the Drift Fence (1992) (21 page)

Standing above the forest to look back through the wilderness he had built the drift fence, Jim gazed down over a gradual descent to the open cattle country, rolling and vast and dotted, ending in deep purple distance.

The splendid panorama transported Jim. He gazed long, and ever his eyes travelled back to the picturesque little homestead in the bend of the Cibeque, where he imagined Molly Dunn lived. He could see a log cabin, a ragged clearing in the woods, and tiny specks that must have been cattle or horses.

He lingered there a long while. This, his first sight of Arizona land from a loftly prospect, had staggered him with its vastness, its magnificence, its tremendous note of solitude and the wild. For weeks a subtle happiness in his surroundings had been almost imperceptibly stealing over Jim. He had grown to love the forest and life in the open.

He could not hate this beautiful wilderness because through it he had received the cruellest hurt he had ever suffered. And when at length he clambered over the rocks, up to a level and to his horse, he realized that Arizona had claimed him.

On the way back to camp, while riding across one of the grassy draws which headed on the western side of the Diamond, Jim found another placard nailed to a tree. It was identical with one Hackamore Jocelyn had brought in from the head of Sycamore, and its crude mis-spelled message read the same. This one, however, had a round black spot in the centre.

Upon tearing the placard loose Jim saw that the spot was a bullet hole.

It stirred a curious heat in his veins. And he was reminded of Curly's admonition, not to ride around alone through the forest. "To be honest aboot it, boss, I'm more afeared Hack Jocelyn will take a shot at you than one of these Cibeque hombres," said Curly.

"Curly! I can't believe that of Jocelyn," expostulated Jim. "It's not hard to believe it of Slinger Dunn. But one of my own men. No!"

"Wal, heah you are--the same old tenderfoot! You're daid wrong, Jim.

Jocelyn would do thet little thin' if he had a chance. Mebbe it's on his mind an' thet's why he hangs on heah. But Slinger Dunn would never shoot you or no other man in the back."

"You rate Slinger Dunn above Jocelyn as a man?" queried Jim, in surprise.

"Lord! yes. An' it's hard to explain, boss. But you'll get it some day... Please take another hunch from me. An' from this next camp we're makin' I'm advisin' you to have one man whose job is to keep back off the fence line an' watch."

"That's not a bad idea, Curly," replied Jim. "You can take turns, one man a day. But it'll slow us up."

"Listen, Jim. This heah drift fence won't be done this fall, an' what with patchin' it up and savin' our hides, we'll shore be next year on the job, an' then some more."

"Gosh! Curly, but you're a pessimistic cuss."

"Wal, I don't know jest what thet is, but I reckon it's a compliment."

Next day Jim moved camp to Quaking Asp and inaugurated the scout duty for one man. It was hailed with satisfaction, except in case of Jocelyn, who ridiculed it as another "new-fangled idee from Missourie."

"That lets you out, Jocelyn," retorted Jim, like a flash. "I don't know as I would have trusted you, anyhow, with a job so important as that."

This was throwing down the gauntlet with a vengeance, and certainly against the advice of Curly and Bud.

"Mister Traft, you're gettin' mighty pert these days," returned Jocelyn, the ugly expression changing his handsome face.

"Yes. I'm finding out what little good it does to be civil to some people."

"Ahuh. Wal, your wise joke was more'n oncivil, I take it."

"Jocelyn, you can take that crack of mine any way you like."

"Shucks! We're shore bustin' out brave now."

"Keeping my mouth shut in the past wasn't proof I was afraid of you, Hack Jocelyn. I've politely invited you to fight--twice. Beware of the third time."

Bud slouched in between the belligerents, sloe-eyed, and hard of face for him, but he did not speak.

"Shore," drawled Jocelyn, with that peculiarly mean note. "I know you invited me to a fist fight. An' I couldn't take you on. My sweetheart won't have me all bunged up."

Jim felt the cold tightening of his skin which heralded the receding of blood from his face. Either this crafty cowboy had guessed his secret or he had learned something from Molly Dunn. And in the passion of the moment Jim inclined to the latter suspicion. If he replied to Jocelyn, or even glanced at him, there would be no more possibility of restraint. Yet Jim quivered in his eagerness to get his hands on Jocelyn. Curly saved the situation for him.

