The next day was one of hard work—cutting cattle and branding calves; but as the number of cows in this bunch was small, the work of separating the brands and branding the calves was not so great as might have been expected from the number of cattle to be worked. There was an unusual number of strays, as the boys had noticed for several days past, and these were all turned into the big bunch which McIntyre proposed to send over to the home range on the Pick Ranch.
So it happened that night that the boys were less tired than after an ordinary day's work. Supper came early and they lounged about the fire talking and smoking, for the evening was cool and the warmth of the fire pleasant. A sharp shower of rain had fallen in the middle of the night before, more or less rousing the sleepers, who had hurried about looking up their slickers which they spread over their blankets. The early morning was clear and bright, but cool, and the higher hills in the distance showed that there the rain had been snow, for they were white for a long distance below their summits. The cool weather contributed something to the ease of the day's work, and during the morning there was less dust than usual, although by midday all the moisture had dried, and the powdery clouds of dust were as suffocating as they usually are when cattle are being handled.
Jack had not forgotten Mason's promise to tell him John Monroe's story of the movements of the Blackfeet tribes in early days; and not long after supper he spoke to him about this. Mason was slow to respond, declaring that Hugh Johnson probably knew the story better than he, and could tell it if he would. But after some persuasion Mason began.
"Well, according to old John Monroe, the way I remember what he told me, it was like this:
"The old men say that a long time ago, in the time of our grandfathers, or great-grandfathers, or even back before that, the Blackfeet people used to live out in the timber country away east of the Rocky Mountains. In that land they were at war with people, who fought with them and troubled them. Game was hard to get, for their only weapons were arrows pointed with bits of stone and with these weapons it was hard for them to kill food. They had never been a people that ate fish, but believed that all animals and all birds were fit for food and could be eaten.
"John said that the attacks of their enemies and the difficulty of getting food were the things that made them move from that lower country up closer to the mountains. He says that when he was a little boy, and afterward when he was larger, he used to hear in the lodge the talks between his mother and an old Blood Indian named Su' ta ne. This old man may have been some sort of relation to John, but about that I don't know. At all events, Su' ta ne was then very old, and the time he used to talk about was when he was a little boy. Su' ta ne had heard his father speak of the trouble that they used to have down in the timber country, and said that it was in his father's boyhood that they began to move westward, traveling up the Saskatchewan or some of the rivers that flow into it. Su' ta ne said that it was when he was a little boy that they first saw the Rocky Mountains; this, according to John, must have been a long time ago. John must be now sixty or sixty-five years old, and he said that Su' ta ne was very old when he used to hear him talk about this. If we say that John heard it fifty years ago and that Su' ta ne was born when his father was thirty, it carries the beginning of the movement back a hundred and thirty or a hundred and forty years, which, according to my guess, would be about 1745 or 50, and I reckon that was a long time before any white man got into the country where those people used to live. Maybe, though, it was a good deal longer ago than that. I guess all John meant was that it was long, long ago, and when Su' ta ne said that it was in his father's time that they began to move toward the mountains, he may have meant only that this move was before he knew anything."
"I guess you're right there, Jack," said Hugh. "Indians are mighty weak on dates, after they get back farther than they themselves can remember."
"Yes," went on Mason, "I don't believe it's any use to try to fix a date. It's bound to be guesswork. Anyhow, old John said that Su' ta ne, when he described the country that they lived in, said it was mostly timbered, with stretches of prairie among the timber—something like big parks, I reckon.
"It was in Su' ta ne's time, in his young days, as I understood, that the Blackfeet, who had been slowly drifting westward, at last reached the mountains. When they got to the rough country they found there lots of game of all kinds, and found it very much easier to get close to than it ever had been before. So they thought that the change they had made was a mighty good one; and that's the way they changed from a timber living people to a mountain people. It was a good while after this that they got horses and began to travel around out on the prairie. The old men used to tell John that the time they first ventured out on the prairie was when they began to travel along the old trail which still runs north and south along the mountains. Of course, you know the old Red River cart trail, Hugh, and very likely you too, Jack."
"Yes," replied Hugh, "I know it; but I don't believe son here has ever been on it."
"Old John Monroe believes thoroughly in this story, and he naturally would, because it comes from his mother, and his relations, but he says that all the old Indians in that northern country believe in it just the same as he does. He believes that the Crees and the Blackfeet are relations, though he doesn't pretend that they are very close relations.
"Well, according to old John, a while after the Indians got up close to the mountains there, up North, the white man came into the country; and when the white men came, the Indians began to get guns. Before that they had begun to get horses, maybe through the Kutenais on the other side of the mountains; and when they got guns and horses they began to take courage and to venture out on the prairie. They began to find out that they could fight their enemies and take care of themselves. Besides this, they had learned that while there were no horses north of them, the tribes to the south had horses; and of course that led to their going more and more to war, because everybody wanted horses. They were about the most valuable things that a man could get hold of. These journeys to war and their fightings led to the Indians moving south along the foot of the mountains, and out on the prairie.
"Now of course I'm just telling you what John Monroe told me. I don't know anything about it myself."
"Well," said Hugh, "I guess that's gospel; and it always seemed to me that the names that the Blackfeet have for the different points of the compass were very good evidence that the Blackfeet did come from the north. The Blackfeet word for north means back, or behind, direction; while the word for south means ahead, or before, direction. It seems to me mighty natural that if people were traveling they should call the direction that they had come from, behind direction, and the one that they were going to, ahead direction. Of course the two words for east and west they called down direction and up direction. That doesn't mean anything more than that the streams that they crossed were flowing down hill toward the lower land; while they were flowing from the higher land which lay to the west."
"I never heard that before," said Mason. "That's mighty funny; and it certainly seems to back up John Monroe's story about their having come from the north."
"Did John tell you," asked Hugh, "about the story of the people getting separated?"
