Lonesome Land (9 page)

Glancing quickly over her shoulder, to make sure Manley was too busy to follow her, she went off the porch and stood uncertain in the parched inclosure which was the front yard.

“I may as well see it all, and be done,” she whispered, and went stealthily around the corner of the house, holding up her skirts as she had done in the kitchen. There was a dim path
beaten in the wiry grass—a path which started at the kitchen door and wound away up the coulee. She followed it. Undoubtedly it would lead her to the spring; beyond that she refused to let
her thoughts travel.

In five minutes—for she went slowly—she stopped beside a stock-trampled pool of water and yellow mud. A few steps farther on, a barrel had been sunk in the ground at the base of a
huge gray rock; a barrel which filled slowly and spilled the overflow into the mud. There was also a trough, and there was a barrier made of poles and barbed wire to keep the cattle from the
barrel. One crawled between two wires, it would seem, to dip up water for the house. There were no trees—not real trees. There were some chokecherry bushes higher than her head, and there
were other bushes that did not look particularly enlivening.

With a smile of bitter amusement, she tucked her skirts tightly around her, crept through the fence, and filled a chipped granite cup which stood upon a rock ledge, and drank slowly. Then she
laughed aloud.

“The water really
is
cold,” she said. “Anywhere else it would be delicious. And that’s a spring, I suppose.” Mercilessly she was stripping her mind of her
illusions, and was clothing it in the harsher weave of reality. “All these hills are Manley’s—our ranch.” She took another sip and set down the cup. “And so Cold
Spring Ranch means—all this.”

Down the coulee she heard Manley call. She stood still, pushing back a fallen lock of fine, yellow hair. She turned toward the sound, and the sun in her eyes turned them yellow as the hair above
them. She was beautiful, in an odd, white-and-gold way. If her eyes had been blue, or gray—or even brown—she would have been merely pretty; but as they were, that amber tint where one
looked for something else struck one unexpectedly and made her whole face unforgettably lovely. However, the color of her eyes and her hair did not interest her then, or make life any easier. She
was quite ordinarily miserable and homesick, as she went reluctantly back along the grassy trail. The odor of fried bacon came up to her, and she hated bacon. She hated everything.

“I’ve been to the spring,” she called out, resolutely cheerful, as soon as she came in sight of Manley, waiting in the kitchen door; she ran toward him lightly. “However
does the water keep so deliciously cool through this hot weather? I don’t wonder you call this Cold Spring Ranch.”

Manley straightened proudly. “I’m glad you like it; I was afraid you might not, just at first. But you’re the right stuff—I might have known it. Not every woman could
come out here and appreciate this country right at the start.”

Val stopped at the steps, panting a little from her run, and smiled unflinchingly up into his face.

CHAPTER SIX

M
ANLEY
’
S
F
IRE
G
UARD

H
OT SUNLIGHT, WIND AS HOT, A SHIMMERING HEAT WHICH DISTORTED
objects at a distance and made the sky line a dazzling, wavering ribbon of faded blue; and
then the dull haze of smoke which hung over the land, and, without tempering the heat, turned the sun into a huge coppery balloon, which drifted imperceptibly from the east to the west, and at
evening time settled softly down upon a parched hilltop and disappeared, leaving behind it an ominous red glow as of hidden fires.

When the wind blew, the touch of it seared the face, as the smoke tang assailed the nostrils. All the world was a weird, unnatural tint, hard to name, never to be forgotten. The far horizons
drew steadily closer as the days passed slowly and thickened the veil of smoke. The distant mountains drew daily back into dimmer distance; became an obscure, formless blot against the sky, and
vanished completely. The horizon crouched then upon the bluffs across the river, moved up to the line of trees along its banks, blotted them out one day, and impudently established itself halfway
up the coulee.

Time ceased to be measured accurately; events moved slowly in an unreal world of sultry heat and smoke and a red sun wading heavily through the copper-brown sky from the east to the west, and a
moon as red which followed meekly after.

Men rode uneasily here and there, and when they met they talked of prairie fires and of fire guards and the direction of the wind, and of the faint prospect of rain. Cattle, driven from their
accustomed feeding grounds, wandered aimlessly over the still-unburned range, and lowed often in the night as they drifted before the flame-heated wind.

Fifteen miles to the east of Cold Spring Coulee, the Wishbone outfit watched uneasily the deepening haze. Kent and Bob Royden were put to riding the range from the river north and west, and
Polycarp Jenks, who had taken a claim where were good water and some shelter, and who never seemed to be there for more than a few hours at a time, because of his boundless curiosity, wandered
about on his great, raw-boned sorrel with the white legs, and seemed always to have the latest fire news on the tip of his tongue, and always eager to impart it to somebody.

To the northwest there was the Double Diamond, also sleeping with both eyes open, so to speak. They also had two men out watching the range, though the fires were said to be all across the
river. But there was the railroad seaming the country straight through the grassland, and though the company was prompt at plowing fire guards, contract work would always bear watching, said the
stockmen, and with the high winds that prevailed there was no telling what might happen.

So Fred De Garmo and Bill Madison patrolled the country in rather desultory fashion, if the truth be known. They liked best to ride to the north and east—which, while following faithfully
the railroad and the danger line, would bring them eventually to Hope, where they never failed to stop as long as they dared. For, although they never analyzed their feelings, they knew that as
long as they kept their jobs and their pay was forthcoming, a few miles of blackened range concerned them personally not at all. Still, barring a fondness for the trail which led to town, they were
not unfaithful to their trust.

One day Kent and Polycarp met on the brink of a deep coulee, and, as is the way of men who ride the dim trails, they stopped to talk a bit.