"Hack, you ain't showin' much respect fer our boss," he said, and interposed his long frame before Jocelyn.

That worthy let out a guffaw. "It ain't so long thet you did the same.

Now you're eatin' out of his hand. Wal, Curly Prentiss, you lay to this.

Heah's one who'll never do it."

"Reckon none of us figgered you would. Hack, you may have the edge on me an' Hump, an' mebbe Lonestar, when it comes to years on the range. But we ain't quite looney."

This droll speech, delivered in apparent good humour, effectually silenced Jocelyn, who without more ado left the group.

"Boss, I'd reckon he'll last heah till one more pay day," ended Curly.

But several of the boys, outspoken and less humorous, took issue with him on that score.

Another Saturday arrived, and at noonday, when the cowboys knocked off for the week, Jocelyn, with more than usual of his donning his best and gaudiest, made a parade of his start for West Fork.

Jeff Davis, the dumb cook, electrified Jim and prostrated the cowboys.

"I'm a quiet man an' I like peace," he began, in a perfectly clear and resonant voice. "Thet's why I never talk. But that ---- ---- ---- a Jocelyn has got me riled. An' if some of you ---- ---- cowpunchers don't shet him up, I'll slip some coyote poison in the ---- meat!"

Such profanity had never before been heard in the Diamond camp, at least since Jim had taken charge. The boys gave the cook wide-eyed and gaping stares, then after their usual manner when enraptured they whooped like Indians and rolled on the ground. Upon partial recovery they delivered themselves with characteristic remarks.

"Our tongue-tied cook!"

"Deaf an' dumb! Haw! Haw!"

"An' mebbe he cain't cuss!"

No other of the Diamond outfit left camp that week-end. They had a lazy, jolly time of it, interspersed with some thoughtful conferences about the obstacles ahead. Jim could not feel that they had accepted him as one of them yet, but they had changed so materially that their humour had lost its sting.

At Quaking Asp a stream of cold water ran down into the canyon, and half a mile below the rim there were pools full of fine trout. Bud took Jim fishing. Now it chanced that fishing had always been Jim's favourite pastime, but he had never seen a rainbow trout. The tackle was not much, Bud averred; merely hooks and lines which he dug out of his kit. They cut poles and caught grasshoppers for bait. Jim had the most thrilling few hours of his Western experience, always putting aside those fatal hours with Molly Dunn. He caught a number of nice trout, and Bud caught a string as heavy as he wanted to pack uphill. When they arrived at camp with fresh fish for supper they were received with vociferous acclaim.

On Sunday they assayed to go again, and Curly begged to be taken. He was put to catching grasshoppers, and the spectacle of that long-legged, awkward-running cowboy, whooping wildly 'and batting grasshoppers with his huge sombrero, was something to see.

They had a great day on the brook, the climax of which was when Curly slipped off a rock and fell in to his neck.

It wanted an hour to sunset when they arrived in camp. To Jim's amaze Hack Jocelyn had just ridden in and had kicked his chaps off. Jim's quick eyes noted the cowboy's gun-belt hanging on the pommel of his saddle. The sight seemed to make every fibre in Jim leap. Jocelyn presented a marked contrast to the debonair braggart of a courtier who had left for West Fork only the day before. His garb looked as if he had slept in a hay-loft. His face was haggard, dark, and sullen. Not many hours past he had been under the influence of liquor.

If Jocelyn saw the approach of Jim and his companions, he gave no evidence of it, but went on in forceful harangue to Cherry Winters and Lonestar.

Jim caught the tail end of a speech that drew him up, strung and sharp.

He dropped his string of trout. In a few strides ha was upon Jocelyn, and with hard hand jerked him round.

"Were you speaking of Molly Dunn?" he demanded.

"Wal, if it's any of your ---- mix, yes, I was," returned Jocelyn, deliberately, and the way he squared himself and dropped his right hand to his side was not to be overlooked. Only he had forgotten that his gun hung in his belt over the pommel of his saddle.

"Jocelyn, you're fired," rang out Jim.

"Nope. Beat you to it, Traft. I quit," replied Jocelyn. "When?"