"Yes," Mason answered. "He told me that all the Piegans believe that somewhere off in the southern country, there's a tribe of Piegans—at least a tribe of people who speak the same language that the Piegans talk—and they believe that those people are a part of the Piegan tribe. I don't just remember how they got separated, but I do recall that it was when they were crossing a big water that the separation took place. Do you remember it, Hugh?"
"Yes," said Hugh. "This was the story, as I heard it. A long time ago a big camp of people, the whole Piegan tribe, were traveling south and they came to a big river and started to cross it on the ice. Of course, in those days the tribe was a big one, and when they marched they were strung out over a long distance. Some of the people had already crossed the river; some were yet on the ice; but most of them had not yet come to the stream. As they were going along, a child saw frozen in the ice a buffalo horn that was shiny and pretty and cried for it. Some old woman began to knock it loose, and while she was doing that, suddenly the ice in the river broke up. Pretty much all the Indians on the ice were drowned; and now there was a big wide swollen stream full of running ice separating the two portions of the tribe. Of course the people could not sit down on the bank and wait for the stream to go down, and starve to death. Each party had to start out and look for food, and the two parties never met again. So it is that the north Indians still believe that somewhere off to the south there are a lot of Blackfeet living as a tribe. Men say that in their travels, either on the war-path or visiting other tribes, they have met people who speak a language so much like their own that they could understand them. Nobody really knows anything about it."
"Well," said Jack, "that's a great story. Wouldn't it be fun to go around among the Indian tribes and try to hunt up those Blackfeet and tell them about their relations up North?"
"Yes," added Mason, "that's a good story. I remember now that that's just about what John Monroe told me; but I couldn't have told it the way Hugh did."
"It's a good story," said Hugh, "but it's a story that a good many tribes of Indians tell. I've heard the Cheyennes tell the same story; and the Sarcees, and the Crows. Now I wonder if it isn't just some old legend founded on something that maybe really did happen once, but that has been adopted by half a dozen tribes that don't seem to be any kin to each other, as far as we know?
"One time, when I was younger and heard this same story told by two tribes, I thought maybe I'd found the people that used to belong to the Blackfeet; but I reckon that's not so. You know, if you've traveled around, that you'll find lots of different tribes that have the same story and each tribe thinks the story belongs to it. Nobody knows where that story originally came from, nor to whom it actually belongs."
"Say, Hugh," Mason asked, "did you ever hear that story told by John Monroe, about the first time the north Indians saw the white people?"
"Yes," replied Hugh, "I've heard that story; but a good while ago, and I don't feel sure that I could tell it. Do you remember it well enough to give it to us?"
"Well, I don't know that I do; but, if you'd like, I'll try it."
"Pitch in," said Hugh; and McIntyre added, "Go it, Mason."
"This happened a long time ago, old John Monroe said, but how long, of course, I can't tell, any more than he could; but, according to the story, this was the first time the Blackfeet ever saw any white people. John said that old Su' ta ne told him the story and Su' ta ne said that his grandfather was one of the Blackfeet people. It happened when the Blackfeet were living up North, as I've just told you about. Here's the story:
"A party of Indians were traveling south, and while they were going through a big patch of timber on the north of some big river, they saw something that they could not understand. It looked like beaver work where beavers had been cutting down trees, but when they looked at the stumps and the cuttings they could see that no beaver that they knew anything about could possibly have opened its mouth wide enough to cut such chips. They talked and wondered about this and finally concluded that the tree must have been cut down by some mysterious animal. You know the Blackfeet are great fellows for believing that there are strange animals and people living under the water, and they thought that this work must have been done by under-water animals.
"Presently they came to a place where one of the trees that had been cut down, after having its branches lopped off, had been dragged along the ground. They followed the trail, anxious to find out what was happening, and as they followed it they saw that all through the timber there were many other trails like this, and that presently they all came together in one big trail, and in this trail they found tracks that looked like the tracks of people, but they were not shaped like the track of a human foot, and besides that, at the back of this track there was a deep mark.
"Well, they followed the trail which was now getting to be a big one, and presently they came to where they could see that the timber ended and there was an open spot beyond, and as they looked out through the timber they saw some animals walking around on their hind legs. For a minute they thought that they were bears playing with sticks, but then they saw that these looked like people, and that they were lifting up logs and putting them in a great pile. As they looked, they saw that some of these animals had a great deal of hair or wool on their faces; they seemed to be naked, for they wore no robes. Some had red bodies and some black ones. So they saw that they could not be people. As they talked about it, they concluded that these were certainly some under-water animals, but they wondered what they could be doing with these sticks.
"They were frightened by what they saw, and fearing that these animals might discover them and hurt them, they finally started away and went back to their own country without being seen. When they reached home they told their story and the people who heard it could not understand it, for they were told of something that was wholly outside of their own experiences. Here were people who were naked, who had red bodies, or again were dark colored everywhere, except for a red stripe around the body and a red tail.
"The story was so strange that pretty much all the men in the camp wanted to know more about it—to see this wonderful sight for themselves; and so quite a party started back to the place. When they reached the open part of the timber, these mysterious animals were still at work there. The head man of the Blackfeet must have been a pretty plucky fellow, for he ordered all his party to stay where they were, and said that he would go out and meet these animals and try to find out something about them. But he told his men that if these strange creatures attacked him, they must come out and help him.
"That Indian sure had plenty of sand. He walked down toward these people; and when they saw him, one of them walked up to him and stuck out his hand and took the Indian's hand and moved it up and down. The Indian looked at the white man and at the white man's hand, but he had no idea what this meant, and did nothing. Presently other white men came up to him, and the Indian discovered that they were people like himself, except that they had different voices and different colored skin and hair.
