserve protected him from his blundering tongue. "I I was " he began, and stopped short, The idea of loyalty had ruled his mind so long that it had become a habit, ill suited to the cause of & jealous lover; and Jeff had confided to him as a child might run to its mother. Should a man take advantage of his friend's innocence to deprive him of that for which they both strove? Hardy fought the devil away and spoke again, quietly. "I was going up the river to-morrow, Jeff," he said. "Seemed to me I saw a kind of smoke, or dust, over south of Hell's Hip Pocket this afternoon - and we can't take any chances now. That would take all day, you know." He lay still after that, his brain whirling with con- tending emotions. Each evening as he listened to the music of her laughter he had resolved to quit his lonely watch and snatch from life the pleasure of a single day with Kitty, such days as they used to have when he was her unacknowledged lover and all the world was young. Then he could always please her. He could bend to her moods like a willow, braving the storms of her displeasure, which only drew them closer in the end, secure in the hope of her ultimate yielding. But now the two barren? years lay between; years which had stiffened his jaw [277] HIDDEN WATER and left him rough in his ways; years which had wrought some change in her, he knew not what. A single day might solve the crux nay, it might bring the great happiness of which he dreamed. But each morning as he woke with the dawn he saw that mighty army without banners, the sheep, marching upon their stronghold, the broad mesa which fed the last of Jeff's cows, and Judge Ware's, and Lucy's - and sprang from his blankets. And when the sun rose and Kitty came forth he was far away. But now He was awakened from his dreams by the voice of Creede, low, vibrant, full of brotherly love. "Rufe," he was saying, "Miss Bonnair has told me a lot about you a lot I did n't know. She likes you, Loy, and she 's a good woman. I never knowed but one like her, and that was Sallie Winship. You must n't let anything that 's happened stand between you. Of course she never said anything never said a word but I'm wise that way; I can tell by their voice, and all that. You want to let them Sam' sheep go for a day or two and git this thing patched up." He paused, and Hardy's mind whirled backward, upsetting his fears, unmaking his conclusions. It was Jeff the friend who spoke, Jeff the peacemaker, who had stampeded him by the equivocation of his [278] FOREBODINGS words. But now the voice broke in again, apolo- getic, solicitous, self-seeking. "Besides, that son-of-a-gun, Bill Lightfoot, has been tryin' to cut me out." God! There it hit him hard. Kitty, the immacu- late, the exquisite, the friend of poets and artists, the woman he had loved and cherished in his dreams striven for by Jeff and Bill, revelling in the homage of Mexicans and hard-drinking round-up hands, whose natural language was astench with unclean- liness. It was like beholding a dainty flower in the grime and brutality of the branding pen. "I 'm sorry, Jeff," he said, in a far-away voice. "I I 'd do anything I could for you but I 'm afraid of those sheep." He dragged miserably through the remnant of their conversation and then lay staring at the stars while his hulk of a partner, this great bear who in his awkward good nature had trampled upon holy ground, slept peacefully by his side. The Pleiades fled away before Orion, the Scorpion rose up in the south and sank again, the Morning Star blinked and blazed like a distant fire, such as shepherds kindle upon the ridges, and still Hardy lay in his blankets, fighting with himself. The great blackness which precedes the first glow of dawn found him haggard and weary of the struggle. He rose and [279] HIDDEN WATER threw wood on the coals of last night's fire, cooked and ate in silence, and rode away. There was a great burden upon his soul, a great fire and anger in his heart, and he questioned the verities of life. He rode up the river gloomily, searching the southern wilderness with frowning, bloodshot eyes, and once more, far to the east where the jagged cliffs of the Superstitions sweep down to the gorge of the Sala- gua and Hell's Hip Pocket bars the river's sweep, he saw that vague, impalpable haze a smoke, a dust, a veil of the lightest skein, stirred idly by some wandering wind, perhaps, or marking the trail of sheep. And as he looked upon it his melancholy gaze changed to a staring, hawklike intentness; he leaned forward in the saddle and Chapuli stepped eagerly down the slope, head up, as if he sniffed the battle. [280] CHAPTER XV THE CATASTROPHE A DEMON of unrest, twin devil to that which had so clutched and torn at the sensitive spirit of Rufus Hardy, seemed to rise up with the dawn of that ill-omened day and seize upon the camp at Hidden Water. It was like a touch of the north wind, which rumples the cat's back, sets the horses to fighting in the corrals, and makes men mean and generally contrary. Bill Johnson's hounds were the first to feel the madness. They left before sun-up, heading for the wooded heights of the Juate, and led him a weary chase. At the last moment Creede abandoned the unprofitable working of The Rolls and ordered the rodeo up onto Bronco Mesa; and Kitty Bonnair, taking advantage of his preoccupa- tion, quietly gave him the slip at the end of their long eastern detour, and turned her pinto's head toward the river. As for Kitty, her will was the wind's will, which changes with the times and seasons but is accountable to no universal law. Never in her life had she met a man who could quarrel like Rufus Hardy. Be- [281] HIDDEN WATER neath her eye he was as clay in the hands of the potter; every glance spoke love, and for her alone. And yet it was something more than a smouldering resentment which made him avoid her, riding out before the dawn; more than the tremulous bashfulness which had stayed his hand when at times he might have taken hers. There was something deep, hidden, mysterious, lurking in those fawnlike eyes, and it made him insurgent against her will. It was a secret, hidden from all the world, which he must yield to her. And then she would forgive him for all the unhappiness he had caused her and teach him what a thing it is for a woman to love and be misunderstood. But first first she must see him alone; she must burst upon him suddenly, taking his heart by storm as she had on that first day, and leave the rest to fate. So she lingered to gather some flowers which nodded among the rocks, the shy and dainty forget-me-nots which they had picked together at home; and when Creede was over the first ridge she struck out boldly up a side canon, tucking the miniature bouquet into the shadows of her hair. The southern flank of Bronco Mesa breaks off sharply above the Salagua, rising slowly by slopes and terraced benches to the heights, and giving way before the river in a succession of broken ridges. [282] THE CATASTROPHE Along these summits run winding trails, led higH to escape the rougher ground. Urged on by the slashings of her quirt, Pinto galloped recklessly through this maze of cow paths until as if by magic the great valley lay before them. There in its deep canon was the river and the river trail and a man, mounted upon a sorrel horse, savagely intent upon his way. For a minute Kitty studied him curiously as he hustled along, favoring his horse up the hills but swinging to the stirrup as he dodged bushes across the flats; then she flung out her hand impul- sively, and called his name. In a flash he was up in his saddle, looking. Chapuli tossed his head and in the act caught a glimpse of the other horse then they both stood rigid, gazing in astonishment at the living statue against the sky. At sight of that witch* ing figure, beckoning him from the mountain top, Hardy's heart leaped within him and stopped. Once more the little hand was thrown out against the sky and a merry voice floated down to him from the sun- touched heights. "Hello, Rufus!" it called teasingly, and still he sat gazing up at her. All the untamed passions of his being surged up and choked his voice he could not answer. His head turned and he gazed furtively over his shoulder to the east, where his duty lay,. Then of his own accord Chapuli stepped from the [283] HIDDEN WATER Irail and began to picK his way soberly up the IFrom the high summit of the butte all the world lay ^spread out like a panorama, the slopes and canons t.of Bronco Mesa, picketed with giant sdhuaros; the /silvery .course of the river flowing below; the unpeo- pled peaks and cliffs of the Superstitions ; and a faint haze-like zephyr, floating upon the eastern horizon. And there at last the eyes of Rufus Hardy and Etty Bonnair met, questioning each other, and the w>rH below them took on a soft, dreamy veil of Beauty. ""Why, how did you come here?" he asked, look- ing down upon her wonderingly. "Were you lost?" And Kitty smiled wistfully as she answered: "Yes till I found you." "Oh!" said Hardy, and he studied Her face warily, as if doubtful of her intent. "But how could you be lost," he asked again, "and travel so far? This is a rough country, and you ,got here before I did." He swung down from his horse and stood beside ier, but Kitty only laughed mischievously and shook iier head at which, by some lover's magic, the dainty forget-me-nots fell from her hair in a shower f snowy blossoms. [284] THE CATASTROPHE "I was lost," she reiterated, smiling into his eyes, and in her gaze Hardy could read "without you." For a moment the stern sorrow of the night with- held him. His eyes narrowed, and he opened his lips to speak. Then, bowing his head, he knelt and gathered up the flowers. "Yes," he said gently, "I understand. I I have been lost, too." They smiled and sat down together in the shadow of a great rock, gazing out over the peaks and pin- nacles of the mountains which wall in Hidden Water and talking placidly of the old days- until at last, when the spell of the past was on him, Kitty fell silent, waiting for him to speak his heart. But instantly the spell of her laughter was broken an uneasy thought came upon Hardy, and he glanced up at the soaring sun. "Jeff will be worried about you," he said at last. "He will think you are lost and give up the rodeo to hunt for you. We must not stay here so long." He turned his head instinctively as he spoke, and Kitty knew he was thinking of the sheep. "Cattle and sheep cattle and sheep," she re- peated slowly. "Is there nothing else that counts, Rufus, in all this broad land? Must friendship, love, companionship, all go down before cattle and [285] HIDDEN WATER sheep? I never knew before what a poor creature a woman was until I came to Arizona." She glanced at him from beneath her drooping lashes, and saw his jaws set tense. "And yet only yesterday," he said, with a sombre smile, "you had twenty men risking their lives to give you some snake-tails for playthings." "But my old friend Rufus was not among them," rejoined Kitty quietly; and once more she watched the venom working in his blood. "No," he replied, "he refuses to compete with Bill Lightfoot at any price." "Oh, Rufus," cried Kitty, turning upon him angrily, "aren't you ashamed? I want you to stop being jealous of all my friends. It is the meanest and most contemptible thing a man can do. I I won't stand it !" He glanced at her again with the same set look of disapproval still upon his face. "Kitty," he said, "if you knew what lives some of those men lead the thoughts they think, the lan- guage they speak you you would not - He stopped, for the sudden tears were in her eyes. Kitty was crying. "Oh, Rufus," she sobbed, "if if you only knew! Who else could I go with how how else Oh, I cannot bear to be scolded and I only did it to [286] No! " said Kitty, "you do not love me" THE CATASTROPHE make you jealous!" She bowed her head against her knees and Hardy gazed at her in awe, shame and compassion sweeping over him as he realized what she had done. "Kitty dear," he stammered, striving to unlock the twisted fingers, "I--I didn't understand. Look, here are your flowers and I love you, Kitty, if I am a brute." He took one hand and held it, stroking the little fingers which he had so often longed to caress. But with a sudden wilfulness she turned her face away. "Don't you love me, Kitty?" he pleaded. "Couldn't you, if I should try to be good and kind? I I don't understand women I know I have hurt you but I loved you all the time. Can't you forgive me, Kitty?" But Kitty only shook her head. "The man I love must be my master," she said, in a far-away voice, not looking at him. "He must value me above all the world." "But, Kitty," protested Hardy, "I do " "No," said Kitty, "you do not love me." There was a lash to the words that cut him a scorn half -spoken, half-expressed by the slant of her eye. As he hesitated he felt the hot blood burn at his brow. "Rufus," she cried, turning upon him quickly, fe do [2371 HIDDEN WATER you love me? Then take me in your arms and kiss me!" She spoke the words fiercely, almost as a command, and Hardy started back as if he had been shot. "Take me in your arms and kiss me!" sHe re- peated evenly, a flash of scorn in her eyes. But the man who had said he loved her faltered and looked away. "Kitty," he said gently, "you know I love you. But " "But what?" she demanded sharply. "I I have never " "Well," said Kitty briefly, "it's all over you don't have to! I just wanted to show you " She paused, and her lip curled as she gazed at him from a distance. "Look at my horse," she exclaimed sud- denly, pointing to where Pinto was pawing and jerk- ing at his bridle rein. When Hardy leapt up to free his foot she frowned again, for that is not the way of lovers. He came back slowly, leading the horse, his face very pale, his eyes set. "You were right," he said. "Shall we go ?" There was no apology in his voice, no appeal. It had grown suddenly firm and resonant, and he fixed her with his great honest eyes steadfastly. Some- thing in the man seemed to rise up suddenly and [288] THE CATASTROPHE rebuke her nay, to declare her unworthy of him. The