The Texican. Coolidge Dane
of a bar to the U and named his new brand the Monkey-wrench (). If he had any qualms as to the morality of this last act Pecos did not let them interfere with his industry in any way. The ethics of the cattle business will not stand too stern a scrutiny, even at this late date, and the joke on Old Crit was so primordial in its duplicity that it obscured the finer moral issues. Like many another cowman of those early days Pecos Dalhart had made his start with the running iron and with luck and judgment he might yet be a cattle king.
CHAPTER IV
THE SHOW-DOWN
IT is a great sensation to feel that you are a prospective cattle king, but somehow when Pecos Dalhart rode back to Verde Crossing his accustomed gaiety had fled. There were no bows and smiles for Marcelina, no wordy exchanges with the garrulous Babe – there is a difference, after all, between stealing cows for eighty dollars a month and stealing for yourself, and while a moralist might fail to see the distinction it showed in its effect on Pecos's spirits.
"I'm goin' down to Geronimo," he grumbled, after an uneasy hour at the store, during which he had tried in vain the cheering power of whiskey; "you can tell Crit I'll be back to-morrow night for my time," and without volunteering any further information he rode down to the river, plunged across the rocky ford and was swallowed up in the desert. Two days later he returned, red-eyed and taciturn, and to all Babe's inquiries he observed that the Geronimo saloons were the worst deadfalls west of the Rio Grande, for a certainty. His mood did not improve by waiting, and when Crittenden finally rode in after his long day's work he demanded his money so brusquely that even that old-timer was startled.
"Well, sho, sho, boy," he soothed, "don't git excited over nothin'! To be sure I'll pay you your money." He went down into his overalls with commendable promptitude, but Pecos only watched him in surly silence. Something in his pose seemed to impress the shifty cowman; he drew forth a roll of bills and began to count them out, reluctantly. "Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, a hundred – there it is – now what's all this racket about?"
"Nothin'," responded Pecos, stowing away the greenbacks, "but you can git somebody else to finish up that job."
"Well, here," snapped the cowman, warming up a little as Dalhart cooled down, "don't I git no accountin' for this month's work? How many did you brand and what you quittin' for?"
"I branded sixty-seven cows, fifty-five calves, and thirty two-year-olds," replied the cowboy, boldly, and Crittenden, not knowing in what iron they were branded, chuckled gleefully.
"Umm," he murmured, "wall, say now, that ain't so bad. Old Upton will make a buck-jump at the moon when he finds this out. But lookee here, boy, I'm goin' to be driftin' cows into that country for another month yet, and that'll be as long as we can brand and ear-mark on account of the flies in June. Now I want to make a dicker with you for jest one more month and I'll be generous with you – how about a hundred and ten – that's pretty nigh four months' wages for a cow-punch!"
"No, I've done quit!" protested Pecos, vigorously. "Steal your own cattle! When I want to go into the rustlin' business I'll rustle for myse'f!"
"Jest one more month," insisted Old Crit, "I'll give you a hundred and twenty!"
The cowboy looked at him a minute and smiled sneeringly. "Well, bein' as yore money seems to be burnin' a hole in yore pocket," he said, "I guess I'll have to take it away from you, but I'll tell you right now I don't approve of this cow-stealin' – it's likely to git a man into trouble!"
"All right, all right," said Crittenden, making haste to clinch the bargain, "a hundred and twenty, then; and they hain't nobody ever been convicted in Geronimo County yet for stealin' cows, so you don't need to worry none. Pull your freight, now, and I'll be over later on to see what you've done."
As Pecos Dalhart and José Garcia rode up the Carrizo trail the next morning driving their pack animals before them, the conversation was chiefly between José and his mules. Pecos did not approve of Mexicans and José did not approve of Pecos – he had been making love to his girl, Marcelina. But about a mile out of Verde Crossing they came across an object that was worthy of comment – an old cow and her calf, both so curiously marked that no cowboy could pass them unnoticed. The cow was covered from shoulder to flank with minute red and white spots and, plastered generously across her face, was a variegated blotch of the creamy dun color peculiar to Chihuahua stock. The calf was like its mother, even to the dun face and spotted neck and ears, but she, on account of her brand and ear-marks, held the entire attention of the Texan.