"After a while, when the Indians in the timber saw no harm had come to their chief, they came out a few at a time and went down toward the white people. The white people talked to them and made signs to them, but the Indians could not understand what they meant. At last, however, the whites managed to make some of the Indians understand that they wanted them to go into the house with them, and a number of them went in; and as some time went by without anything terrible happening, all the Indians began to take courage.
"In this house there were a great many wonderful things. The white people carried knives in their belts and showed the Indians how these would cut. The Indians were nearly tickled to death with the knives. Then a great big white man showed them an ax, and while they stood by he cut a big log in two in a very short time; and when the Indians saw the chips fly they began to understand the strange beaver work that they had seen.
"One of the white men took down from the wall something that the Indians thought was a long, straight stick but when the man showed it to them they could see that while part of it was made of wood a part was made of a hard black stone. The white man kept making signs about this stick, but they didn't know what he meant. Pretty soon the man took a white cow's horn, and out of it poured some black sand into his hand and poured this into a hole at the end of the stick. Then he made a little ball of grass and pushed this into the hole with another stick; then out of a bag he took something that was round and heavy and put that into the hole, and pushed down some more grass; then he poured some of the black sand into the side of the stick. The Indians watched him do all these things, and of course had no idea as to what it all meant. After he had finished doing these things, the white man made signs to the Indians and made a great noise with his mouth, and pointed to the stick. He put the stick to his shoulder, holding it out in front of him, and made motions of many kinds. Presently he gave the stick to one of the Indians, and put his finger on a little piece of stone sticking out from beneath it. When the Indian touched this under part, the stick made a terrible noise and a big smoke, and flew out of the Indian's hands, and he nearly fell down.
"All the Indians were very much scared, and some of them fell down, but all the white men laughed and nodded, and made signs, but of course the Indians did not understand them.
"Now the white man picked up the stick from the ground where it had fallen and again took the horn of black sand and did the same things to the stick as before, but this time the Indians all stood away from him. They didn't know what was going to happen. After the white man had finished doing these things, he persuaded them to come out of doors with him. Then he sat down on the ground and put the stick to his shoulder, pointing it toward a log that was lying on the ground. Again the terrible noise was heard, but the white man didn't let go the stick. He held it in his hand. Then he got up and walked over to the log and showed the bullet hole, and pushed a little stick into it. Then he loaded the gun again.
"By this time the Indians were beginning to understand the power of this stick; and at last, after the white man had loaded the gun again and encouraged the Indians, he took one of them close to the log and showed him how to point the gun and how to pull the trigger. The Indian fired and hit the log. I reckon when he found that he had hit it he thought that he was one of the biggest men in the country.
"Well, after a while the Indians and the white men got to be pretty friendly. The Indians could see that knives and axes and copper cups, to say nothing of guns, were a heap better than anything they had; and the white men on the other hand wanted the furs and dresses that the Indians wore. They traded for them, and after a while the Indians and the white people got to know each other pretty well, and commenced to trade regularly.
"And that's the story as I heard it."
"You told that mighty well, Mason," commented Hugh; "a great deal better than anybody else could tell it, except perhaps old John Monroe, or some of those old Piegans."
"But I want a lot of explanation," said Joe. "What about those fellows with the red tails? I don't savvy that a bit. I can understand about the red bodies, because I suppose that means they wore red shirts, but what about the red tails?"
"Well, Joe," replied Hugh, "you've never been out in that northern country or else you wouldn't ask a question like that. The old voyageurs and people in the North always used to wear a red sash tied around their waist with the long ends hanging down in front. When they were working, to get these ends out of the way, they used to pass them around their body, and then under the sash, so that they hung down behind."
"Well," laughed Joe, "that certainly is the limit."
"And," Jack said, "just think of their taking a tree chopped down with an ax for one cut down by a beaver; and their not knowing the foot-prints of a person wearing a shoe!"
"Sho," drawled Hugh; "haven't I told you time and again that we all of us measure up things by what we ourselves have seen, and we find it hard to believe anything that's outside the range of our own experience. If there was any way of proving it, I'd be willing to bet a good horse and saddle and bridle that if we'd been there we'd all have acted just the way those Indians did."
It happened the next day that Jack was riding circle on the far side of the ground that was being covered. Almost all day he rode without seeing any cattle, and it was well along in the afternoon when he came up to the top of a ridge and stopped his horse just before he reached its crest. Here he dismounted and, walking up, peeped over to see what there might be on the other side. This of course was not at all what most cowboys would have done, but the habits of caution taught Jack by Hugh in the early days of his travels in the West were too firmly fixed to be overcome, and when alone Jack always looked over a hill in this way.
Rather to his surprise he saw down in a little flat, five hundred yards away, a small bunch of cattle—perhaps eighteen or twenty head. This was a surprise, partly because he had seen none during the day, but chiefly because the cattle were close bunched, as if brought together by a herder. For an instant he did not comprehend what this meant, but then his eye caught two gray animals—big wolves—which were slowly walking about the herd. Evidently the cattle had come together for protection, and were standing there, heads out, ready to repel an attack if it should be made on them. Jack felt that he ought to ride down and drive off the wolves and bring the cattle in, but, on the other hand, he was very curious to see what the wolves would do. More than once he had seen coyotes trying to take from a cow a young calf that was by her side, but this was the first time he had seen big wolves round up cattle. He waited, therefore, to see what would happen, thinking that after a little while the wolves would probably give up the job and go off in search of some single animal which they could run down and kill, as he had once seen them do on his way out from the railroad to his uncle's ranch.
For two or three minutes nothing happened, and the wolves continued to walk around the bunch. Then, suddenly, one of them made a dash at the bunch of cattle, going so close to them that Jack expected to see the wolf caught on a steer's horns and thrown into the air. When the wolf rushed up, the bunch of cattle seemed to tremble; that is to say, there was apparently a slight movement by every individual in the herd, and Jack recalled similar movements which he had seen years before in British Columbia among a school of salmon far below the surface of the water, when some one darted down toward the fish a spear which nearly reached them. It seemed to him that every animal yielded a little, yet no one of them perhaps moved more than six or eight inches.