thought of those two years two years without a word came upon Kitty and left her sober, filled with misgivings for the future. She cast about for some excuse, some reason for delay, and still those masterful eyes were fixed upon her sad, wistful, yet steadfast ; and like a child she obeyed them. It was a long ride to camp, long for both of them. When he had turned her horse into the corral Hardy wheeled and rode off up the canon, where the hold-up herd was bellowing and there was a man's work to do. There was wild riding that day, such as Judge Ware and Lucy had never seen before, and more than one outlaw, loping for the hills, was roped and thrown, and then lashed back to his place in the herd. The sensitive spirit of Chapuli re- sponded like a twin being to the sudden madness of his master, and the lagging rodeo hands were galvanized into action by his impetuous ardor. And at the end, when the roping and branding were over, Hardy rode down to the pasture for a fresh mount, his eyes still burning with a feverish light and his lips close-drawn and silent. The outfit was huddled about the fire eating greedily after the long day, when Creede, furtively watching his partner, saw his eyes fixed curiously upon some object in the outer darkness. He fol- 19 [289] HIDDEN WATER lowed the glance and beheld a hound gaunt, lame, beseeching limping about among the mesquite trees which lined the edge of the flat. "There 's one of Bill's dogs," he remarked sociably, speaking to the crowd in general. "Must Ve got sore-footed and come back. Here, Rock! Here, Rye! Here, Ring!" he called, trying the most likely names. "Here, puppy come on, boy!" And he scraped a plate in that inviting way which is sup- posed to suggest feed to a dog. But Hardy rose up quietly from his place and went out to the dog. A moment later he called to Jeff and, after a hurried conference, the two of them brought the wanderer up to the fire. "Hey!" called Bill Lightfoot, "that ain't one of Bill's pack that 's old Turco, his home dog." "Don't you think I know Bill's dogs yet?" in- quired Creede scathingly. "Now if you '11 jest kindly keep your face shet a minute, I '11 see what 's the matter with this leg." He clamped Turco between his knees and picked up his fore leg, while the old dog whined and licked his hands anxiously. There was a stain of blood from the shoulder down, and above it, cut neatly through the muscles, a gaping wound. "That was a thirty-thirty," said Creede grimly, and every man looked up. Thirty-thirty was a sin- [290] THE CATASTROPHE ister number on the range it was the calibre of a sheep-herder's carbine. "Aw, go on," scoffed Bill Lightfoot, rushing over to examine the wound. "Who could have shot him away over in Hell's Hip Pocket?" "Um that 's it," observed Creede significantly. "What you goin' to do, Rufe?" "I 'm going over there," answered Hardy, throw- ing the saddle on his horse. He looked over his shoulder as he heaved on the cinch. "That 's where that dust was," he said, and as the outfit stood gaping he swung up and was off into the darkness. "Hey, take my gun!" yelled Jeff, but the clatter of hoofs never faltered he was going it blind and unarmed. Late that night another horseman on a flea-bitten gray dashed madly after him over the Pocket trail. It was Old Bill Johnson, crazed with apprehension; and behind him straggled his hounds, worn from their long chase after the lion, but fol- lowing dutifully on their master's scent. The rest of the outfit rode over in the morning the punch- ers with their pistols thrust into the legs of their shaps; Creede black and staring with anger; the judge asking a thousand unanswered questions and protesting against any resort to violence; the women tagging along helplessly, simply because they could not be left alone. And there, pouring forth from [291] HIDDEN WATER the mouth of Hell's Hip Pocket, came the sheep, a solid phalanx, urged on by plunging herders and spreading out over the broad mesa like an invading army. Upon the peaks and ridges round about stood groups of men, like skirmishers?. camp rustlers with their packs and burros; herders, whose sheep had already passed through every man with his gun in his hand. The solid earth of the trail was worn down and stamped to dust beneath the myriad feet, rising in a cloud above them as they scrambled through the pass; and above all other sounds there rose the high, sustained tremolo of the sheep: "Blay-ay-ay-ay! Blay-ay-ay-ay! Blay-ay-ay-ay!" To the ears of the herders it was music, like the thunder of stamps to a miner or the rumble of a waterfall to a lonely fisher; the old, unlistened music of their calling, above which the clamor of the world must fight its way. But to the cowmen it was like all hell broken loose, a confusion, a madness, a babel which roused every passion in their being and filled them with a lust to kill. Without looking to the right or to the left, Jeffer- son Creede fixed his eyes upon one man in that riot of workers and rode for him as a corral hand marks down a steer. It was Jasper Swope, hustling the last of a herd through the narrow defile, and as his Chihuahuanos caught sight of the burly figure bear- [292] THE CATASTROPHE ing down upon the padron they abandoned their work to help him. From the hill above, Jim Swope, his face set like iron for the conflict, rode in to back up his brother; and from far down the canon Rufus Hardy came spurring like the wind to take his place by Creede. In the elemental clangor of the sheep they faced each other, Creede towering on his horse, his face furious with rage; Swope gray with the dust of his driving but undaunted by the assault. "Stop where you are!" shouted Swope, holding out a warning hand as the cowman showed no sign of halting. But Creede came straight on, never flinching, until he had almost ridden him down. "You low-lived, sheep-eatin' hound," he hissed, piling in the wickedest of his range epithets, "you and me have had it comin' fer quite a while, and now I Ve got you. I Ve never yet seen a sheepman that would fight in the open, but you Ve got to or take that!" He leaned over suddenly and slapped him with his open hand, laughing recklessly at the Mex- icans as they brandished their guns and shouted. "Quite se, cdbrones" he jeered, sorting out the worst of his fighting Spanish for their benefit, "you are all gutter pups you are afraid to shoot!" "Here," rasped out Jim Swope, spurring his horse in between them, "what are you fellers tryin' to do? [293] HIDDEN SVATER Git out of here, umbre go on now! Never mind, Jasp, I '11 do the talkin'. You go on away, will ye! Now what 's the matter with you, Mr. Creede, and what can I do for you?" Jasper Swope had whirled back from the blow as a rattler throws his coils. His gray eyes gleamed and he showed all his broken teeth as he spat back hate and defiance at Creede; but Jim was his elder brother and had bested him more than once since the days of their boyish quarrels. Slowly and grudgingly he made way, backing sullenly off with his Mexicans; and Jim stood alone, opposing his cold resolution to the white-hot wrath of Creede. "You can turn back them sheep and git off my range!" yelled Creede. "Turn 'em back, I say, or I '11 leave my mark on some of you!" "How can I turn 'em back?" argued Swope, throw- ing out his hands. "They 's ninety thousand more behind me, and all headin' through this pass." "You know very well that this is a put-up job," retorted Creede hotly. "You sheepmen have been crawlin' around on your bellies for a month to get a chanst to sheep us out, and now you say you can't help yourself! You're the crookedest, lyingest sheep-puller in the bunch, Jim Swope. You 'd rob a graveyard and show up for prayers the next jnornin'. I can lick you, you big Mormon-faced THE CATASTROPHE stiff, with one hand tied behind me, and what 's more " "Here now here no-ow " protested Swope, holding out his hand for peace, "they ain't no call for no such talk. Mebbe you can lick me, and mebbe you can't, but it won't do you any good to tr^. My sheep is here, and here they '11 stay, until I git good and ready to move 'em. This is a free range and a free country, and the man ain't born that can make me stop." He paused, and fixed his keen eyes upon Creede, searching him to the heart; and before that cold, re- morseless gaze the fighting frenzy in his brain died away. Meanwhile Hardy had come up from where he had been turning back sheep, and as he rode in Jeff instinctively made way for him. "No," replied Hardy, fastening his stern eyes upon the iron visage of the sheepman, "not if the lives of a thousand cattle and the last possessions of a dozen men lay in your way. You and your legal rights! It is men like you who make the law worse than nothing and turn honest cowmen into criminals. If there is anything in it you will lie to the assessor or rob a poor man's cabin with the best of them, but when it comes to your legal right to sheep us out you are all for law and order. Sure, you will uphold the statutes with your life 1 Look at those renegade [295] HIDDEN WATEK Mexicans, every man armed by you with a rifle and a revolver! Is that the way to come onto another man's range? If you are going to sheep us out, you can try it on; but for God's sake cut it out about your sacred rights !" He rose up in his saddle, haranguing the assembly as he spoke, and once more Jim Swope felt his cause being weakened by the attacks of this vehement little cowman. "Well, what kin I do about it?" he cried, throwing out his hands in virtuous appeal. "My sheep has got to eat, hain't they?" "Sure," assented Hardy, "and so have our cattle. But I tell you what you can do you can go out through that pass yonder!" He pointed at the canon down which the sheep had come in the Fall, the great middle fork which led up over the Four Peaks; but the sheepman's only reply was a snarl of refusal. "Not if I know myself," he muttered spitefully. "How 'd do, Judge !" He fixed his eyes eagerly upon Judge Ware, who was hastening to join in the struggle. "You 're just the man I want to see," he continued, advancing briskly to meet him, "and I want to ask you, here and now before these witnesses, Do you claim any right to the exclusive use of this land?" [296] THE CATASTROPHE "Why, certainly not, certainly not," answered the judge warmly, "but at the same time I do claim an equity which rises from prior and undisputed pos- session, and which has always and ought now to pro- tect my range from any outside invasion." "Very likely, very likely," remarked Swope dryly. "And now, Judge, I want to ask you another ques- tion before these witnesses. Did you or did you not authorize your superintendent and foreman to threaten and intimidate my men and me, with the idea of driving us off this public land?" "I did not," replied the judge, his mind suddenly filled with visions of criminal proceedings. "On the contrary, I have repeatedly warned them against any such action." "At the same time," echoed Swope, quick: to follow up his advantage, "these men, who are your agents and employees, have systematically moved my herd- ers off this range by armed violence, and your fore- man has just now struck my brother, besides threatening to kill some of us if we don't turn back. I want to tell you right now, Mr. Ware, that I have consulted the best lawyers in this Territory as to my rights on public lands, and you will be held per- sonally responsible for any acts of violence on the part of your employees. Now I want to ask you one more question: Do you deny my right to pass [297] HIDDEN WATER through this range on my way to the Sierra Blancas? You don't ? Well then, call off these men!" He paused and jerked his thumb toward Creede and Hardy, grinning evilly, and as he spoke Creede crowded forward, his brow black as a thunder cloud. "I don't take orders from nobody," he cried vehe- mently, "not now, and never will. I Ve got a few hundred head of cows on this range myself and I intend to protect 'em if I have to kill somebody. You '11 have to git another foreman, Judge, I 've quit." He shot a glance of pitying contempt at the man who had so stupidly marred their fortunes, then he turned and fixed his burning eyes upon his arch- enemy. "Jim," he said, speaking quietly at last, "my father had ten thousand head of cattle on this range before you sheepmen came and that 's all I 've got left. If you think you can sheep me out, go to it !" He turned his horse's head toward Hidden Water, never looking back at the sheep; and the cowmen fell in behind him, glad of an excuse to retreat. What were a bunch of cowboys, armed with six- shooters, to half a hundred sheepmen armed with repeating rifles and automatic revolvers? No, it was better to let the sheep come, let them spread out and scatter, and then jump the herders at night, if it came [298] THE CATASTROPHE to that. But what, reasoned the cautious ones, were a few hundred head of cows anyhow, in a losing fight against the law itself? What was a petty revenge upon some low-browed Mexican to the years of im- prisonment in Yuma which might follow? There were some among that little band of cowmen who yelled for action, others who were disgusted enough to quit, and others yet who said nothing, riding by themselves or exchanging furtive glances with Creede. The Clark boys, Ben Reavis, and Juan Ortega these were the men whom the rodeo boss knew he could trust, and none of them spoke a word* Worn and haggard from his night's riding, Rufus Hardy rode along with Judge Ware and the ladies,, explaining the situation to them. The sheep had come in from the far east, crossing where sheep had never crossed before, at the junction of Hell's Hip Pocket Creek and the drought-shrunk Salagua. They had poured into the Pocket in solid columns, sheeping it to the rocks, and had taken the pass before either he or Bill Johnson could get to it. All through 'the night the sheepmen had been crowding their flocks through the defile until there were already twenty or thirty thousand on Bronco Mesa, with fifty thousand to follow. Bill Johnson had shot his way through the jam and disappeared into the Pocket, but he could do nothing now