"What brand you call that, Joe?" he inquired, as the old cow contemplated them from the hillside.
"Mi fiero!" exclaimed the Mexican, proudly tapping himself on the chest.
"Oh, it's yourn, is it?" commented Pecos. "Looks like an Injun arrer struck by lightnin', don't it? Well, these Mexican irons are too many for me – I see you got winders in her ears!"
"You bet," assented Joe, "that my mark, un ventano, un slash, un anzuelo!"
"A window, a slash, and an underbit, hey – you don't figure on anybody stealin' her, unless they cut 'er ears off, do you? How many cows you got?"
"Oh, six – eight," answered José, pride of possession loosening up his tongue, "this good milk cow."
"Milk cow, eh?" repeated Pecos, and then he stopped and pondered a while. Only the day before he had recorded his Monkey-wrench brand at Geronimo, although he did not have an honestly acquired cow in the world – here was a chance to cover his hand. "How much you take for cow, Joe?" he asked. "I like milk, my camp."
"You take calf too?" inquired the Mexican, shrewdly.
"Sure," said Pecos, "give you twenty dollars for the cow and ten for the calf!" He drew a roll of bills from his pocket and began to peel them off temptingly.
"You geev twenty-five for cow," suggested Joe, his slow wits beginning to move at the sight of real money.
"All right," said Pecos, briskly, "I'll give you twenty-five for the cow and five for the calf – but you have to give me bill of sale."
"Stawano," assented the Mexican, "and I vent her when we geet to camp, too. Dam' Ol' Crit," he observed, as he pocketed the money, "I work for heem long time – he make me take trade een store – all time in debt!"
He threw the spotted cow and calf in with the pack animals and when they had arrived at Carrizo Springs he roped her and, true to his promise, ran his Indian arrow brand on her shoulder, thus making her a living document and memorandum of sale. In the cow country that "vent" on the shoulder is the only bill of sale required, but Pecos drew up a formal paper giving the ear-marks and brand, and after Joe had signed it and gone he roped Old Funny-face again and ran a Monkey-wrench on her ribs beneath the original mark, all of which is strictly according to law. After that he herded her close, letting the little Monkey-wrench calf have all the milk, while he waited expectantly for Old Crit to drop in.
At the beginning of his long month of waiting Pecos Dalhart was watchful and conservative. He branded up all the cattle that had drifted into Lost Dog Cañon, drove them down into his hidden pasture and closed the breach in his drift fence – then he moved back to Carrizo and went soberly about his work. Old Funny-face and her spotted calf were the only Monkey-wrench cows at Carrizo Springs and though he held a bill of sale for them Pecos was finally compelled to drive them over the trail to his Lost Dog pasture in order to keep them from sneaking back home to Verde Crossing and tipping his hand prematurely to Isaac Crittenden. He was a hard man, Old Crit, especially when his pocket-book was touched, and Pecos looked for a gunplay when the Boss finally found him out; but if Crittenden got wind of his duplicity in advance he might come over with all his Texas cowboys and wipe Mr. Pecos Dalhart off the map. So at the start he was careful, running nothing but Wine-glasses on the U cows that still came drifting in over the mountains, but as the days went by and his courage mounted up against the time when he was to face Old Crit a spirit of bravado crept in on him and made him over-bold. All he wanted now was a show-down, and he wanted it quick – one Monkey-wrench brand would tell the story. With a sardonic grin Pecos put his rope on a likely young maverick and burned a Monkey-wrench on his ribs; then, in order that there should be no mistake, he worked over the brand on a U cow