Polycarp, cracking his face across the middle with his habitual grin, straightened his right leg to its full length, slid his hand with difficulty into his pocket, brought up a dirty fragment of
“plug” tobacco, looked it over inquiringly, and pried off the corner with his teeth. When he had rolled it comfortably into his cheek and had straightened his leg and replaced the
tobacco in his pocket, he was “all set” and ready for conversation.

Kent had taken the opportunity to roll a cigarette, though smoking on the range was a weakness to be indulged in with much care. He pinched out the blaze of his match, as usual, and then spat
upon it for added safety before throwing it away.

“If this heat doesn’t let up,” he remarked, “the grass is going to blaze up from sunburn.”

“It won’t need to, if you ask me. I wouldn’t be su’prised to see this hull range afire anytime. Between you an’ me, Kenneth, them Double Diamond fellers ain’t
watching it as close as they might. I was away over Dry Creek way yesterday, and I seen where there was two different fires got through the company’s guards, and kited off across the country.
It jest
happened
that the grass give out in that red clay soil, and starved ’em both out. They wa’n’t
put
out. I looked close all around, and there wasn’t nary
a track of man or horse. That’s their business—ridin’ line on the railroad. The section men’s been workin’ off down the other way, where a culvert got scorched up
pretty bad. By granny, Fred ’n’ Bill Madison spend might’ nigh all their time ridin’ the trail to town. They’re might’ p’ticular about watchin’ the
railroad between the switches—
he-he!
”

“That’s something for the Double Diamond to worry over,” Kent rebuffed. He hated that sort of gossip which must speak ill of somebody. “Our winter range lays mostly south
and east; we could stop a fire between here and the Double Diamond, even if they let one get past ’em.”

Polycarp regarded him cunningly with his little, slitlike eyes. “Mebbe you could,” he said doubtfully. “And then again, mebbe you couldn’t. Oncet it got past Cold
Spring—” He shook his wizened head slowly, leaned, and expectorated gravely.

“Man Fleetwood’s keeping tab pretty close over that way.”

Polycarp gave a grunt that was half a chuckle. “Man Fleetwood’s keeping tab on what runs down his gullet,” he corrected. “I seen him an’ his wife out burnin’
guards t’ other day—over on his west line—and, by granny, it wouldn’t stop nothing! A toad could jump it—
he-he!
” He sent another stream of tobacco juice
afar, with the grave air as before.

“And I told him so. ‘Man,’ I says, ‘what you think you’re doing?’

“‘Buildin’ a fire guard,’ he says. ‘My wife, Mr. Jenks.’

“‘Polycarp Jenks is my cognomen,’ I says. ‘And I don’t want no misterin’ in mine. Polycarp’s good enough for me,’ I says, and I took off my hat
and bowed to ’is wife. Funny kinda eyes, she’s got—ever take notice? Yeller, by granny! First time I ever seen yeller eyes in a human’s face. Mebbe it was the sun in
’em, but they sure was yeller. I dunno as they hurt her looks none, either. Kinda queer lookin’, but when you git used to ’em you kinda like ’em.

“’N’ I says: ‘’Tain’t half wide enough, nor a third’—spoke right up to ’im! I was thinkin’ of the hull blamed country, and I
didn’t care how he took it. ‘Any good, able-bodied wind’ll jump a fire across that guard so quick it won’t reelize there was any there,’ I says.

“Man didn’t like it none too well, either. He says to me: ‘That guard’ll stop any fire I ever saw,’ and I got right back at him—
he-he!
‘Man,’ I says, ‘you ain’t never saw a prairie fire’—just like that. ‘You wait,’ I says, ‘till the real thing comes along. We ain’t had
any fires since you come into the country,’ I says, ‘and you don’t know what they’re like. Now, you take my advice and plow another four or five furrows—and plow
’em out, seventy-five or a hundred feet from here,’ I says, ‘an’ make sure you git all the grass burned off between—and do it on a still day,’ I says.
‘You’ll burn up the hull country if you keep on this here way you’re doing,’ I told him—straight out, just like that. ‘And when you do it,’ I says,
‘you better let somebody know, so’s they can come an’ help,’ I says. ‘’Tain’t any job a man oughta tackle alone,’ I says to him. ‘Git help,
Man, git help.’

“Well, by granny—
he-he!
Man’s wife brustled up at me like a—a—” He searched his brain for a simile, and failed to find one. “‘I have been
helping Manley, Mr. Polycarp Jenks,’ she says to me, ‘and I flatter myself I have done as well as any
man
could do.’ And, by granny! The way them yeller eyes of hern blazed
at me—
he-he!
I had to laugh, jest to look at her. Dressed jest like a city girl, by granny! With ruffles on her skirts—to ketch afire if she wasn’t mighty keerful! And a
big straw hat tied down with a veil, and kid gloves on her hands, and her yeller hair kinda fallin’ around her face—and them yeller eyes snappin’ like flames—by granny! If
she didn’t make as purty a picture as I ever want to set eyes on! Slim and straight, jest like a storybook woman—
he-he!
’Course, she was all smoke an’ dirt; a big
flake of burned grass was on her hair, I took notice, and them ruffles was black up to her knees—
he- he!
And she had a big smut on her cheek—but she was right there with her
stack of blues, by granny! Settin’ into the game like a—a—” He leaned and spat. “But burnin’ guards ain’t no work for a woman to do, an’ I told Man
so—straight out. ‘You git help,’ I says. ‘I see you’re might’ near through with this here strip,’ I says, ‘an’ I’m in a hurry, or
I’d stay, right now.’ And, by granny! If that there wife of Man’s didn’t up an’ hit me another biff—
he-he!