his little [299] HIDDEN WATER valley was ruined. There would not be a spear of grass left for his cattle, and his burros had already come out with the pack animals of the sheepmen. No one knew what had happened when he reached his home, but the Mexican herders seemed to be badly scared, and Johnson had probably tried to drive them out of the valley. All this Hardy explained in a perfectly matter-of- fact way, free from apprehension or excitement; he listened in respectful silence to Judge Ware's pro- tests against violence and threats of instant departure ; and even humored Kitty's curiosity by admitting that Mr. Johnson, who was apparently out of his head when he shot the sheep, had probably taken a shot or two at the herders, as well. But Lucy Ware was not deceived by his repose; she saw the cold light in his eyes, the careful avoidance of any allusion to his own actions, and the studied concealment of his future intent. But even then she was not prepared when, after supper, her father came into the ranch house and told her that Mr. Hardy had just resigned. "I can't imagine why he should leave me at this time," exclaimed the judge, mopping the sweat from his brow, and groaning with vexation, "but a man who will desert his own father in the way he has done is capable of anything, I suppose. Just be- cause he doesn't approve of my policies in regard [300] THE CATASTROPHE to these sheep he coolly says he won't embarrass me further by staying in my employ! I declare, Lucy, I 'm afraid I 'm going to lose everything I have down here if both he and Creede desert me. Don't you think you could persuade Rufus to stay? Go out and see him and tell him I will consent to any- thing except this unlawful harrying of the sheep." The old judge, still perspiring with excitement, sank wearily down into a chair and Lucy came over and sat upon his knee. "Father," she said, "do you remember that you once told me you would give me this ranch if I wanted it? Well, I want it now, and perhaps if you give it to me Rufus will consent to stay." "But, daughter " protested the judge, and then he sat quiet, pondering upon the matter. "Perhaps you are right," he said at last. "But tell me one thing there is nothing between you and Rufus, is there?" He turned her face so that he could look into her honest eyes, but Lucy twisted her head away, blushing. "No," she said faintly. "He he is in love with Kitty." "With Kitty!" cried Judge Ware, outraged at the idea. "Why, he but never mind, never mind, [301] HIDDEN WATER darling. I am glad at least that it is not with you. We must be going home soon now, anyway, and that will break off this er^ But I don't remember having seen them together much!" "No," said Lucy demurely, "he has been very dis- creet. But you haven't answered my question, father. Will you give me the ranch if I get Rufus to stay? Oh, you're a dear! Now you just leave everything in my hands and see what a good business woman I am!" She skipped lightly out the door and hurried over to where Hardy and Jefferson Creede were sitting under a tree, talking gravely together. They stopped as she approached and Hardy looked up a little sullenly from where he sat. Then he rose, and took off his hat. "May I have a few words with you on a matter of business, Rufus?" she asked, with her friendliest smile. "No, don't go, Mr. Creede; you are inter- ested in this, too. In fact," she added mysteriously, "I need your assistance." A slow smile crept into the rough cowboy's eyes as he sat watching her. "What can I do for you?" he inquired guard- edly. "Well," answered Lucy, "the situation is like this and I 'm not trying to rope you in on anything, [302] THE CATASTROPHE as you say, so you needn't look suspicious. My; father has become so discouraged with the way things are going that he has given the entire Dos S Ranch to me if I can manage it. Now I know 'that you both have quit because you don't approve of my father's orders about the sheep. I don't know what your plans are but I want to get a new superintend- ent, and that 's where I need your assistance, Mr. Creede." She paused long enough to bestow a confiding smile upon the rodeo boss, and then hurried on to ex- plain her position. "Of course you understand how it is with father. He has been a judge, and it would n't do for a man in his position to break the laws. But I want you two men to tell me before you go just what you think I ought to do to save my cattle, and you can say what- ever you please. Mr. Creede, if you were a woman and owned the Dos S outfit, what would you do about the sheep?" For a minute Creede sat silent, surveying the little lady from beneath his shaggy hair. "Well," he said judicially, "I think I 'd do one of two things: I 'd either marry some nice kind man whose judgment I could trust, and turn the job over to him," he glanced sideways at Hardy as he spoke, "or I 'd hire some real mean, plug-ugly [303] HIDDEN WATER feller to wade in and clean 'em out. Failin' in that, I think I 'd turn the whole outfit over to Ruf e here and go away and fergit about it." He added these last words with a frank directness which left no doubt as to his own convictions in the matter, and Lucy turned an inquiring eye upon Hardy. He was busily engaged in pounding a hole in the ground with a rock, and Lucy noted for the first time a trace of silver in his hair. The setting sun cast deep shadows in the set lines of his face and when he finally looked up his eyes were blood- shot and haggard. "There 's no use in talking to me about that job," he said morosely. "I 'y_e got tired of taking orders from a man that does n't know what he 's talking about, and I want to use my own judgment for a while. We won't let anything happen to your cattle, Miss Lucy, and I thank you very much, but I 'm afraid I can't do it." He stopped, and bowed his head, hammering moodily away at his hole in the rocky ground. "Excuse me a minute, Miss Ware," said Creede, rising to his feet as the silence became oppressive. "Come over here, Rufe, I want to talk with you." They stood with their heads together, Jeff tapping the little man on the chest with every word, and still there was the same dogged resistance. "Well, come [304] THE CATASTROPHE on and let 's find out," protested Creede at last, im- patiently dragging him back. "Miss Ware," he said politely, "what do you ex- pect of this here supe ? I might want that job myself, later on," he observed importantly. Lucy smiled at the bare-faced fraud and hastened to abet it. "I expect him to look: after my cattle," she re- sponded promptly, "and to protect my best interests according to his own judgment. The only thing I insist upon is that he leave his gun at home." "I 'm sorry," said Creede briefly. "And I needed the job, too," he added lugubriously. "How about your foreman?" he inquired, as if snatching at a straw. "Same thing, eh? Well, I '11 go you next month." He laughed, shrugged his shoulders, and crowded his big black sombrero down over his eyes until it gave him a comical air of despair. "Luck 's gone," he remarked, reaching parenthet- ically for a cigarette paper. "See you later." And, with a last roguish twinkle at Miss Lucy, he slouched off toward the fire. His luck indeed had gone, but somewhere in that giant carcass which harbored the vindictive hate of an Apache, and the restless energy of a Texano, there still lingered the exuberant joyousness of a boy, 20 [305] HIDDEN WATER the indomitable spirit of the pioneer, resigned to any fate so long as there is a laugh in it. As he drifted into the crowd Lucy's heart went out to him ; lie was so big and strong and manly in this, the final eclipse of his waning fortunes. "Mr. Creede is a noble kind of a man, isn't he?" she said, turning to where Hardy was still standing. "Won't you sit down, Rufus, and let 's talk this over for a minute. But before you decide anything, I want you to get a good night's sleep. You are a free man now, you know, and if there 's any worry- ing to be done it 's my funeral is n't it?" If he heard her at all Hardy made no response to the jest. He stood before her, swaying dizzily as he groped about for his hat, which had fallen from his hand. Then at last a faint smile broke through the drawn lines in his face. "That 's right," he said, sinking down at her side, and as he settled back against the tree his eyes closed instantly, like a child whose bedtime has come. "I 'm I 'm so dead tired I can't talk straight, Lucy to say nothing of think. But I '11 take care of you. We are n't sheeped out yet. Only only I can't I forget what I 'm going to say." His head fell forward as he spoke, his hands hung heavy, and he slipped slowly to the ground, fast asleep. [306] ,THE CATASTROPHE After two days and nights of turmoil and passion his troubles were ended, suddenly; and as she raised him up Lucy Ware bent down quickly under cover of the dusk and kissed his rumpled hair. CHAPTER XVI THE DEPARTURE fT^HE gentle hand of sleep, which held Hardy in a grip that was akin to death, blotting out the past and dispelling all remembrance of his sorrows, failed utterly to abate the fighting spirit of Jefferson Creede or sap the Spartan grimness of his purpose. Worn by the destroying anger of the previous day, thwarted and apparently defeated, he rose up at the first glow of dawn and set about his preparations with an unemotional directness which augured ill for Jasper Swope. Before the sun was an hour high he had the town herd on the trail for Bender, en- trusted to the care of Bill Lightfoot and several others of whom he wanted to be rid. The camp was dismantled, the packs were loaded upon the spare horses, and the outfit was ready to start for Carrizo Creek before breakfast was more than finished in the ranch house. After a final survey to make sure that nothing had been overlooked in the scuffle, the rodeo boss waved his hand to the leaders; then, as the train strung out up the canon, he rode over to [308] THE DEPARTURE the house to say good-bye. The last farewell is a formality often dispensed with in the Far West; but in this case the boss had business to attend to, and well, he had something to say to Kitty Bon- nair, too. Very quietly, in order not to awaken his partner whom he had picked up like a tired baby and stored away in the darkened bunk-room the evening before Creede opened the door of the living-room, greeted his lady-love with a cheerful grin, and beckoned Miss Lucy outside by a backward jerk of the head. "Sorry to disturb you, Miss Ware," he said, "but we 're movin' camp this mornin' and before I go I want to tell you about them cattle I 'm just sendin* to town. If I did n't have other business on hand I 'd go down with you gladly and sell 'em for you, but when you git to Bender you go to Chris Johan- sen, the cattle buyer, and give him this list. You won't savvy what it is but Chris will, and you tell him that if he don't give you the best market price for them cows he '11 have to lick me ! This is a dry year and feeders ain't much nohow, but I don't want to see no friend of mine robbed. Well, so-long, Miss Ware. Hope you have a good trip." He gripped her hand awkwardly, picked up his bridle lash, and thrust one boot thoughtfully into the stirrup. Then, as if suddenly cognizant of a [309] HIDDEN WATER neglected duty, he snapped his foot out and threw the lash back oh the ground. "I '11 say good-bye to the judge," he drawled, "so 's to show they ain't no hard feelin'. Your old man don't exactly fit in these parts," he observed apologetically, "but he means well, I reckon. You can tell 'im some time that I was kind of excited when I quit." His farewell was a sober and dignified affair, after the courtly school of the South no allusions to the past, no references to the future, merely a gentle- manly expression of regret that his guest's visit should have been so suddenly terminated. But when he turned to Miss Kitty his masterful eyes began to glow and waver and he shifted his feet uneasily. "Kin I speak with you a minute outside?" he said, at last; and Kitty, still eager to read the heart of Man, the Unfinished, followed after him, laughing as he stooped to pass his high hat through the door. "Come on out by the corral," he urged, confidently leading the way. When they were concealed by the corner of the fence he stopped and dropped his bridle rein. "Well, we Ve had a pretty good time together down here, hain't we?" he observed, twisting the fringe of his shaps and smiling at her from beneath his fore- lock. "I ain't got but a minute and there 's some [310] THE DEPARTURE rough work ahead, I reckon = but I jest wanted to tr well, I wanted to give you this." He dove down into his overalls' pocket and brought up a nugget, worn smooth by long milling around between his spare change and his jackknife. "That 's a chunk of gold I found over by Red Butte one time," he said, handing it over. "Thought you might want to keep it for me, you know. But say " He crowded his hands into his pockets and canted his head to one side, ogling her roguishly. Kitty had never observed just such conduct before, and she was curious. "Why what?" she inquired, tossing back her hair tantalizingly. "Don't I git nothin' to remember you by, little girl?" he demanded, his voice vibrant with passion. "We 've been pretty good friends, you know. In fact well, say, don't I git jest one kiss?" He drew her gently into his arms as he spoke, waited a fraction of a second for her to resist, and then kissed her, suddenly and with masterful vio- lence. "One more," he pleaded insistently. "No? All right then," he said, swinging gracefully up on his horse as she pushed him away. "I '11 always remem- ber that one, anyhow!" He leaned forward and Bat Wings shot away up [311] HIDDEN WATER the canon like a charger that sniffs the combat, thundering out across the parada grounds, swinging beneath the giant mesquite, and plunging down the bank that led to the creek. And all the time his rider sat with one hand on the eantle, his white teeth flashing back a wistful smile. Taken "by surprise Kitty Bonnair stood staring blankly after him, rubbing her cheek which burned hot where he had kissed her. She