On the Cowboy's Trail: Western Boxed-Set. Coolidge Dane

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      CHAPTER XI

       THE CATTLE WAR

       Table of Contents

      When Pecos Dalhart, flying from his own evil conscience, went stampeding out into the wilderness, Isaac Crittenden and John Upton gazed after him with but a single thought—who would get his cattle? With Pecos out of the way, Crittenden saw a clear field ahead of him in the Lost Dog country and he joined Morgan in a throaty laugh, but Upton viewed his mad flight with disappointment and chagrin.

      "Well, laugh then, you robber," he snarled, turning angrily on Crit, "I s'pose it tickles you to death to see that dam' cow-thief hit the pike—he might talk and git you into trouble. Say, Mr. Morgan," he protested, "ain't you takin' quite a responsibility onto yourself to let that man git away?—you know what we came down here for," he added, jerking his head toward Crit.

      "Well, what did you come down here for, you little sawed-off runt?" demanded Crittenden, belligerently. "Hollerin' around, as usual, I s'pose!"

      "I come down here to find out about them U cows of mine that you branded into a Wine-glass," retorted Upton, "but you and the sheriff here seem to have some kind of an understandin', lettin' the principal witness git away, and all that, so I reckon I better pull."

      "Not before you eat them words, Mr. Upton," cut in the sheriff, fiercely. "I don't let no man make insinuations like that about me without callin' on him to retract—and I ain't never been disappointed yet!"

      "Well, you jest let that Dalhart feller git away, didn't you?" demanded Upton, defiantly.

      "I certainly did, sir," replied Boone Morgan, with ponderous dignity, "and when you git ready to start I shall accord you the same courtesy! There are no papers out for Mr. Dalhart and unless I detect him in some breach of law or receive a warrant for his arrest I've got no right to lay a finger on him. Now you know very well I've got no understanding with Crittenden, and I'm goin' to ask you to apologize for that statement you jest made."

      "Well, I didn't mean no offence," protested the cowman, meekly, "and I apologize, all right—but at the same time it don't seem right to let that dam' cattle-rustler git away like that."

      "No," responded the sheriff, with heavy sarcasm, "it don't. But bein' as he's gone you cowmen will have a chance to show what good citizens you are. I don't know jest what Mr. Dalhart's plans are, but when it comes around to the spring round-up I want to find every one of them Monkey-wrench cattle thar! He's paid his taxes in full and he's entitled to the full protection of the law, so long as he keeps the peace. You hear me talking, now; this brand-burnin' has gone far enough."

      "But how about them U cows I lost?" put in Upton, pertinently. "Do Crit and this Pecos Dalhart git to keep all the critters they stole?"

      "Stole, nothin'!" retorted Crittenden hotly. "How about them J I C cows of yourn?"

      "You make a business of burnin' my brand!" rejoined Upton, shaking his finger threateningly. "You hire men to rob me and rake my whole upper range! I'm losin' more now than I did when the Apaches was in the hills; but I'll git even with you yet, you dam', humped-back old cow-thief!"

      "Well, I see you gentlemen are goin' to keep on quarrellin'," observed Boone Morgan, picking up his bridle-rein, "and I might as well go on about my business. You got no more respect for the law, either one of you, than a common cattle-rustler, and I'm goin' to quit wrastlin' with you, right now. But you can cut this out and paste it in your hats—the first man that steals a cow in Geronimo County, and I catch 'im, is goin' to git the limit. Angy, gimme a bag of crackers and some of that jerked beef—I'm tired of hearin' this yawp."

      So genuine was his disgust that Boone Morgan plunged through the cold river at nightfall and took the long trail for Geronimo, but the memory of his last words lingered in the minds of the warring cowmen for many a day, and though Pecos Dalhart was known to be over in New Mexico somewhere his Monkey-wrench herd remained safe in Lost Dog Cañon. As for the sheriff, having abandoned all idea of peace, he transacted his business in the mountains by deputy and sat quiet in Geronimo, waiting only for the first break to come back and make his word good. It had a wonderful restraining influence upon Crit and Upton, this prolonged and ominous absence, but as spring came on and the new crop of calves began to gambol on the mesas, the old spirit of grab rose up and overleapt the dull fear of last winter. Once more both Crit and Upton began to take on nervy cowboys—men who by their boasts or by their silence let it be known that they were game—and the cow-camp at Verde Crossing sheltered gun-men from all over the Far West. From the Tonto country there came rumors that Upton was bringing in bad men from Pleasant Valley, fresh from the bloody combats where the Grahams and Tewkesburys met. Bill Todhunter rode in when the round-up was well begun and looked the outfits over with grave unconcern, dropping out of sight on the trail and turning up at Geronimo two days later to report that all was well in Lost Dog Cañon. There were no deputy sheriffs in disguise on this round-up—both Crittenden and Upton satisfied themselves of that early in the day—and as the work went on and the lust for spoils grew with each branded maverick, the war spirit crept in and grew apace.

      Ike Crittenden was the first to renew the feud—he came across an old ICU cow and branded her to ICU2. One of Upton's range riders picked her up after the branding and Upton promptly altered the brand on an IC cow, to break even. Then came the grand coup for which Crittenden had long been preparing. On the morning after Upton took his revenge, the whole IC outfit—forty cowboys and every man armed—went galloping over the Carrizo trail to Lost Dog Cañon. By noon they had gathered every animal in the valley; at night they camped with the herd at Carrizo Springs; and the next day every Monkey-wrench cow was safe in the Verde corrals with her Monkey-wrench burnt to a Spectacle () and her ears chopped down to her head. The ear-marks having been altered once already there was nothing for it but to make the new marks deeper and more inclusive—swallow-fork the left and crop the right. The swallow-fork was deep in the left, to take in an underbit that Pecos had cut, and Old Funny-face, who had returned home with the herd, lost the fancy Mexican window and anzuelo in her right ear altogether, along with all other signs of a former ownership. But even then the artistic knife-work of José Garcia was not allowed to perish from the earth. As Funny-face rose up from this last indignity and menaced the perspiring cowboys with her horns, the little Garcia children, hanging over the fence, dashed out through the dust and turmoil and rescued the close-cropped ears. Already, in spite of threats and admonitions, they had gathered quite a collection of variegated crops and swallow-forks to serve as play-cows in their toy corral; but when Marcelina came upon this last bloody evidence of the despite that was shown her lover she snatched the ears away and hid them in the thatched roof. Old Funny-face was Pecos's cow—she knew that as well as she knew the red-spotted, dun-colored ears that had adorned her speckled head. Pecos had bought Funny-face and her calf from her father for thirty dollars, to keep around his camp to milk, and now there was nothing to show for his ownership but the ears. But perhaps Pecos would be glad even for them, if ever he came back. In a letter to Babe he had said he was coming back, now that the sheriff was his friend. СКАЧАТЬ