A moment or two later one of the wolves made another rush, which was followed by a similar slight movement of the bunch; and then the wolves continued their slow march about the cattle. This happened several times, but at last when the wolf dashed toward the bunch, one animal—a full-grown one—burst out of the herd and started to run. In an instant the wolf was behind it, between it and the other cattle; and a moment later the second wolf had joined the first one, and they loped quietly along after the single animal. Presently, running side by side, they drew up close to its heels, and then, separating, one of them made a vicious snap at the cow's leg while the other sprang and caught it in the flank; and in an instant, too quickly for Jack to see how it was done, the beast was on its side and the wolves were tearing at its belly. Jack jumped to his horse and rode over the ridge, charging down toward the wolves. They paid no attention to him until he was within less than a hundred yards, and then, suddenly looking up, they galloped away. He fired four or five shots after them, but without result.
The animal that they had pulled down was a two-year-old heifer, big, strong and fat. Her whole flank was torn out, and she was dead. There was nothing to be done with her. The brand was not one with which Jack was familiar, and he thought she was a stray from some distant ranch. He drove the remaining cattle slowly toward camp, and after a time met some of the other boys bringing in another bunch, and turned his in with theirs.
That night, after supper, he talked with Hugh about the wolves and the harm they did, and also about the tremendous power that seemed to be wrapped up in one of those not very large hides. Hugh had seen wolves pull down cattle, and had a great respect for the way in which these animals were able to supply themselves with food.
"You know more about big wolves, son, than most men do," said Hugh. "You've picked up what we can all see on the prairie here; and, besides that, you've had a tame wolf of your own. I reckon that you found, after you got to know him well, that your wolf was just nothing but a big dog—bigger and stronger, and ten times more enduring, of course, than any dog you ever saw, but still just pretty nearly plain dog. Of course he and his father and grandfathers for a good many generations had always been wild dogs, but up to within a few generations wolves were no more afraid of people—in this country, I mean—than they were of any other animals. You see in old times Indians never chased wolves, or frightened them at all. They did kill some, but they didn't kill 'em in a way to scare 'em. I reckon I've told you already—if not I, the Blackfeet have told you—about how the Indians used to catch wolves in old times. If the Blackfeet haven't described it to you, you surely must have had some stories told you that explained how they caught 'em."
"Why, yes, Hugh," Jack replied, "I remember one such story; but I never thought to ask much about how they caught wolves—they spoke about setting snares around the pis'kun and catching the wolves in this way, but I didn't ask much about it."
"That's just what they used to do. You see, there were always holes left in the pis'kun walls, mostly small holes, and through these holes the wolves and coyotes used to go into the pis'kun to feed on the carcasses or the offal that was left there after the butchering. Well, the people liked wolf skins: they used them for robes, or for hats, or to cut up into wide strips to sew on the edges of a buffalo robe to make it look nice; and so around these holes they used to set loops of sinew with a running knot. When the wolf was squeezing through a hole he would put his head through one of these nooses and, drawing it up, would choke to death in no time at all. Catching wolves in this way didn't scare 'em and they were always very tame."
"But, Hugh, I should think that after a while all the wolves in a certain section of the country would have been killed off."
"Not a bit of it," declared Hugh. "Wolves were great travelers and used to follow the buffalo around, especially in winter. When buffalo were plenty they really didn't have to do any hunting to amount to anything; they would just wait around the edge of the herd. Animals were constantly getting hurt—bulls were fighting; calves getting trampled on; buffalo of all sizes were getting drowned when crossing the stream, or being mired down in some soap hole. I tell you, the wolves lived fat in those days, especially along the Missouri River. Mr. Sturgis told me one time about reading in the book that Lewis and Clark wrote, telling the story of their trip up the Missouri River, that about one buffalo pound they came to, wolves were so plenty and so gentle that one of the men killed one with a kind of spear that they carried. The wolf let the man walk right up to him."
"Yes, I remember that story," said Jack. "I remember it because the book says that the man killed the wolf with an espontoon. I didn't know what that was, and it took me quite a little time to find out. It seems it's a kind of halberd—a sort of cross between a spear and an ax. Anyhow, it had a long handle."
"Well, of course," commented Hugh, "when a man can get close enough to an animal to stick a spear into it, the animal isn't what you'd call shy."
"I should say not," answered Jack.
"Well," Hugh said, "I was talking about the wolf being a big dog. You know, I reckon, that wolves and dogs will cross."
"Yes; I've read that in books a good many times; and the books talk about Indian dogs being like wolves. I remember the first day I came out to Swift Water, the time that Uncle Will killed the bear, I saw a coyote, and when I saw him, I thought it was an Indian dog, and that there must be a camp of Indians somewhere near."
"I remember," chuckled Hugh; "I remember that day well. You certainly had a lot of excitement that day, considering how old you were, and where you came from."
"Didn't I! I tell you, those early days were mighty exciting."
"More so than anything that's likely to happen to you again out in this country," drawled Hugh.
"You were saying that the wolves were dogs; and I know that's just what Swiftfoot always seemed to be. He would get scared like a dog; when he was pleased he would wag his tail and lay back his ears and show his teeth like a dog; if I took him out in the country and turned him loose, he hunted like a dog; and finally, when he got lost and could not see me, he became confused and lost his wits like a dog."
"Well, I've seen a lot of half-breed wolves, and if these half-breeds get away, and become wild, they're worse than the wolves themselves; they're a good deal smarter, and it seems as if they were hungrier, and they certainly have plenty of courage. I never saw many of these half-breeds that had gone wild, but I do remember one bunch down near the Dismal River, in Nebraska, that certainly made a lot of trouble. Old Lute North killed a number of 'em, and I got the story from him, and got it straight, and if you'd care to hear it, I'll tell it to you."