would always re- member that kiss too, and all too late she remem- bered to become indignant. But, no one being about, she laughed low to herself and hurried back to the house, her eyes downcast and pensive. She had known many men and lovers in her time, but never a one like Jeff Creede. There was a sound of hasty packing in the Dos S ranch house that morning, and the wagon drove noisily up to the door. Rafael carried out the steamer trunks and luggage, the snake-skins, the smoky opals, the Indian baskets, the braided quirts, and all the scattered plunder that the cowboys had given Kitty and that she could not bear to leave behind. He saddled up their horses, clattering recklessly into the bunk-house where Hardy was sleeping in order to get his blankets, and still, unmindful of noise or preparation, or the friends who must say good-bye, [312] THE DEPARTURE he lay sprawled on the rough blankets, dead with sleep. Rafael kicked off the brake and started on his weary journey around Red Butte to Moreno's, which would take him the rest of the day; Judge Ware, possessed to get out of the country before he became particeps criminis to some lawless outrage, paced restlessly up and down the ramada, waiting for the girls to get ready; and Kitty and Lucy, glancing guiltily at each other, fidgeted around in their rooms waiting for Rufus to wake up. "I 'm ready," said Lucy at last, putting the final touches to the room which he had given up to her. "Are you, Kitty?" Their eyes met in an uneasy stare, each wishing the other would speak. "Yes," said Kitty, "but shall we go without say- ing good-bye?" "What in the world are you girls waiting for?" demanded the judge, thrusting his head impatiently in at the door. "I declare, I begin to think there is something in these jokes about Adam waiting for Eve to get her hat on straight. Now please come at once or we won't get to Moreno's in time for sup- per." "But, father," protested Lucy, "Kitty and I do not [313] HIDDEN WATER wish to leave without saying good-bye to Rufus. Would you mind " "No, no!" exclaimed Judge Ware irritably, "if he chooses to sleep all day " "But, father!" burst out Lucy, almost tearfully, "he was so tired he fell asleep as soon as he sat down, and I never did get him to consent to be my superin- tendent ! Don't you see " "Well, write him a note then," directed the judge brusquely, "and leave it on his desk. Now, Lucy dear, really I 'm getting so nervous I 'm hardly ac- countable. Please hurry. And, Kitty, please hurry, too!" Like two souls haled from the world without a word of explanation or confession, Kitty and Lucy both sat down under duress to pen a last appeal to the little man who, despite his stern disregard, some- how held a place in their hearts. Kitty could have wept with vexation at the thought of not seeing him again and after she had brought her mind to for- give him, too ! She wrote blindly, she knew not what, whether it was accusation or entreaty, and sealed the envelope with a bang of her tiny fist and even then he did not awaken. Lucy wrote carefully, wrestling to turn the implacable one from his purpose and yet feeling that he would have his will. She sealed her note and put it upon his desk hesitatingly; then, as [314] THE DEPARTURE Kitty turned away, she dropped her handkerchief beside it. It was a time-worn strategy, such as only the innocent and guileless think of in their hour of adversity. When she ran back to recover it Lucjr drew a dainty book from her bosom Mrs. Brown- ing's "Sonnets from the Portuguese" and placed it across her note as if to save it from the wind, and between two leaves she slipped the forget-me-nots which he had given her at Hidden Water. As the thud of horses' hoofs died away silence set- tled down upon the Dos S ranch house, the sombre silence of the desert, unbroken by the murmur of women's voices or the echo of merry laughter, and the sleeping man stirred uneasily on his bed. An hour passed, and then from the ramada there came a sound of wailing. Hardy rose up on his bed sud- denly, startled. The memory of the past came to him vaguely, like fragments of an eerie dream; then the world came right and he found himself in the bunk-house, alone and Tommy outside, crying as if for the dead. Leaping up from his blankets Hardy opened the door and called him in hoarse, black, distorted, yet overflowing with love and affec- tion. Poor little Tommy! He took him in his arms to comfort him, and bedded him down on the pillow. But when he stepped outside he found that his world too was vacant the house deserted, the corrals [315] HIDDEN WATER empty, the rodeo camp a smouldering fireplace, sur- rounded by a wilderness of tin cans. As the slow grief of the forsaken came upon him he turned and went to his room, where the atmos- phere of womankind still lingered to suggest the dear hands that were gone, and suddenly his eyes leaped to the letters left upon the table. It was Kitty's which he opened first, perhaps because it was nearest; but the torrent of inconsequential words confused him by their unreason and he turned to Lucy's, reading it over thoughtfully. "DEAR RUFUS: "We have waited a long time for you to wake up, and now father says we must go. You were so tired last night that I doubt if you heard a word I said, although I thought I was making a great impression in my new role as a business woman. I asked father to give me the ranch, not because I wanted to own it but to save you from your madness. The cattle are all mine now and I leave them in your care. What- ever you do I will consent to, if you will leave your guns at home. Is that too much for a friend to ask? I know that Mr. Creede is your friend too, and I admire your devotion to his cause, but I think you can do just as much for him and more by not risking your life in a battle against the sheep. They are so many, Rufus, and they have their rights, too. Father is confident that the Forest Reserve will be declared next Winter and then the sheep will be debarred forever. Can't youj give over the fight for my sake? And I will pay you any price I will do anything you ask ; but if you should [316] ' THE DEPARTURE be killed or kill some other man, I could never be happy again, though I gained the whole world. Dear Rufus, please but I leave it for you to decide " The note ended abruptly, it was not even signed, and Hardy could imagine the agitation in which it was written. Dear little Lucy, always thinking of others, always considerate, always honest and reason- able. If only Kitty But no in her own right as Queen of Love and of his heart, she was above all criticism and blame. It was a madness, deeper than his anger against the sheep, mightier than his fiercest resentment he could not help it; he loved her. Changeable, capricious, untamed, she held him by her faults where virtues would hardly have sufficed in another. He had tried, and failed; so long as she was in the world he must love her. But what a life ! He cast the letter from him and his heart turned to Jeff ~and the big fight, the battle that they had planned to wage together. In the rush and struggle of that combat he could forget the pangs which tor- tured him ; he could have his revenge on life, which had treated him so shabbily ! And yet and yet could he desert a friend like Lucy Lucy who would give her life to make him happier, who had always by every act tried to make him forget his sorrows ? For a long time he sat with his head bowed, think- [317] HIDDEN WATER ing. Then he rose up and took down his long- barrelled Colt's, fingered it lovingly, and thrust it, scabbard and all, into the depths of his war bag. As he rode down the hill into the camp that after- noon Creede came out to meet him, and when his eyes fell upon the empty belt, he smiled knowingly. "Well, you woke up, did you?" he inquired, laying one hand carelessly on the bulge in Hardy's right shap, where modest cowboys sometimes secrete their guns. "Um-huh!" he grunted, slapping the left shap to make sure. "I suspected as much. Well, I congratulate you, supe if my girl had asked me I reckon I 'd 've give up my gun too. But she gimme a kiss, anyway," he added, tossing his head trium- phantly. "Who did?" demanded Hardy, coming suddenly out of his dream. "Why, Kitty, sure," returned Creede artlessly; and then, noting the look of incredulity on his part- ner's face, he slapped him on the leg and laughed con- sumedly. "Oh, you 're not the only pebble on the beach," he cried. "Ump-um there are others! Say, it's hell to be in love, ain't it?" He looked up at Hardy, the laughter still in his cheeks, but for once there was no answering smile. The large gray eyes were far away and distant, [318] THE DEPARTURE fixed vacantly upon the dust cloud where the sheep gathered in the east. Then, as if dismissing some haunting vision from his mind, the little man shook himself and drew away. "That 's right," he said solemnly, "it is." CHAPTER XVII CHICO AND GRANDE T) ETWEEN the mouth of Hell's Hip Pocket and the cow camp at Carrizo Creek there lie three high ridges and three broad valleys, all running north and south from the Peaks to Bronco Mesa the heart of the upper range ; and there in compact bands the invaders held their sheep. From the lower levels they strayed out gradually over the rocky mesa; above they clambered up toward the wooded peaks; but at night the sheepmen worked back to the three ridges and camped close together for defence. After many years of struggle they had at last obtained their legal rights their sheep were up to the ears in grama, eating out the heart of the cow country but Jeff Creede was just over the hill, and the Mexicans were afraid. For years now the huge form of "Grande" had loomed before them whenever they entered that forbidden range, and they had always given way before him. And now he had the little man Chico with him, the son of a soldier, so it was said, and a gentleman of categoria; he always carried a pistol and his eyes were stern and hard. [320] -CHICO AND GRANDE What would not Chico and Grande do to them, now that they were like bees robbed of their long-hoarded honey, who have nothing left but their stings? So the word passed around amongst the herders and camp rustlers, and Jim and Jasp rode from one camp to the other, cursing and exhorting and holding them to their work. The hour of victory had come, but their triumph was poisoned by a haunting fear for their sheep. One hundred thousand sheep five hundred thousand dollars' worth the accumulation of a lifetime and all in the hands of these cowardly Mexicans, not half of whom would fight! For the day or two that they held together they were safe, but when they spread out and spread they must, to reach the western pass then the cowmen could rush them at night like lions that raid a corral, scat- tering one band after the other, and the coyotes would do the rest! That was the joint in the armor of the sheepmen, and it robbed them of their sleep. Evening came, and the fires of the camp rustlers on the ridges lit up the dust cloud that hung in the east. The hateful bray of the sheep was hushed, at last, and the shrill yell of the coyotes rose from every hilltop, bidding farewell to the sun; for as vultures and unnumbered birds of prey hovered in the wake of barbarian armies, casting their dread shadows upon the living and glutting upon the dead, so the coyotes 21 [321] HIDDEN WATER follow tirelessly after the sheep, gorging upon chance carcasses and pulling down the strays. As the wild, gibbering chorus rose and quavered back from the cliffs the cowmen at Carrizo glanced up from their supper and swore, and in the general preoccupation Hardy put down his plate and slipped away to the corral. He was sitting on the fence listening to the mad yelping of the coyotes and watching the shadows gather among the peaks, when Creede strolled over and joined him. There were times when he could read Hardy like a book, but at others the little man's thoughts were hidden, and he brooded by himself. On such occasions, after a sufficient interval, Jeff es- teemed it his duty to break in upon these unprofitable ruminations and bring him back to the light. So he clambered up on the top log and joined in the contemplation of nature. "Hear them dam' coyotes," he observed sociably. "They 'd cry that way if they 'd had a chicken dinner, all around. I bet ye every one of 'em has got wool in his teeth, right now. Never you mind, birdie," he continued, apostrophizing a peculiarly shrill- voiced howler, "I '11 give you a bellyful of mutton pretty soon, if it 's the last act. What you going to do now, Rufe?" "Well," answered Hardy, "I think I '11 try and earn my salary by moving a few sheep. And of course [322] CHICO AND GRANDE we want to gather every beef critter we can now, while they 're fat. The sheep seem to be hugging the mountain pretty close. What 's the matter with working the Pocket Butte to-morrow and while the boys are riding we '11 warn all the stragglers down there to keep up against the hills ; then as soon as we get 'em located we '11 jump in some day and move 'em!' "Huh?" inquired Creede, shoving back his hat and staring. "Did I hear you say 'move 'em'? Well er I thought you left your gun at home," he sug- gested guardedly. "That 's right," admitted Hardy, "but don't you let that worry you any. I told you I 'd help move those sheep, and I'll do it! We don't need guns, anyhow. Why, I 'd just as soon tackle a rattlesnake bare-handed as go after Jasp Swope with my six- shooter. That 's just what he 's looking for, boy, with all those thirty-thirties behind him, and he '11 have plenty of witnesses there to swear us into Yuma, too. I tell you, Jeff, I 've been thinking this over, and I believe my boss is right." "Sure," said Creede, showing his teeth in the twilight. "Say, let up on that, will you?" exclaimed Hardy irritably. "I 'm talking business. Now you let me tell you something." He paused, and fixed his eye [323] HIDDEN WATER on the dust cloud, intently. "I Ve moved that many sheep twice," he said, throwing out his hand, "and I left my gun at home." "That 's right," conceded Creede. "Well now, I '11 tell you what I '11 