"Wal, if I recollect, it was yestiddy."

"All right. Get out of my camp. You can't even eat here."

"Traft, thet ain't Western--to send a man out hungry," said Jocelyn, darkly.

"Is it Western to speak vilely of a girl?" flashed Jim, hotly. "Depends on thet gurl, Mister raft."

"Jocelyn, what you said may be true, though, by God! I think you're a liar! One way or another you're a dirty skunk!"

Then Jim lunged out with all the fury of might and grief. His big fist covered one of Jocelyn's malignant eyes. The cowboy fell over the bench, knocking Winters down. Jim leaped after them, and plunged upon Jocelyn, to kick him fiercely, and then fall on him like a battering-ram.

Curly was the first to leap and grasp Jim. But he could do nothing.

"Help, somebody!" he yelled. "Bulldog him, Bud!... There!... Why, boss, shore you'd killed the fellar. Come now... You shore lost your temper."

Between them they dragged Jim off the bloody-faced Jocelyn, who sat up groggily.

"Some of you--lead him out of--camp," panted Jim, struggling for breath.

"Then come back for his horse and pack... And his wages, too."

Jim turned away unsteadily, with Bud still holding his arm. "Let go!" growled Jim, roughly. "Or I'll biff you one."

"Boss, I ain't fit to face my Maker jest yet," drawled Bud, complying with this command.

They crossed to where Jim had his bed and pack. "Fetch my bag, the one I keep my money in," said Jim, as he sat down. He was visibly shaking and the sweat dropped from his face. Bud brought out the little bag and opened it.

"Wal, I don't see how we could hey avoided thet, boss," he said, resignedly, shaking his head.

"Avoid hell! Ought to have jumped him long ago." Jim looked at his big, dirty, red-stained hands. "Get out the money, Bud... Let's see. I'll pay him the month out."

"Pay him nuthin' you don't owe," declared Bud, carefully calculating and counting out the amount due. "I'll give it to Cherry an' let him hand it over."

Jim did not look up from the ground until he had recovered his balance.

Jocelyn had evidently been led off into the woods, for Cherry appeared to be following with his horse and Hump Stevens with his pack. They disappeared. Whereupon Curly and Bud returned to Jim.

"Best job fer the Diamond in six years," said Bud.

"Ahuh. But bad fer the boss, Bud," added Curly, gravely. "Boys, I couldn't stand him any longer. I couldn't," broke out Jim, spreading wide his hands.

"Shore you couldn't. But Jocelyn will never get over thet. I don't mean the lickin', though you near busted him. It's what you called him an' orderin' him out of camp. Thet'll go over the range. It'll aboot make Hack Jocelyn an outlaw."

"I'm not sorry. I suppose he'll kill me, but I couldn't have done otherwise."

"Wal, Jim, it's done," rejoined Curly. "He's shore slated fer wuss company. I'll bet my spurs Slinger Dunn will kill him. But the thing fer you to make up your mind aboot is--if you ever meet Jocelyn ag'in, no matter where, grab your gun an' begin to shoot. Savvy?"

"Boss, will you promise to do thet little trick?" asked Bud, just as earnestly as Curly had spoken.

"Yes, boys, I promise," replied Jim.

"Fine an' dandy," declared Curly. "You're no slouch with a gun an' Hack ain't so much. It'd been plumb murder fer me to draw on him. But the chances are slim you'll ever meet up with Jocelyn alone. If he gets in the Cibeque an' Slinger Dunn stands fer it--which I'll gamble he won't--he'll be jumpin' out of the fryin'-pan into the fire. Jocelyn is only another cowpuncher thet's gone to the bad. I've seen a lot of them.

The Cibeque will be the wuss off with Jocelyn. They'll cut our fence an' rustle our stock. An', boss, if you don't hold the Diamond back, every damn one of thet two-bit outfit will be daid or in jail before the snow flies."

"Boss," added Bud, impressively, "Curly an' I know right now thet the Haverlys arc cuttin' our fence an' rustlin' our cattle. We didn't ride down to West Fork fer nothin'."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Wal, you had trouble enough. An' we reckoned we'd keep it as long as we could."