"Sure, Hugh, I'd give anything to hear it."
"Well," said Hugh, "this is what Captain North told me. It didn't happen so very long ago. It seems that one fall Major Frank North brought up to the ranch at the head of the Dismal River a big mongrel dog that some one in Columbus had given him. The dog was big and black, that's about all you could say about him. His hair was longish—not so long as that of a Newfoundland, but a good deal longer than that of a Great Dane. In fact, he looked as if he might be a cross between those two breeds.
"About the middle of that winter this dog went off from the ranch one night with a big gray wolf, and the next morning Lute followed their tracks in the snow for several miles, but could not find them. The dog was never seen again, and Lute always believed that the wolves killed him, for he saw places in the snow on the trail where the dog and a wolf had fought.
"Next spring, Al Pratt, one of the cow punchers at the Cody and North ranch, saw an old she-wolf traveling and seven puppies following her. Four of these puppies were black, and three were gray. Al chased the wolves and managed to get close enough to them to kill two of the black ones. All through the summer the others were seen now and then, but nobody could get near enough to get a shot at them. That fall Bill Burke, another puncher, shot and killed one of the gray puppies, and that winter a trapper poisoned the other gray ones. The only ones of the family now left were the mother and two black puppies, but they were a fearful trouble on the range. They would kill stock of all kinds. They were just as ready to take a steer as a calf, and Lute told me that one time he found where they'd killed a cow, a two-year-old and a yearling in one day. They were very shy and always on the lookout, and they seemed never to go back to the animal that they had killed for a second meal, so it was impossible to poison them. Lute said, too, that there was a band of six or eight coyotes traveling around behind 'em, and that after the wolves had eaten all they wanted when they killed, then the coyotes had their chance.
"Lute told me that he hunted those wolves a good many days; and, of course, bein' out riding all the time, and all the time on the lookout, and bein' the kind of a shot he is, it seemed pretty sure that finally he would get 'em.
"When he did get his shot, it was just by accident. He was hunting a big black-tail deer, creeping along the ground and trying to get within shot, when he saw one of the black half-breeds standing on a sand-hill nearly a mile away. He watched him, and after a time the wolf lay down. Then Lute began to hunt him, and I expect he did some mighty careful hunting. Anyhow, he told me it took him a couple of hours to get to the foot of the hill they were on. The hill was steep, and you may guess something about what it is to climb one of those steep hills in that sand. I reckon Lute was about out of wind when he stopped to get his breath. He stood looking toward the top of the hill, when the old mother wolf, who was lying in a sand blow-out, raised up and stood with her fore feet on the bank looking down at him.
"There wasn't any time to think, and he jerked his rifle to his shoulder and fired, and she disappeared. He scrambled up the hill as fast as he could, and when he got to where he could look over, he could see the two black wolves going down the side of the hill. They were jumping up on their hind legs and looking back for their mother.
"As soon as Lute came in sight they began to run, and he shot at one of them just as they were passing out of sight. A moment later one of them came in sight again and Lute shot at him. That fellow kept running for perhaps a quarter of a mile, and then settled down into a walk, and Lute knew that he was hit. He sat and watched until the wolf disappeared in some low sand-hills, and then went back to the blow-out where he had seen the old wolf, and there she was. This hole was about three feet deep and it was all Lute could do to lift her out. He said she was the biggest wolf he'd ever seen. He now got his horse and went after the wounded one. Finally he found him, and after running him a couple of miles killed him. The other black one was never seen again after that, and it's probable that Lute killed him with his second shot.
"Lute told me that he counted something like seventy head of cattle that he knew they had killed that one winter. When Lute killed the old mother and the black fellows, that bunch of coyotes was close to them. He saw them run away from the hill. The black wolf looked just about like a wolf, with a sharp nose and sharp ears. He measured seven feet from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail."
"That's one of the most interesting stories I've ever heard, Hugh; and people who don't know anything about animals, I expect, would hardly believe it."
"That's so," said Hugh. "When you're talking to people about something that they don't know anything about, they're likely to think that you're stringing 'em. You see most of us measure up everything we hear by what we've seen, or what we've heard and believe to be true; and when we hear anything outside of that little narrow range, we're mighty likely to think that people are lying to us."
"Of course, that's so," Jack assented. "I know sometimes back East I've told about common everyday things that happened here, and the people I was talking to thought at first that I was just inventing stories. Have you seen a great many of these half-breed wolves? I mean crossed between a dog and big wolves, not coyotes?"
"Yes," said Hugh; "in my time I've seen quite a number; but most of 'em had been brought up at home with their mothers. They were always timid and afraid of strangers, but they never did any particular harm around the house, except maybe to kill chickens, or something like that. Of course, a wolf—or a dog either, for the matter of that—always likes to hunt; and if anything runs, it's bound to chase it. You recollect, I reckon, some tame coyotes that Charley Powell had one while several years ago, and don't you remember that he had to kill one of them because it got into the way of killing his chickens?"
"That's so," answered Jack; "I remember that now. But I never heard that those big wolves he and Bessie had ever did any harm."
"No," replied Hugh, "neither did I."
Tulare Joe, who had been sitting by listening to this talk, now asked a question.
"Mr. Johnson, have you ever seen any black wolves in this country?"
"Not in this country; but way farther south I saw one once; and down there they have red wolves, as you've probably seen yourself. I saw black wolf skins out on the Coast."
"Yes," said Joe, "down in Texas I've seen red wolves myself, but it didn't look to me as if they were as big as these gray wolves that we have up in this country. Anyhow, down in the southern country most of the animals like those we have up here seem much smaller: the deer are smaller, and it seems to me that the wolves and the antelope don't run so large. The jack-rabbits, though, are bigger; but then they're not just like our jack-rabbits up here—they're some different."