do," continued Hardy. "If you '11 leave your gun at home too and stay with me on this I '11 undertake to shoot the last sheep out through West Pass inside of a week. And the only chance we take is of getting shot at or ar- rested for assault and battery. The Territorial Prison end of this gun business never did appeal me, anyway." "No nor me either! But what's the scheme?" The big cowboy leaned forward eagerly, his eyes flashing as he half guessed the plan. "We ride out together," said Hardy, his voice far away, as if he saw it in his mind's eye, "unarmed and we notify every sheep-herder we see to move. If Jasp Swope or any of his men kill us while we 're unarmed it '11 be cold-blooded murder, and there '11 be witnesses to prove it. And if the sheep don't move, we 'II move *em! What kind of a crime is that, anyway to drive sheep off the public range ? There is n't an officer of the law within sixty miles, anyhow; and if anybody pulls a gun on us we can slug him in self-defence." CHICO AND GRANDE "Sure," agreed Creede, "but suppose one of them big-headed Chihuahua Mexicans should happen to shoot you?" "Well then, I 'd be dead," said Hardy soberly. "But would n't you rather be dead than shut up in that hell-hole down at Yuma?" "Yes!" cried Creede, holding out his hands as if taking an oath. "I would, by God !" "Well, come on then!" said Hardy, and they shook hands on it like brothers. When the rodeo outfit was gathered together in the morning Jefferson Creede deliberately un- strapped his cartridge belt and threw his pistol back onto his bed. Then he winked at his partner as if, rightly understood, the action was in the nature of a joke, and led the way to Pocket Butte. "You fellows rake the ridges to Bullpit Valley," he said, briefly assigning every man to his post. "Rufe 'n me '11 hold 'em up for you about four o'clock, but don't rush the funeral we 're goin' to move a few sheep first." He smiled mysteriously as he spoke, staving off their pointed queries with equivocal answers. "See you later," he observed, turning his horse into a sheep trail, and with that the outfit was forced to be content. [325] HIDDEN WATER The offending sheep were found feeding along the eastern slope of a long ridge that led down from the upper ground, and the herders were camped on the summit. There were four men gathered about the jfire and as the cowboys approached three of them picked up their carbines and sat off to one side, fin- gering the locks nervously. The appearance of Jeff Creede spelled trouble to all sheepmen and there were few camps on Bronco Mesa which did not contain a herder who had been unceremoniously moved by him. 13ut this time the fire-eating cowman rode grandly into camp without any awe-inspiring demonstrations whatever. "Are those your sheep?" he inquired, pointing to the grazing herd. "Si senor" responded the boss herder humbly. "Very well," said Creede, "move 'em, and move *em quick. I give you three days to get through that pass." He stretched a heavily muscled arm irery straight toward the notch in the western hills and turned abruptly away. Hardy swung soberly In behind him and the frightened Chihuahuanos were Beginning to breathe again after their excitement ivhen suddenly Jeff stopped his horse. "Say," he said, turning to the boss, "what you carryin' that cow's horn for?" At this pointed inquiry the boss herder flinched [326] CHICO AND GRANDE and looked downcast, toying uneasily with the primitive instrument at his side. "To blow," he answered evasively. "Well, go ahead and blow it, then," suggested Creede amiably. "No go on! I don't care what happens. Aw here, let me have it a minute!" He grabbed the horn away impatiently, wiped the mouthpiece with his sleeve, drew a long breath, and blew. A deep bass roar answered to his effort, a bellow such as the skin-clad hunters of antiquity sent forth when they wound the horn for their hounds, and the hills and valleys of Carrizo and the upper mesa echoed to the blast. "Say, that's great!" exclaimed the big cowboy, good-naturedly resisting the appeals of the herder. "I used to have one like that when I was a boy* Oh, I 'm a blower, all right listen to this, now!" He puffed out his chest, screwed his lips into the horn, and blew again, loud and long. "How's that for high?" he inquired, glancing roguishly at his partner. "And I could keep it up all day," he added, handing the horn back, "only I 've got business elsewhere." "Oyez, amigo" he said, bending his brow sud- denly upon the Mexican herder, "remember, now in three days!" He continued the sentence by a comprehensive sweep of the hand from that spot out [327] HIDDEN [WATER through the western pass, favored each of the three Chihuahuanos with an abhorrent scowl, and rode slowly away down the hogback. "Notice anything funny over on that ridge?" he asked, jerking his head casually toward the east. "That 's Swope and Co. the Sheepmen's Pro- tective Association coming over to rescue com- panero" A line of rapidly moving specks proved the truth of his observation, and Creede's shoulders shook with laughter as he noted their killing pace. "I tumbled to the idee the minute I set eyes on that cow's horn," he said. "It 's like this. Every boss herder has a horn; if he gits into trouble he blows it and all hands come a-runnin' to shoot holes in Mr. Cowman think I '11 make one myself." He halted behind a rock and scrutinized the ap- proaching horsemen over the top. "That 's Jasp, in front," he observed impersonally. "I would n't mind ownin' that black mule of his'n, neither. We '11 jest wait until they dip down into the canon and then double in back of him, and scare up them hombres over at the mouth of Hell's Hip Pocket. We want to git 'em started out of that. I believe you 're right, though, Ruf e we can run this bunch out without firin' a shot." That evening after the day's riding Creede sat down on his heels by the fire and heated the end of [8281 CHICO AND GRANDE an iron rod. In his other hand he held a horn, knocked from the bleaching skeleton of a steer that had died by the water, and to its end where the tip had been sawed off he applied the red-hot iron, burn- ing a hole through to the hollow centre. "Jim," he said, turning to one of the Clark boys, "do you want a little excitement to-morrow? Well then, you take this old horn and go play hide 'n' seek with Jasp. Keep him chasin', and while the rest of the boys are gatherin' cattle Ruf e and me will move a few sheep." "Well, say," broke in Ben Reavis impatiently, "where do us fellers come in on this play? I thought there was goin' to be a few shap lessons and a little night work." "Well," responded the rodeo boss philosophically, "any time you fellers want to go up against them thirty-thirties you can do so. It 's your own funeral, and I '11 promise to do the honors right. But I 'm a law-abidin' cuss myself. I 'm all the law now, ever since I talked with Jim Swope it 's the great- est graft they is." He paused, busily scraping his horn with a piece of glass. "They 's no doubt about it, fellers," he said at last, "we Ve been slow in the head. It 's a wonder we ain't all of us makin' hat bands in Yuma, by this [329] HIDDEN WATER time. I used to think that if you didn't like a sheepman's looks the way to do was to wade in and work him over a little ; but that 's a misdemeanor, and it don't go now. It took as good a man as Rufe, here, to put me wise; but I leave my gun in camp after this. I 've got them Greasers buffaloed, any- how, and Jasp knows if he plugs me when I 'm un- armed it '11 be a sure shot for the pen. The time may come when guns is necessary, but I move that every man leave his six-shooter in his bed and we '11 go after 'em with our bare hands. What d' ye say, Ben?" Ben Reavis rose up on one elbow, rolled his eyes warily, and passed a jet of tobacco juice into the hissing fire. "Not f 'r me," he said, with profane emphasis. "No, ner f'r me, either," chimed in Charley Clark. "A man stays dead a long time in this dry climate." "Well, you fellers see how many of my steers you can ketch, then," said Creede, "and I '11 move them sheep myself leastways, me and Rufe." "All right," assented Reavis resignedly, "but you want to hurry up. I saw a cloud o' dust halfway to Hidden Water this afternoon." The next morning as the rodeo outfit hustled out to pick up what cattle they could before they were scattered by the sheep, Jim Clark, tall, solemn- faced, and angular, rode by devious ways toward the [330] CHICO AND GRANDE eastern shoulder of the Four Peaks, where a distant clamor told of the great herds which mowed the mountain slopes like a thousand sickles. Having seen him well on his way Creede and Hardy galloped down the canon, switched off along the hillside and,. " i leaving their horses among the rocks, climbed up on a rocky butte to spy out the land below. High ridges and deep canons, running down from the i flanks of the Four Peaks, lay to the east and north and west ; and to the south they merged into the broad ; expanse of Bronco Mesa. There it lay, a wilderness of little hills and valleys, flat-topped benches and sandy gulches threaded minutely with winding trails and cow paths, greenr with the illusion of drought-proof giant cactus and , vivid desert bushes, one vast preserve of browse and grass from the Peaks to the gorge of the Salagua. Here was the last battle-ground, the last stand of the cowmen against the sheep, and then unless that formless myth, "The Government," which no man had ever seen or known, stepped in, there would be no more of the struggle; the green mesa would be stripped of its evanescent glory and the sheep would wander at will. But as long as there was still a chance and the cows had young calves that would die, there was nothing for it but to fight on, warily and desperately, to the end. [331] HIDDEN WATER As Jefferson Creede looked out across that noble landscape which he had struggled so resolutely to save and saw the dust clouds of the sheep drifting across it, the tears came to his eyes and blinded his keen vision. Here at last was the end of all his struggles and all his dreams; another year, or two years, and the mesa would be devastated utterly; his cows would be hollow-flanked and gaunted; his calves would tot- ter and die, their tender lips pierced with the spiny cactus upon which their hard-mouthed mothers starved; and all that fair land which he knew and loved so well would be lost to him forever. He raised Ms hand to his eyes as if shading them from the sun, and brushed the tears away. "Well, look at those sons o* guns hike," he said, baring his teeth venomously, "and every band headed for Hidden Water ! Go it, you tarriers and if you can't stop to eat the grass, tromple on it! But wait, and if I don't push in some Greaser's face to-day it '11 be because every one of them bands is headin' for the western pass." He clambered slowly down from his perch and swung up into the saddle. "Talkin' never did do much good with a sheep- herder," he observed wisely. "As the old judge used to say, 'y u Ve got to appeal to his better nature' with a club." [332] CHICO AND GRANDE The most southerly of the seven bands was strung out in marching order, the goats in front, the hun- griest sheep in the lead; and on both flanks and far behind, the groups and clusters of feeders, pushing out into the grassy flats and rearing up against the trees and bushes. Without a word to the herders Creede and Hardy took down their ropes and, swinging the hondas upon the goats, turned the ad- vance guard northwest. The main herd and the drag followed, and then the herders, all in a bunch for courage. "This is the last time I talk to you," said Creede, his voice stifled with anger. "Turn to the north, now, and keep a-goin'." He put spurs to his horse and rode west to the second herd, and by noon they had turned all seven toward the western pass. Every herder had his cow's horn and some of them were blowing continu- ally, but no one answered, and a messenger was sent east for aid. They camped for the heat of the day, making smoke upon the ridges, but no help came. As the sun sank low and the curly-necked Merinos rose up from their huddle and began to drift the Mex- icans turned them perforce to the north, looking back sulkily toward the mouth of Hell's Hip Pocket where other smokes rose against the sky. Until the sun set they travelled, making their three miles and more, [333] HIDDEN WATER and not until they had corralled their flocks for the night did Chico and Grande, the little and big terrors of the sheep, give way from their strenuous labors. It was two hours after dark when they rode wearily into the camp at Carrizo Creek. The fire was dying down to embers and the rodeo outfit, worn out, had turned in, some in the tin house, others outside, under the brush ramada to escape the dew. No one moved as they approached but Creede did not scruple to wake up Jim Clark in order to learn the news. "How 'd the old horn work?" he inquired cheer- ay. "No good," grunted Clark, rolling over. "Aw, go on, would n't they chase ye?" "Nope. Nothin' doin'. Say, lemme sleep, will ye?" "Sure," said Creede, "when I git through with you. Which way was them sheep travellin'?" "Well, some was goin' straight up over the Four Peaks and the rest was p'intin' west. You and your old horn I nigh blowed my fool head off and never got a rise ! They was all blowin' them horns over by the Pocket this aft." "Um," said Creede, "they was all blowin', hey? And what else was they doin' ?" "Shootin', fer further orders, and driftin' their [334] CHICO AND GRANDE sheep. They 's about a hundred thousand, right over the hill." "Huh!" grunted Creede, turning to his belated din- ner, "what d' ye make of that, Rufe?" "Nothing," replied Hardy, "except more work." It seemed as if he had hardly fallen asleep when Creede was up again, hurling the wood on the fire. "Pile out, fellers!" he shouted. "You can sleep all day bimebye. Come on, Rufe d'ye want to find them sheep in the corral when you go back to Hidden Water?" And so with relentless energy he roused them up, divided out the work, and was off again for Bronco Mesa. It was early when they arrived