The Greatest Westerns of Charles Alden Seltzer. Charles Alden Seltzer
reins over his pony’s head and seized Hollis by an arm. “Come along with me–down to my shack,” he said; “I’ve got somethin’ to show you.”
Without further words he led Hollis toward a building–the one he had occupied previous to the death of the elder Hollis. There were three rooms in the building and in the front one were several articles of furniture and some boxes. One of these boxes Norton opened, taking therefrom several articles of wearing apparel, consisting of a pair of corduroy trousers, a pair of leathern chaps, boots, spurs, two woolen shirts, a blue neckerchief, a broad felt hat, and last, with a grin of amusement over Hollis’s astonished expression, a cartridge belt to which was attached a holster containing a Colt .45.
“I bought this outfit over at Santa Fé two months ago,” he informed Hollis, who was gravely contemplating the lay-out, “expectin’ to wear them myself some day. But when I got home I found they didn’t quite fit.” He surveyed Hollis with a critical eye. “I’ve been thinkin’ ever since you come that you’d fit pretty snug in them.” He raised a protesting hand as Hollis was about to speak. “I ain’t givin’ them to you,” he grinned. “But you can’t wear no tenderfoot clothes out here. Some day when we’re together an’ we’ve got time you can blow me to another outfit; I won’t hesitate about takin’ it.” He leaned over and tapped the butt of the Colt. “You ever handle one of them?” he questioned.
Hollis nodded. Once during a shooting tournament he had done good work with a pistol. But Norton laughed at his nod.
“Mebbe we do it a little different out here,” he smiled. “You hop into them duds an’ we’ll go out into the cottonwood yonder an’ try out your gun.” He pointed through the door to a small clump of cottonwoods beyond the bunkhouse.
He went out and fifteen minutes later Hollis joined him, looking thoroughly at home in his picturesque rigging. An hour later they returned to the corral fence, where Norton caught up his pony and another, saddling the latter for Hollis. He commented briefly upon the new owner’s ability with the six-shooter.
“You use your fists a little better than you use a gun,” he remarked with his peculiar drawl, “but I reckon that on the whole you’ll be able to take care of yourself–after you’ve had a little practise gettin’ your gun out.” He laughed with a grim humor. “More men have been killed in this country on account of bein’ slow on the draw than for any other reason. Don’t never monkey with it unless you intend to use it, an’ then see that you get it out middlin’ rapid. That’s the recipe,” he advised.
The pony that he had selected for Hollis was a slant-eyed beast, larger than the average, with rangy limbs, black in color with a white muzzle and fetlocks. Hollis voted him a “beaut” after he had ridden him a mile or two and found that he had an easy, steady stride.
Together they made a round of the basin, returning to the ranchhouse for dinner. Hollis was saddle weary and when Norton proposed another trip during the afternoon he was met with the response that the new owner purposed enjoying the cool of the ranchhouse porch for the remainder of the day.
The next morning Hollis was up with the dawn and out on the porch splashing water over his face from the wash basin that stood outside the door. For a long time after washing he stood on the porch, looking out over the big basin at this new and strange world. Endless it seemed, lying before him in its solemn silence; a world of peace, of eternal sunlight, smiling skies, and infinite distance. It seemed unreal to him. Did this same planet hold the busy cities to which he had been accustomed? The stuffy room, with its smell of damp ink, its litter of papers–his room in the newspaper offices, filled with desks and the clatter of typewriters? Through whose windows came the incessant clamor that welled up from the streets below? He laughed at the thought and turned to see Norton standing in the doorway looking at him with a smile.
“Comparin’ her with your little old East?” inquired the latter.
Hollis confessed that he had been doing something of that sort.
“Well,” returned Norton, “there ain’t any way to compare this country with anything else. Seems as though when the world was made the Lord had a few million miles left which he didn’t know what to do with an’ so he just dumped it down out here. An’ then, havin’ business somewhere else about that time he forgot about it an’ left it to get along as best it could–which wasn’t none too rapid.”
This conversation had taken place just twelve days ago, yet Norton’s words still remained fresh in Hollis’s mind. Yet he did not altogether agree with Norton. The West had impressed him far more than he cared to admit.
This morning, directly after breakfast Hollis and Norton had saddled their horses and ridden out of the basin toward the river, into a section of the country that Hollis had not yet explored. Emerging from the basin, they came to a long, high ridge. On its crest Norton halted. Hollis likewise drew in his pony. From here they could see a great stretch of country, sweeping away into the basin beneath it, toward a mountain range whose peaks rose barren and smooth in the white sunlight.
“This here’s ‘Razor-Back’ ridge,” explained Norton as the ponies halted; “called that on account of bein’ so unusually narrow on the top.” He pointed to some buildings which Hollis had seen but to which he had given very little attention, thinking they were those of the Circle Bar. “Them’s the Circle Cross buildings,” resumed Norton. “They’re about three miles from the Circle Bar ranchhouse, directly north through that cottonwood back of the bunkhouse where you tried your gun the day after you come out here. Down below there–where you see them two big cottonwood trees–is ‘Big Elk’ crossin’. There’s another somethin’ like it back up the crick a ways, on the other side of the ranchhouse, called the ‘Narrows.’” He laughed grimly. “But we don’t use them crossins’ much–they’re dead lines; generally you’ll find there’s a Circle Cross man or so hangin’ around them–with a rifle. So it don’t pay to go monkeyin’ around there unless you’ve got pressin’ business.”
He made a grimace. “It’s my opinion that a good many Circle Bar cattle have crossed the crick in them two places–never to come back.” He swept a hand up the river, indicating the sentinel like buttes that frowned above the bed of the stream. “The crick is pretty shallow,” he continued, “but Big Elk an’ the Narrows are the only two places where a man can cross in safety–if we consider that there wouldn’t be any Circle Cross man hangin’ around them two places. But there ain’t no other place to cross an’ so we don’t go on the other side much.”
He turned to Hollis, looking at him with a quaint smile. “From here you can see everything that amounts to anything in this section–which ain’t a heap. Of course over there are some mountains–where we was a few days ago lookin’ up the boys”–he pointed to some serrated peaks that rose somberly in the southwestern distance–“but as you saw there ain’t much to them except rocks an’ lava beds. There’s some hills there”–pointing to the south–“but there ain’t nothin’ to see in them. They look a heap better from here than they do when you get close to them. That’s the way with lots of things, ain’t it?”
Hollis smiled. “I like it,” he said quietly, “much better than I did when I came.” He turned to Norton with a whimsical smile. “I suppose it will strike you as peculiar, but I’ve got a notion that I would like to ride around a while alone. I don’t mean that I don’t like your company, for I do. But the notion has just struck me.”
Norton laughed indulgently. “I reckon I won’t consider that you’re trying to slight me,” he returned. “I know exactly how you feel; that sort of thing comes over everybody who comes to this country–sooner or later. Generally it’s later, when a man has got used to the silence an’ the bigness an’ so on. But in your case it’s sooner. You’ll have to have it out with yourself.”
His voice grew serious. “But don’t go ridin’ too far. An’ keep away from the river trail.”
In spite of his ready acquiescence he sat for some time on his pony, watching Hollis as the latter urged his pony along the ridge. Just before Hollis