By this time the fire was burning low and the boys were leaving it to spread down their beds at different points on the prairie. The discussion of wolves was given up. Hugh smoked a last pipe, and presently they all went to bed.
As Jack and Joe and three or four of the older men lounged around the fire a night or two after that, most of the younger boys having gone to their blankets, McIntyre turned to Hugh.
"Who do you suppose I saw to-day on the range?" he asked.
Hugh looked up inquiringly.
"Claib Wood."
"What's he doing here?" asked Hugh. "I thought he'd been run out of the country and had gone to stay."
"Oh, well," said McIntyre, "that's what most of us thought, I guess. He got a warning from the people around here and from the stock association that he'd do well to get out of the country; but I met him to-day, and he said 'Howdy' to me as chirk as you please. I didn't have any talk with him, and I watched him kind o' close, for I didn't know what he might be up to. He never turned his head, though, after he passed; just rode on across country, and I saw him going for a mile or two before he got behind a hill."
"Well," drawled Hugh, "I reckon that this time he's not after calves. Maybe he's come down here to go in to the railroad and see if he can't get some money out of that wife of his. Since he quit home about a year ago, she's been doing well, and has got quite a nice little eating-house there in town. Maybe he's heard about that and has come back to make her give up to him."
"If that's what he's after," said McIntyre, "it's an infernal shame. I never had any use for these bad men that we used to have in the country, but I do wish now that somebody a little worse than Claib would come along and kill him off."
When Hugh and McIntyre had begun talking, Jack Mason was lying on the ground close to the fire, seemingly asleep, but presently he opened his eyes and then rose to his elbow and listened intently. After a time he asked McIntyre if this was the Claib Wood who four or five years ago used to be around Rawlins.
"Yes," said McIntyre; "he's the man—little, sawed-off fellow with light brown hair and a brown mustache; good cow hand and mighty quick with a gun."
"I reckon that's the man," returned Mason.
He said nothing more for a little while. Jack was about to ask some question about the man, when Mason spoke again.
"I used to know Claib, but I haven't seen him for a good many years. Which way did you say he was going, Mac?"
"Well," answered McIntyre, "when I saw him he was just riding across the prairie, but from the way he was headed I judged that he was going in to the railroad."
"What time was it you passed him?"
"About two or three o'clock this afternoon. If he was going to town and rode fast, he'll be there by this time."
"Yes," Mason said, "so he will."
For a little while nothing more was said, and then Mason changed the subject.
"Mac, I guess you'll have to give me my time," he said. "I've got to go into town. I can't say sure when I'll be back, and I reckon maybe I'd better quit."
"What's the matter with you?" asked McIntyre, severely. "Ain't you satisfied? Ain't you bein' well treated? Anything wrong with the pay?"
"No; nothing wrong with the pay, nothing wrong with the treatment. Only it just struck me that I've got some business to attend to in town, and I reckon I'd better do it now than wait until the round-up's over."
"I hate to lose you, Jack," McIntyre said. "Can't you go in and attend to your business and then come back? Take two or three days off. The town ain't so big but what you can do everything you're likely to have to do in the course of twenty-four or forty-eight hours."
"Well," Mason replied, "maybe that's better. I'd like it better, if it suits you; only it don't seem just right for a man to take time off right in the middle of the round-up, just to go into town after his own affairs. So I thought, as I've got to go, maybe you'd rather have me quit for good. Still, if you'll let me take three or four days off, it'll be lots handier for me. I'll leave my horses here with the bunch, and then come back when I get through."
"All right," agreed McIntyre. "Do it your own way."
"Good!" said Mason. "I may as well start now, and then I'll get into town by daylight."
He rose from the fire and presently his cheery whistle was heard coming over the prairie from the direction of the horse herd, and a little later the men in the camp who were just dropping off to sleep heard him throw the saddle on the horse and draw the latigos, and then came the sound of hoofs, trotting off over the prairie and growing fainter and fainter in the distance.
All night long Mason rode through the dark, under the clear stars. It was nearly twenty miles to the wagon road, and after he had reached that, it was more than twenty miles in to the railroad, but the sun had not long risen when he trotted his tired horse down the straggling street of the forlorn little town. As yet there was hardly a sign of life there. Two or three pigs were rooting in piles of rubbish not far from the road; and a starved-looking cayuse stood humped up at the end of a picket-rope on a bit of prairie where once there had been grass but which now was as bare as the palm of Mason's hand.
As Mason trotted along the street, the door of a house opened, and a man came out carrying a bucket. Mason drew up his horse.
"Hello! Ross," he called.
"Why, hello! Jack," the man replied. "What are you doing down here? I haven't seen you for a dog's age. Four or five years, isn't it, since you were up in Rawlins?"
"Five years," said Mason; "and since then I've been away, up North, and now I've drifted back again."
The two shook hands, and began to exchange news and experiences, each telling the other more or less of what had happened to him since they last parted.
"Well," said Ross, "how long are you going to be in town? I want to see you before you go."
"I don't just know how long I'm going to be here; maybe for a day or two. I've got some business I want to attend to here, and as soon as I get through with that I'm liable to move out again. There ain't much to hold me in this burgh."
"No," agreed Ross. "If I had any sort of a job in the open I'd tackle that. By the way," he added, "did you know that Claib Wood was in town? Seems to me your brother and Claib had some trouble at Rawlins that winter we were all there."
Mason laughed.
"Sure they had some trouble; and just after it occurred Claib skipped. I never had a chance to speak to him about it. I heard the other day that he was in the country, but I didn't know that he was here in town."
"He is," said Ross; "and if I were you I'd look out for him. Claib was drunk last night, and you know when he's drunk he's awful mean, and he certainly is quick with a gun."