at the first deserted sheep camp, but search as they would they could see no signs of the sheep. The puny fire over which the herders had fried their bread and mutton was wind-blown and cold, the burros and camp rustlers were gone, and there was no guiding dust cloud again the sky. From the little butte where Creede and Hardy stood the lower mesa stretched away before them like a rocky, cactus-covered plain, the countless ravines and gulches hidden by the dead level of the benches, and all empty, lifeless, void. They rode for the second camp, farther to the west, and it too was deserted, the sheep tracks cunningly milled in order to hide the trail. [335] HIDDEN WATER "They 're gittin' foxy," commented Creede, cir- cling wide to catch the trend of their departure, "but I bet you money no bunch of Chihuahua Greasers can hide twenty thousand sheep in my back yard and me not know it. And I '11 bet you further that I can find every one of them sheep and have 'em movin' before twelve o'clock, noon." Having crystallized his convictions into this sport- ing proposition the rodeo boss left the wilderness of tracks and headed due south, riding fast until he was clear of sheep signs. "Now here 's where I cut all seven trails," he re- marked to his partner. "I happen to know where this sheep outfit is headin' for." With which enigmatic remark he jerked a thumb toward Hidden Water and circled to the west and north. Not half an hour later he picked up a fresh trail, a broad path stamped hard by thousands of feet, and spurring recklessly along it until he sighted the herd he plunged helter- skelter into their midst, where they were packed like sardines in the broad pocket of a dry wash. "Hey there! Whoopee hep hep!" he yelled, ploughing his way into the pack; and Hardy swing- ing quickly around the flank, rushed the ruck of them forward in his wake. Upon the brow of the hill the boss herder and his helpers brandished their car- bines and shouted, but their words were drowned in [336] CHICO AND GRANDE the blare and bray which rose from below. Shoot they dared not, for it meant the beginning of a bloody feud, and their warnings were unheeded in the melee. The herd was far up the wash and gal- loping wildly toward the north before the frantic Mexicans could catch up with it on foot, and even then they could do nothing but run along the wings to save themselves from a "cut." More than once, in the night-time, the outraged cowmen of the Four Peaks country had thus dashed through their bands, scattering them to the wolves anil the coyotes, de- stroying a year's increase in a night, while the herders, with visions of shap lessons before them, fired perfunctory rifle shots at the moon. It was a form of reprisal that they liked least of all, for it meant a cut, and a cut meant sheep wandering aimlessly with- out a master until they became coyote bait at the rate of five dollars a head. The padron was a kind man and called them corn- padres, when he was pleased, but if one of them suf- fered a cut he cursed, and fired him, and made him walk back to town. Hence when Chico and Grande suddenly gave over their drive and rode away to the northwest the Mexican herders devoted all their at- tention to keeping the herd together, without trying to make any gun plays. And when the stampede was abated and still no help came they drifted their 22 [337] HIDDEN WATER sheep steadily to the north, leaving the camp rustlers to bring up the impedimenta as best they could. Jasper Swope had promised to protect them whenever they blew their horns, but it was two days since they had seen him, and the two Americanos had harried them like hawks. Never had armed men so lacked a leader as on that day. Their orders were to shoot only in self-defence; for a war was the last thing which the Swope brothers wanted, with their entire fortunes at stake, and no show of weapons could daunt the ruthless Grande and Chico. All the morning the cow horns bellowed and blared as, sweating and swinging their Jiondas, the stern-eyed Americanos rushed band after band away. Not a word was passed no threats, no commands, no warnings for the future, but like avenging devils they galloped from one herd to the other and back again, shoving them forward relent- lessly, even in the heat of noon. At evening the seven bands, hopelessly mixed and mingled in the panic, were halfway through the long pass, and the herders were white with dust and running. But not until dusk gathered in the valleys did Creede rein in his lathered horse and turn grimly back to camp. His face was white and caked with dust, the dirt lay clotted in his beard, and only the whites of his eyes, rolling and sanguinary, gave evidence of his [338] CHICO AND GRANDE humanity; his shirt, half torn from his body by plun- ging through the cat-claws, hung limp and heavy with sweat; and the look of him was that of a madman, beside himself with rage. The dirt, the sweat, the grime, were as heavy on Hardy, and his eyes rolled like a negro's beneath the mask of dust, but weariness had overcome his madness and he leaned forward upon the horn. They glanced at each other indiffer- ently and then slumped down to endure the long ten miles which lay between them and home. It had been a stern fight and the excitement had lulled their hunger, but now the old, slow pang gnawed at their vitals and they rolled like drunkards in the saddle. It was a clear, velvety night, and still, after the wind of the day. Their horses jogged dumbly along, throwing up their heads at every step from weariness, and the noises of the night fell dully upon their jaded ears. But just as they turned into Carrizo Creek Canon Creede suddenly reined in old Bat Wings and held up his hand to Hardy. "Did you hear that?" he asked, still listening. "There! Didn't you hear that gun go off? Well, I did and it was a thirty-thirty, too, over there toward the Pocket." "Those herders are always shooting away their am- munition," said Hardy peevishly. "Come on, let 's get back to camp." [339] HIDDEN WATER "They don't shoot in the night-time, though/' grum- bled Creede, leading off again. "I '11 bet ye some of them Greasers has seen a ghost. Say," he cried, "the boys may be out doin' some night ridin'!" But when they rode into camp every man was in his blankets. "Hey, what 's all that shootin' goin' on over there?" he called, waking up the entire outfit in bis excite- ment. "Sheepmen," responded some sleeper briefly. "Cleanin' their guns, mebbe," suggested another, yawning. "Did you move 'em, Jeff?" "You betcher neck!" replied Creede promptly, "and I 'm goin' back in the mornin', too." The morning turned black, and flushed rosy, and fell black again, but for once the merciless driver of men slept on, for he was over-weary. It was a noise, far away, plaintive, insistent, which finally brought him to his feet the bleating of ewes to lambs, of lambs to mothers, of wethers to their fellows, beau- tiful in itself as the great elemental sounds of the earth, the abysmal roarings of winds and waves and waterfalls, but to the cowman hateful as the clamors of hell. As Creede stood in his blankets, the salt sweat of yesterday still in his eyes, and that accursed blat in his ears, his nerves gave way suddenly, and he [340] CHICO AND GRANDE began to rave. As the discordant babel drew nearer and nearer his passion rose up like a storm that has been long brewing, his eyes burned, his dirty face turned ghastly. Grabbing up his six-shooter he stood like a prophet of destruction calling down the wratE of God Himself, if there was a God, upon the head of every sheepman. But even as he cursed the first dirty brown wave spewed in over the ridge and swept down upon their valley. Then in a moment his madness overcame him and, raising his heavjr pistol, he emptied it against them defiantly, while the resounding cliffs took up his wrath and hurled it back. A herder with his rifle leapt up on a distant rock and looked toward their camp, and at the sight the black anger of Jeff's father came upon him, filling him with the lust to kill. He rushed into the house and came out with a high- power rifle. "You will stand up there and laugK at me, will you?" he said, deliberately raising the sights. "You" He rested the rifle against one of the ramada posts, and caught his breath to aim, while the cowmen re- garded him cynically, yet with a cold speculation in their eyes. Hardy alone sprang forward to spoil his aim, and for a minute they bandied words like pistol shots as they struggled for the gun. Then [341] HIDDEN WATER with a last wailing curse, the big cowboy snapped the cartridge out of his rifle and handed it over to Ills partner. "You're right," he said, "let the dastard live. But if I ever git another chanst at Jasp Swope I '11 kill him, if I swing for it! He 's the boy I 'm lookin' for, but you see how he dodges me? I Ve fbeen movin' his sheep for two days ! He 's afraid >of me he 's afraid to come out and fight me like a man ! But I '11 git 'im I '11 git 'im yet !" "All right," said Hardy soothingly, "you can do it, for all of me. But don't go to shooting Mexicans off of rocks as if they were turkey buzzards that 's what gets people into the pen. Now, you just take my advice for once and wash some of that dirt off your face. You 're locoed, man you 're not a human being and you won't be until you wash up ;and get your belly full." Half an hour later they sat down to breakfast, the burly fighting animal and the man who had taught him reason; and as they ate the fierce anger of the cowboy passed away like mists before the .morning sun. He heaped his plate up high and ^emptied it again, drinking coffee from his big cup, and as if ashamed of his brutishness he began forth- with to lay out a campaign of peace. With sheep scurrying in every direction across the range in the [342] CHICO AND GRANDE great drive that was now on it was no use to try to gather cows. What they had they could day-herd and the rest would have to wait. The thing to do now was to protect the feed around the water, so that the cattle would not have to travel so far in the heat of summer. No objection being offered he gave each man a watercourse to patrol, sending one over into the Pocket to see what had happened to Eill Johnson; and then, with his gun packed in his bed, he started back with Hardy to watch over Hidden Water. The sun was well up as they topped the high ridge ; and the mesa, though ploughed through and through by the trails of the hurrying sheep, still shimmered in its deceptive green. Not for a month had there been a cloud in the sky and the grass on the barren places was already withering in the heat, yet in the distance the greasewood and the polo verdes and giant cactus blended into one mighty sheet of ver- dure. Only on the ground where the feed should be were there signs of the imminent drought; and where the sheep had crossed the ground lay hard and baked or scuffled into dust. In the presence of those swift destroyers the dreaded ano seco had crept in upon them unnoticed, but soon it would scourge the land with heat and dust and failing waters, and cattle low- ing to be fed. And there before their eyes, clipping [343] HIDDEN WATER i down the precious grass, tearing up the tender plants, shearing away the browse, moved the sheep; army after army, phalanx and cohort, drifting for- ward irresistibly, each in its cloud of dust. For a minute the two men sat gazing hopelessly; then Creede leaned forward in his saddle and sighed. "Well," he observed philosophically, "they 're mov- in', anyhow." They rode down the long slope and, mounting a low roll, paused again apathetically to watch a band of sheep below. "Say," exclaimed Creede, his eyes beginning to burn, "d'ye notice how them sheep are travellin'? And look at them other bands back yonder! By Joe !" he cried, rising in his stirrups, "we 've got 'em goin'! Look at the dust out through the pass, and clean to Hell's Hip Pocket. They 're hikin', boy, they 're hittin' it up for The Rolls ! But what in the world has struck 'em?" He stood up straight in his saddle, swinging his head from east to west, but no band of horsemen met his eye. He looked again at the flock below him the goats, forever in the lead, heading straight for the western pass ; the herders swinging their carbines upon the drag and seemed to study upon the mira- cle. CHICO AND GRANDE "Have you got any money to spare, Rufe?" he in- quired quietly. "Sure," responded Hardy. "Well, then," said Creede deliberately, "I 'd like to make you a sporting proposition. I '11 bet you forty dollars to the price of a drink that old Bill Johnson has been shootin' up their camps. Will you go me? All right, and I '11 make you a little side bet: I'll bet you any money that Jim Swope has lost some sheep!" He spurred his horse recklessly down the hill, grinning, and at the clatter of rocks the fearful herders jumped forward and raised a great clamor behind their sheep, whistling and clubbing their guns, but the heart of the monster Grande was no longer turned to wrath. He laughed and called out to them, leaping his horse playfully over washouts and waving his black hat. "Cuidado, hombres" he shouted, "be careful do not hurry look at the nice grass!" But de- spite this friendly admonition the herders still yelled and whistled at their sheep, jabbing them spitefully with the sharp muzzles of their rifles until at last, all riot and confusion, they fled away bleating into the west. [345] CHAPTER XVIII BAD BLOOD sheep were on the run, drifting across Bronco Mesa as if the devil was after them, and Creede could hardly stay on his horse from laughing but when he drew near to Hidden Water his face changed. There was a fresh sheep trail in the canon and it led away from the ranch. He spurred for- ward like the wind, his eyes upon the tracks, and when he came in sight of the house he threw down his hat and swore. Of all the God-forsaken places in Arizona, the Dos S Ranch was the worst. The earth lay bare and desolate before it; the woodpile had disappeared; the bucket was thrown down the well. Never had the flat, mud buildings seemed so deserted or Tommy so tragic in his welcome. The