"So I always heard. He's quick with a gun, and he's mean; meaner, I expect, when he's drunk, but mean enough at any time. Now when he shot my brother in Rawlins, they hadn't had any words, or any quarrel. Rufe told me when he got well that he never did know why Claib shot him, and I always made up my mind that if I ever saw Claib I'd ask him."
"Well, Jack," cautioned Ross, "if I were you I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't have any words with Claib Wood. You're too good a man to quarrel with him, because if you do quarrel with him, you'll be liable to get killed quick."
"Oh, I don't expect that it's time yet for me to pass in my checks; but if I stay in town for twenty-four hours, and Claib is here, I can't help running up against him somewhere, and I reckon he won't forget whose brother I am."
"No," said Ross; "he won't; that's a sure thing. I'd like to have you avoid him, if you can. Of course, you can't leave town because he's here, and you can't hide because he's here; but I do hope you won't quarrel with him, for he's mighty mean and mighty quick."
"I'll have to do the best I can," replied Mason. "I don't want to get killed, and I don't want to have to kill anybody. See you later, Ross."
He swung into the saddle, and fifty yards farther on turned into the livery barn where he unsaddled his horse, watered it, tied it in a stall and gave it some hay.
At the little eating-place where he went for breakfast he had to wait a long time before anything was cooked, but about the middle of the morning he went back to Ross's house, where he had a pleasant and long talk with him, renewing old times. It was nearly noon when he went up the street again and entered the saloon. Half a dozen men were there. One or two were sitting at card-tables poring over old newspapers; two were playing a game of cards; and one was standing in front of the counter talking to the bar-tender. A glass of liquor which seemed just to have been filled rested on the counter directly in front of him. The man standing there was Claib Wood. Mason walked quietly into the room without receiving more than a casual glance from any one there, and was standing close to the counter before Wood saw him.
"Well, I'm darned, if this ain't Jack Mason!" Wood exclaimed. "Where did you come from?"
"Oh, I've been cutting little circles over the prairie between here and the British line for five years now, Claib," Mason answered; "ever since the last time I saw you in Rawlins, just before you shot Rufe. I always wanted to ask you about that. How did you come to shoot him? You didn't have any quarrel with him, so far as I heard."
"Say, now, what's the matter with you, Jack?" exclaimed Claib. "Are you looking for some of the medicine that Rufe got?"
Mason laughed merrily.
"Not a bit, Claib. I'm not looking for anything, without it's a little information. Of course I've heard of bad men that would shoot a fellow down just for meanness; but I never saw one, and I was wondering if you were that kind of man. I was wondering, for example, if I were to turn around and walk to the door here, whether you would plug me before I got there? Now, I don't know anybody who can tell me about that as well as you."
Claib's eyes were bloodshot from his excesses of the night before, and as Mason talked to him an ugly light seemed to glow in them and the sneer of his face grew more pronounced. The two men were standing face to face rather close together. Claib's right hand and Mason's left hand toward the bar.
"See here, Jack," said Wood, "it looks to me like you're hunting for trouble and trying to pick a quarrel with me, and I don't want nothing of the kind. I come in here to attend to my own business, and I reckon you'd better clear out and attend to yours, if you've got any."
"Sure, I've got some," replied Mason; "but when I saw you in here, I thought we could have a little friendly talk, and maybe you'd tell me why it was that you shot Rufe in Rawlins. As I say, I never could hear that you had any quarrel."
"Well," said Claib—and his hand with a swiftness that the eye could hardly follow, flew around to his hip; but it never reached the butt of his pistol; for Mason with lightning speed shot forward his left hand and caught Claib by the wrist, while with his right hand he seized the glass of liquor resting on the bar and dashed it into Claib's face. Then he wrapped both arms around him, and called to Ross who had just stepped into the door.
"Take this man's gun and mine and keep them! This isn't going to be a shooting-match."
Ross snatched both pistols from their holsters and stood back.
For a moment the men whirled around over the bare floor in a rapid dance, and then Mason suddenly lifted Claib off the floor, held him for an instant in the air above his head, and then threw him an astonishing distance. The man's head and shoulder coming in contact with the plastered wall burst a large hole in it and loosened some of the weather-boarding on the outside of the building.
Several of the men hastened to Wood and picked him up, expecting to find that his neck was broken. He was senseless and on feeling him they found that his right arm and right collar-bone were broken and the shoulder out of place. None seemed to feel much sympathy for him; he was too well known.
"Now," said Jim Decker, the proprietor of the hotel, "who's going to pay that man's doctor's bills, and who's going to pay for that plaster that you've knocked off, Jack Mason?"
"Why," returned Mason, smiling, "there isn't any doctor in town, so there can't be any doctor's bills; and as for that plaster, if you'll take one of those old newspapers and tack it over the hole, that'll do fine until cold weather comes. When cold weather comes, I'd put a board over it, if I were you."
"Well," snorted Decker, "that's a great note! Coming in and breaking up a man's furniture this way!"
Mason laughed.
"Charge it up to expenses," he said; "that's just one of the incidental expenses of running a saloon."
Decker slouched away behind the counter, grumbling to himself.
By this time, applications of cold water had brought Wood to his senses, but he was more or less dazed and confused. Jack Mason went over and spoke to him.
"Claib, you've got some broken bones now, and you'll have to lie quiet for a while. There isn't any doctor in town, but I reckon Ross and me can fix you up so you'll be all right, if there's a place for you to stay. Have you got any money?"
"Yes; I've got money enough. But what's the matter with you? Didn't you just start a quarrel with me? And now I've got knocked out. Do you want to mend me up again?"
"That's what," said Mason; "mend you up; and then if I ever have trouble with you again, I won't stop at breaking your arm and collar-bone. I'll break your neck and make it a sure thing that you won't trouble this country any more; but don't let's talk about it now."