pasture gate was down and even that holy of holies, the branding corral, stunk of sheep. Only the pad- locked house had been respected, and that perforce, since nothing short of a sledgehammer could break its welded chain. Unfastening the battered door they entered the living-room which once had been all light and laugh- [346] BAD BLOOD ter. There lay the dishes all clean and orderly ODS the table, the floors swept, the beds made, some withered flowers on Hardy's desk. "Huh," grunted Creede, looking it over coldly, "we 're on the bum, all right, all right, now. How long since they went away?" " 'Bout a year," replied Hardy, and his partner did not contradict him. They cooked a hasty meal and ate it, putting the scraps in the frying-pan for Tommy. "Go to it, Tom," said Creede, smiling wistfully as the cat lapped away at the grease. "He never could git used to them skirts rustlin' round here, could he? 7 *" And then there was a long silence. Tommy sat up and washed his face contentedly, peering about with intent yellow eyes and sniffing: at the countless odors with which his world was filled then suddenly with a low whining growl he lashed across the room like a tiger and leapt up into his cat hole. This was a narrow tunnel, punched througH the adobe wall near the door and boxed in with a projecting cribbing to keep out the snakes and skunks. Through it when his protectors were away he could escape the rush of pursuing coyotes, or sally forth with equal ferocity when sheep dogs were about. He peered out of his porthole for a moment, warily, then his stump tail began to twitch, he worked [347] HIDDEN WATER his hind claws into the wood, and leapt. A yelp of terror from the ramada heralded his success and Creede ran like a boy to look. "He 's jumped one, by Joe!" he exclaimed. /'What did I tell ye that cat is a holy terror on Bogs!" The dog in question a slinking, dispirited cur wagged its tail apologetically from a distance, shak- ing its bloody ears, while Tommy swelled and hissed viciously at him from his stronghold. It was a ^lieep dog, part collie, part shepherd, and the rest plain yellow a friendly little dog, too, and hungry. But the heart of Creede, ordinarily so tender, was hardened by his disasters. "Git out of here!" he commanded roughly. "Git, you yap, or 1 11 burn you up with a bullet ! "This is what comes of leavin' your gun off," he grumbled, as he unbound his bed and grabbed up his pistol. But as he stepped out into the open to shoot, his barbarity was checked by a clatter of hoofs and, looking up, he saw Jasper Swope on his big black mule, ambling truculently in across the open. "Hyar!" he shouted, shaking his fist angrily, "don't you shoot my dog, you or I '11 be the death of ye !" "Oh, I don't know," responded Creede, bristling hack at him. "Keep the blame pup away, then and keep that other dog away, too, or my cat '11 eat [348] BAD BLOOD 'im up! Well, I notice you took the occasion to come down and sheep me out," he observed, as Swope pulled up tef ore the door. "I did not," retorted the sheepman promptly, but grinning nevertheless at the damage, "but I see some other feller has though, and saved me the trouble." He ran his eye approvingly over the devastated home- stead; and then, rising in his stirrups, he plunged Suddenly into his set speech. "I've took a lot off'n you, Jeff Creede," he shouted, swinging his arms wildly, "but I Ve got a bellyful of this night work! And I come down to tell you that next time you shoot up one of my camps there '11 be trouble!" "I never shot up your old camp," growled Creede, "nor any other camp. I 'm dam' glad to hear that somebody else did though," he added vindictively, "and I hope to God he fixed you good and proper. Now what can I do for you, Mr. Swope?" he in- quired, thrusting out his chin. "I suppose you must be hurryin' on, of course." "No!" cried Swope, slapping his saddle horn vehe- mently. "I come down here to git some satisfaction out of you! My sheep has been killed and my men has been intimidated on this here public range, and I want to tell you right now, Mr. Creede, that this funny business has got to stop !" [349] HIDDEN WATER "Well, don't choke!" said the cowman, fingering his gun coldly. "Go ahead and stop it, why don't you?" He paused, a set smile on his lips, and for a moment their eyes met in the baleful glare which rival wolves, the leaders of their packs, confer upon each other. Then Hardy stepped out into the open, holding up his hand for peace. "You are mistaken, Mr. Swope," he said quietly. "Jeff hasn't shot up any camps he hasn't even packed a gun for the last three days." ''Oh, he hain't, hey?" sneered the sheepman, show- ing his jagged teeth. "He seems to have one now.", "You betcher neck I have," cried Creede, flaring up at the implication, "and if you 're lookin' for trouble, Jasp Swope, you can open up any time." "W'y what 's the matter with you?" protested Swope righteously. "You must have somethin' on your mind, the way you act." Then without waiting for a reply to this innuendo he turned his attention to Hardy. "He hain't shot up any camps," he repeated, "ner packed a gun for three days, hey? Now here 's where I prove you a liar, Mr. Smarty. I seen him with my own eyes take six shots at one of my herders this very mornin' and you was there!" He punctuated his speech by successive downward [350] BAD BLOOD jabs of his grimy forefinger as if he were stabbing his adversary to the heart, and Hardy turned faint and sick with chagrin. Never had he hated a man as he hated this great, overbearing brute before him . this man-beast, with his hairy chest and freckled hands that clutched at him like an ape's. Something hidden, a demon primordial and violent, rose up in him against this crude barbarian with his bristling beard and gloating pig eyes, and he forgot every- thing but his own rage at being trapped. "You lie!" he cried passionately; and then in his anger he added a word which he had never used, a word which goes deep under the skin and makes men fight. For a moment the sheepman sat staring, astounded by his vehemence ; but before he could move the sud- den silence was split by the yelp of a dog a wild, gibbering yelp that made them jump and bristle like hounds that are assailed from behind and, min- gling stridently with it, was the harsh snarl of a cat. There was a swift scramble in the dust by the door, an oath from the sheepman, and the yellow dog dashed away again, with Tommy at his heels. Creede was the first man to regain his nerve and, seeing his pet triumphant, he let out a whoop of derisive laughter. " Ah-hah-hah !" he hollered, pointing with his pistol [351] HIDDEN WATER hand, "look at that, will ye look at 'im yee-pah < go after 'im, Tommy we '11 show the The fighting blood of the sheepman sided in as quickly with his dog. "I '11 kill that dam' cat!" he yelled, swinging down from his saddle, "if you don't let up! Hey, Nip! Sick ? im!" He turned and motioned to his other dog, which had been standing dumbly by, and in- stantly he joined in the chase. "Sick 'em, boy, sick *emf he bellowed, urging him on, and before Creede could get his face straight the long, rangy brindle had dashed up from behind and seized Tommy by the back. "Git out o' that!" thundered the cowman; and then, without waiting on words, he threw his gun down on the dog and fired. "Here none of that, now!" shouted Swope, whipping out his own pistol, and as he leapt for- ward he held it out before him like a sabre, pointed straight for the cowman's ribs. His intentions may have been of the best, but Hardy did not wait to see. The brindle dog let out a surprised yelp and dropped. Before Creede could turn to meet his enemy his part- ner leapt in between them and with a swift blow from the shoulder, struck the sheepman to the ground. It was a fearful blow, such as men deal in anger without measuring their strength or the cost, and [352] BAD BLOOD it landed on his jaw. Creede had seen men slugged before, in saloon rows and the rough fights that take place around a town, but never had he seen a single blow suffice the man's head go back, his knees weaken, and his whole body collapse as if he had been shot. If he had been felled like a bull in the shambles that goes down in spite of his great strength, Jasper Swope could not have been more completely stunned. He lay sprawling, his legs turned under him, and the hand that grasped the six-shooter relaxed slowly and tumbled it into the dust. For a minute the two partners stood staring at each other, the one still planted firmly on his feet like a boxer, the other with his smoking pistol in his hand. "By Joe, boy," said Creede slowly, "y u was just in time that trip." He stepped forward and laid the fallen man out on his back, passing his gun up to Hardy as he did so. "I wonder if you killed him," he muttered, feel- ing Jasp's bull neck; and then, as Hardy ran for some water, he remembered Tommy. But there was no Tommy only a little heap of fur lying very still out in the open. "My God!" he cried, and leaving the man he ran out and knelt down beside it. 23 [353] HIDDEN WATER "Pussy!" he whispered, feeling hopelessly for his heart; and then, gathering the forlorn little wisp of fur in his arms, he hurried into the house without a word. He was still in hiding when Jasper Swope came to and sat up, his hair drenched with water and matted with dirt. Staring doubtfully at the set face of Hardy he staggered to his feet; then the memory of the fight came back to him and he glared at him with a drunkard's insolence. "Where 's my gun?" he demanded, suddenly clapping his hand upon the empty holster. "I '11 take care of that for you," answered Hardy pointedly. "Now you pile onto that mule of yours .and pull your freight, will you?" He led the black mule up close and boosted its master into the saddle, but Swope was not content. "Where's that dastard, Jeff Creede?" he de- manded. "Well, I wanter see him, that 's all. And say, Mr. Smart Alec, I want that gun, too, see?" "Well, you won't get it," said Hardy. "I will that," declared Swope, " 'nd I '11 git you, too, Willie, before I git through with you. I Ve had enough of this monkey business. Now gimme that gun, I tell ye, or I '11 come back with more of 'em and take it!" He raised his voice to a roar, muffled to a beast-like [354] BAD BLOOD hoarseness by his swollen jaws, and the ramada rever- berated like a cavern as he bellowed out his challenge. Then the door was snatched violently open and Jef- ferson Creede stepped forth, looking black as hell itself. In one hand he held the sheepman's pistol and in the other his own. "Here!" he said, and striding forward he thrust Swope's gun into his hand. "It 's loaded, too," he added. "Now, you if you Ve got any shootin' to do, go to it!" He stepped back quickly and stood ready, his masterful eyes bent upon his enemy in a scowl of unquenchable hate. Once before they had faced each other, waiting for that mysterious psychic prompt- ing without which neither man nor beast can begin a fight, and Jim had stepped in between but Hardy stood aside without a word. It was a show-down and, bulldog fighter though he was, Jasper Swope weak-' ened. The anger of his enemy overcame his hostile spirit without a blow, and he turned his pistol away. "That 's all I wanted," he said, shoving the gun sullenly into its holster. "They's two of you ? and" "And you 're afraid," put in Creede promptly. He stood gazing at the downcast sheepman, his lip curling contemptuously. "I Ve never seen a sheepman yet," he said, "that [355] HIDDEN WATER would fight. You Ve listened to that blat until it 5 S a part of ye ; you Ve run with them Mexicans until you're kin to 'em; you're a coward, Jasp Swope, and I always knowed it." He paused again, his eyes glowing with the hatred that had overmastered his being. "My God," he said, "if I could only git you to fight to-day I 'd give everything I Ve got left!" The sheepman's gaze was becoming furtive as he watched them. He glanced sidewise, edging away from the door; then, pricking his mule with his spurs, he galloped madly away, ducking his head at every jump as if he feared a shot. "Look at the cowardly dastard!" sneered Creede bitterly. "D' ye know what he would do if that was me ? He 'd shoot me in the back. Ah, God A'mighty, and that dog of his got Tommy before I could pull a gun! Rufe, I could kill every sheepman in the Four Peaks for this every dam' one of 'em and the first dog that comes in sight of this ranch will stop a thirty-thirty." He stopped and turned away, cursing and muttering to himself. "God A'mighty," he moaned, "I can't Keeg noihin*!" And stumbling back into the house he slammed the door behind him. A gloom settled down over the place, a gloom that lasted for days. The cowboys came back from driy- [356] SAD BLOOD , ing the town herd and, going up on the mesa, they; gathered a few head more. Then the heat set in before its time and the work stopped short. For the steer that is roped and busted in the hot weather dies suddenly at the water; the flies buzz about the ears of the new-marked calves and poison them, and the mother cows grow gaunt and thin from overheating. Not until the long Summer had passed could the rid- ing continue; the steers must be left to feed down the sheeped-out range ; the little calves must run for sleepers until the fall rodeo. Sheep and the drought had come together, and the round-up was a failure. Likewise the cowmen were broke. As they gathered about the fire on that last night it was a silent company the rodeo boss the gloom- iest of them all. Not since the death of Tommy had his eyes twinkled with the old mischief; he had no bets to offer, no news to volunteer; a dull, sombre abstraction lay upon him like a pall. Only when Bill Lightfoot spoke did he look up, and then with a set sneer, growing daily more saturnine. The world was dark to Creede and Bill's fresh remarks jarred on him but Bill himself was happy. He was of the kind that runs by opposites, taking their troubles with hilarity under the impression that they are philosophers. His pretext for this present happi- ness was a professed interview with Kitty Bonnair [357] HIDDEN WATER on the evening that the town herd pulled into Moreno's. What had happened at this interview was a secret, of course, but it made Bill happy; and the more morose and ugly Jeff became about it the more it pleased Lightfoot to be gay. He sat on a b'ox that night and sang risque ditties, his enormous Colt's revolver dangling bravely at his hip; and at last, casting his weather eye upon Creede, he began a certain song. "Oh, my little girl, she lives in the town " And then he stopped. "Bill," said the rodeo boss feelingly, "you make me tired." "Lay down an' you '11 git rested, then," suggested Lightfoot. "A toodle Iwti, a toodle link, a too-oodle a day." "I '11 lay you down in a minute, if you don't shut lip," remarked Creede, throwing away his cigarette. "The hell you say," commented Lightfoot airily. "And last time I seen her she ast me to come down." At this raw bit of improvisation the boss rose slowly to his feet and stalked away from temptation. "And if anybody sees her you '11 know her by this sign," Chanted the cowboy, switching to an out-and-out [358] BAD BLOOD bad one; and then, swaying his body on his cracked box, he plunged unctuously into the chorus. "She *s got a dark and rolling eye, boys; She '$ got a dark and rollmg eye" He stopped there and leapt to his feet anxiously. The mighty bulk of the rodeo boss came plunging back at him through the darkness; his bruising fist shot out and the frontier troubadour went sprawling among the pack saddles. It was the first time Creede had ever struck one of his own kind, men with guns were considered dan- gerous, but this time he laid on unmercifully. "You Ve had that comin' to you for quite a while, Bill Lightfoot," he said, striking Bill's ineffectual gun aside, "and more too. Now maybe you '11 keep shut about 'your girl' !" He turned on his heel after administering this rebuke and went to the house, leaving his enemy prostrate in the dirt. "The big, hulkin' brute," blubbered Lightfoot, sit- ting up and aggrievedly feeling of his front teeth, "jumpin' on a little feller like me an' he never give me no warnin', neither. You jest wait, I '11 " "Aw, shut up!" growled Old Man Reavis, whose soul had long been harrowed by Lightfoot's festive ways. "He give you plenty of warnin', if you 'd [359] * HIDDEN WATER only listen. Some people have to swallow a few front teeth before they kin learn anythin'." "Well, what call did he have to jump on me like that?" protested Lightfoot. "I wasn't doin' nothinV "No, no thin' but singin' bawdy songs about his girl," sneered Reavis sarcastically. "His girl, rats!" retorted the cowboy, vainglorious even in defeat, "she 's my girl, if she 's anybody's!" "Well, about your girl then, you dirty brute!" snarled the old man, suddenly assuming a high moral plane for his utter annihilation. "You 're a dis- grace to the outfit, Bill Lightfoot," he added, with conviction. "I 'm ashamed of ye." "That 's right," chimed in the Clark boys, whose sensibilities had likewise been harassed; and with all the world against him Bill Lightfoot retired in a huff to his blankets. So the rodeo ended as it had begun, in disaster, bickering, and bad blood, and no man rightly knew from whence their misfortune came. Perhaps the planets in their spheres had cast a malign influence upon them, or maybe the bell mare had cast a shoe. Anyhow they had started off the wrong foot and, whatever the cause, the times were certainly not auspicious for matters of importance, love-making, or the bringing together of the es- tranged. Let whatsoever high-priced astrologer [360] BAD BLOOD cast his horoscope tor good, Saturn was swinging low above the earth and dealing especial misery to the Four Peaks ; and on top of it all the word came that old Bill Johnson, after shooting up the sheep camps, had gone crazy and taken to the hills. For a week, Creede and Hardy dawdled about the place, patching up the gates and fences and cursing the very name of sheep. A spirit of unrest hovered over the place, a brooding silence which spoke only^ of Tommy and those who were gone, and the two' partners eyed each other furtively, each deep in his own thoughts. At last when he could stand it no' longer Creede went over to the corner and dug up his money. "I 'm goin' to town," he said briefly. "All right," responded Hardy; and then, after meditating a while, he added: "I '11 send down some letters by you." Late that evening, after He had written a long letter to Lucy and a short one to his father, he sat at the desk where he had found their letters, and his thoughts turned back to Kitty. There lay the little book which had held their letters, just as he had thrust it aside. He picked it up, idly, and glanced at the title-page: "Sonnets from the Portuguese." How dim and far away it all seemed now, this world of the poets in which he had once lived and dreamed, [361] HIDDEN WATER where sweetness and beauty were enshrined as twirl goddesses of light, and gentleness brooded over all her children. What a world that had been, with its graceful, smiling women, its refinements of thought and speech, its aspirations and sympathies and Kitty! He opened the book slowly, wondering from whence it had come, and from the deckled leaves a pressed forget-me-not fell into his hand. That was all there was no mark, no word, no sign but this, and as he gazed his numbed mind groped through the past for a forget-me-not. Ah yes, he remem- bered! But how far away it seemed now, the bright morning when he had met his love on the mountain peak and the flowers had fallen from her hair and what an inferno of strife and turmoil had followed since! He opened to the place where the imprint of the dainty flower lay and read reverently: "If thou must love, me, let it be for nought Except for love's sake only. Do not say 'I love her for her smile her look her way Of speaking gently for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day' For these things in themselves, Beloved, may Be changed, or change for thee and love, so wrought, May be unwrought so. Neither love me for Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheek dry A creature might forget to weep, who bore [362] BAD BLOOD Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby I But love me for love's sake, that evermore Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity." The spell of the words laid hold upon as he read and he turned page after page, following the t cycle of that other woman's love a love which waited for years to be claimed by the master hand, never faltering to the end. Then impulsively he reached for a fair sheet of paper to begin a letter to Kitty, a letter which should breathe the old gentleness and love, yet "for love's sake only." But while he sat dreaming, thinking with what words to begin, his partner lounged in, and Hardy put aside his pen and waited, while the big man hung around and fidgeted. "Well, I '11 be in town to-morrer," he said* drearily. "Aha," assented Hardy. "What ye got there?" inquired Creede, after a long- silence. He picked up the book, griming the dainty pages as he turned them with his rough fingers, glancing at the headings. "Um-huh," he grunted, " 'Sonnets from the Por- tegees,' eh? I never thought them Dagos could write what I 've seen of 'em was mostly drivin* fish-wagons or swampin' around some slaughter- house. How does she go, now," he continued, as [363] HIDDEN WATER his schooling came back to him, "see if I can make sense out of it." He bent down and mumbled over the first sonnet, spelling out the long words doubt- fully. "I thought once how The-o-crite-us had sung Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-f or years, Who each one in a gracious hand appears To bear a gift for mortals, old or young: And as I mused it in his an " "Well say, what 's he drivin' at, anyway?" de- manded the rugged cowboy. "Is that Dago talk, or is he jest mixed in his mind? Perfectly clear, eh? Well, maybe so, but I fail to see it. Wish I could git aholt of some good po'try." He paused, waiting for Hardy to respond. "Say," he said, at last, "do me a favor, will ye, Rufe?" The tone of his voice, now soft and diffident, star- tled Hardy out of his dream. "Why sure, Jeff," he said, "if I can." "No, no 'ifs' and Bands' about it!" persisted Creede. "A lucky feller like you with everythin' comin' his way ought to be able to say 'Yes' once in a while without hangin' a pull-back on it." "Huh," grunted Hardy suspiciously, "y u better tell me first what you want." "Well, I want you to write me a letter," blurted [86*] BAD BLOOD out Creede. "I can keep a tally book and order up the grub from Bender; but, durn the luck, when it comes to makin' love on paper I 'd rather wrastle a bear. Course you know who it is, and you savvy how them things is done. Throw in a little po'try, will you, and and -say, Rufe, for God's sake, help me out on this!" He laid one hand appealingly upon his partner's, shoulder, but the little man squirmed out from under it impatiently. "Who is it?" he asked doggedly. "Sallie Win- ship?" "Aw, say," protested Creede, "don't throw it into a feller like that Sal went back on me years ago. You know who I mean Kitty Bonnair." "Kitty Bonnair!" Hardy had known it, but he had tried to keep her name unspoken. Battle as he would he could not endure to hear it, even from Jeff. "What do you want to tell Miss Bonnair?" he in- quired, schooling his voice to a cold quietness. "Tell her?" echoed Creede ecstatically. "W'y, tell her I 'm lonely as hell now she 's gone tell her well, there 's where I bog down, but I 'd trade my best horse for another kiss like that one she give me, and throw in the saddle for pelori. Now, say, Rufe, don't leave me in a hole like this. You Ve made your winnin', and here 's your nice long letter to Miss [365} HIDDEN WATER Lucy. My hands are as stiff as a burnt rawhide and I can't think out them nice things to say; but I love Kitty jest as much as you love Miss Lucy mebbe more and and I wanter tell her so!" He ended abjectly, gazing with pleading eyes at the stubborn face of his partner whose lips were drawn tight. "We every man has to no, I can't do it, Jeff,'' he stammered, choking. "I 'd I 'd help you if I could, Jeff but she 'd know my style. Yes, that 's it. If I 'd write the letter she 'd know it was from me women are quick that way. I 'm sorry, but that 's the way it is every man has to fight out his own battle, in love." He paused and fumbled with his papers. "Here 's a good pen," he said, "and and here 's the paper." He shoved out the fair sheet upon which he had intended to write and rose up dumbly from the table. "I 'm going to bed," he said, and slipped quietly out of the room. As he lay in his blankets he could see the gleam of light from the barred window and hear Jeff scraping his boots uneasily on the floor. True indeed, his hands were like burnt rawhide from gripping at ropes and irons, his clothes were greasy and his boots smelled of the corral, and yet she had given him a kiss! He tried to picture it in his [366] BAD BLOOD mind: Kitty smiling or startled, perhaps JefF masterful, triumphant, laughing. Ah God, it was the same kiss she had offered him, and he had run away! In the morning, there was a division between: them, a barrier which could not be overcome. Creede lingered by the door a minute, awkwardly, and then rode away. Hardy scraped up the greasy dishes and washed them moodily. Then the great silence settled down upon Hidden Water and he sat alone in the shadow of the ramada, gazing away at the barren hills. [367] CHAPTER XIX THE BIG DRUNK sun rose clear for the hundredth time over the shoulder of the Four Peaks ; it mounted higher, glowing with a great light, and the smooth round tops of the bowlders shone like half -buried skulls along the creek-bed ; it swung gloriously up to its zenith and the earth palpitated with a panting heat. Summer had come, and the long days when the lizards crawl deep into their crevices and the cattle follow the scanty shade of the box canons or gather in standing- places where the wind draws over the ridges and mitigates the flies. In the pasture at Hidden Water the horses stood head and tail together, side by side, each thrashing the flies from the other's face and doz- ing until hunger or thirst aroused them or perversity took them away. Against the cool face of the cliff the buzzards moped and stretched their dirty wings in squalid discomfort; the trim little sparrow-hawks gave over their hunting; and all the worI9 lay tense and still. Only at the ranch house where Hardy kept a perfunctory watch was there any sign of motion or life. For two weeks now he had been alone, ever since [368] THE BIG DRUNK Jeff went down to Bender, and with the solitary's dread of surprise he stepped out into the ramada regularly, scanning the western trail with eyes grown weary of the earth's emptiness. At last as the sun sank low, throwing its fiery glare in his eyes, he saw the familiar figure against the sky Creede, broad and bulky and topped by his enormous hat, and old Bat Wings, as raw-boned and ornery as ever. Never until that moment had Hardy realized how much his life was dependent upon this big, warm-hearted barbarian who clung to his native range as instinctively as a beef and yet possessed hu- man attributes that would win him friends anywhere in the world. Often in that long two weeks he had re- proached himself for abandoning Jeff in his love- making. What could be said for a love which made a man so pitiless? Was it worthy of any return? Was it, after all, a thing to be held so jealously to his heart, gnawing out his vitals and robbing him of his humanity? These and many other questions Hardy had had time to ask himself in his fortnight of intro- spection and as he stood by the doorway waiting he resolved to make amends. From a petty creature wrapped up in his own problems and prepossessions he would make himself over into a man worthy of the name of friend. Yet the consciousness of his fault lay heavy upon him and as Creede rode in he stood 24 [369] HIDDEN WATER silent, waiting for him to speak. But Jeff for his part came on grimly, and there was a sombre glow in his