Three or four of the men carried Wood to the bedroom on the top floor of the hotel, and Mason and Ross, with the help of the station-agent, managed to set his arm in very good shape, to put the shoulder in place and to bind the arm so that they would presumably do well. Then Jack Mason had a long talk with Ross and the proprietor and made arrangements for them to look after Wood until the railroad company's surgeon could be got hold of.
During the afternoon, Claib had a good deal of fever, and at times was delirious. Ross sat up with him during part of the night and was relieved by Mason, and in the morning the patient was much better and quite rational.
About the middle of the morning Mason came into the room, where Claib was alone.
"Well, Claib," he said, "I see you're better and I reckon now that you'll get along all right. It won't take long for your bones to knit. I'm going off now, but I thought I'd come in and have a little talk with you before I left. You're a pretty mean man, and you're pretty quick with your gun, and a pretty good cowboy. After you shot Rufe in Rawlins I always made up my mind that I'd have a talk with you if we ever met up together, and now I've had it. You're mean, and I expect that when you get well maybe you'll try to get me; but if I were you I wouldn't do it. You're quick, but it isn't any ways likely that you're the quickest man in the world, or even in Wyoming, or even in Medicine Bow. You tried to draw yesterday, but you weren't quick enough. You may lay for me and get me in that way sometime, but if we ever meet and you try any of your tricks with me, I'm more likely to get you than you are to get me; and I believe it would be a good idea for you to remember that. I don't want to kill you, but if I have to I will.
"Now I've been to see your wife this morning and I've told her that you're laid up, and she says she's willing to take care of you until you're able to get around. You won't be able to move for a week or two now, and I told her she had better leave you here and just kind o' keep track of you, and see that you're comfortable, and not try to take you to her house. She's a good woman, Claib, and if you were smart you'd be good to her."
Claib made no reply to Mason's rather long speech, but his eyes glittered with anger. As Mason turned to go out of the room, Claib glared at him savagely.
"I'll git you yet, Jack Mason!" he cried.
"Better think it over, Claib," Mason called back cheerily.
As Mason stepped out of the saloon, turning up the street toward the stable, he saw Ross walking toward him with a tall, large, red-headed young man, who was evidently an Englishman. As they met, Mason spoke.
"I'm going to start back now, Ross. I've finished up my business here in town."
"Hold on a minute," said Ross. "Here's a man just come in on the passenger this morning, who wants to go out into the country where you're going, and I told him maybe you could help him. Mr. Donald, this is Jack Mason."
"If I can help you, Mr. Donald, I'll be glad to," Mason said as the two shook hands; "but I'm just going back to the round-up camp, forty miles or so from here."
"Well," explained the young man, "I was thinking of going out to Mr. Sturgis's ranch. He lives somewhere up North, about forty miles, I think he told me, from the railroad. Is his place anywhere near your camp?"
"No; but there are two or three of his men along with our outfit, and if you want to come out there with me, some one of them may be going over to his place before long, and could take you there. It's a perfectly plain road from here out to the ranch, just as soon as a man knows the road, but if he doesn't know it, he's liable to get lost a good many times before he gets there."
"Yes," said Ross, "I told Donald that it was a plain road out to the Sturgis ranch, but that there were about twenty roads turning off from it, and it wouldn't be easy to take the right one."
"Have you got a horse to ride?" asked Mason.
"No," answered Donald, "I have no horse; but I was going to buy a horse and saddle, or perhaps two horses, here in town. Mr. Ross says that he has one that he would either sell or hire, and that he thinks he could find another that I could use as a pack horse."
"Are you used to the saddle?"
"Yes; I have ridden a little."
"Let's go back to my house," said Ross, "and sit down and talk it over, and I can soon find out what we can do about horses."
As they walked back up the street, Ross turned to Mason.
"So you've finished up all your business, have you, Jack?" he asked.
"Yes; I'm ready to pull my freight as soon as I can put the saddle on my horse."
"Well," commented Ross, with a little twinkle of his eye, "it seems to me you got through pretty quick."
"So, so," drawled Mason. "It didn't take me long after I once got at it."
"Well," said Ross, "I don't want to quarrel with you, Jack Mason; but you look to me like the biggest fool that I've seen since I come into Wyoming Territory."
Mason laughed heartily.
"Come on, come on, Ross," he said. "What's your riddle? What do you mean?"
"Why," Ross answered, "I believe you didn't come into this town for a single thing except to find Claib Wood and break him all up, when the chances were all in his favor that he'd kill you before you could bat an eye."
"Oh, come, Ross," said Mason; "you're doing a lot of guessing. Didn't I tell you when I first came into town that I didn't know that Claib Wood was here?"
"Yes, you did say that, but I'll bet you a new suit of clothes that if you didn't know he was here, you felt mighty sure that he was; and that if you hadn't felt sure you wouldn't have come to town."
"If I had an imagination like yours, Ross," laughed Mason, "and could use a pen a little better than I can, I'd have made a fortune long ago writing for the newspapers."
"Oh, come off, Jack," returned Ross. "I've known you too long. Don't give me any guff of that kind."
They reached the door of Ross's house, and Mason changed the subject.
"I understand that you've got a horse and saddle for Mr. Donald. Is that so?"
"Right," answered Ross.
"Then, suppose you take him around and see if you can get a pack horse and saddle on any terms that'll suit him, and come back here. I'll go up and saddle the two horses, and we can put Mr. Donald's bed on the one you get; then roll, and get to camp to-morrow morning."
The preparations for the journey did not take long, and the sun was yet two or three hours high when Mason and the young Englishman trotted off over the dry prairie. Mason led the pack horse and Donald rode behind, to urge it on in case this should be necessary, but it went so very well that before long, its hackamore was tied up, and it trotted swiftly on behind or beside Jack Mason's horse, though Donald still rode behind it as a precautionary measure.
About ten o'clock at night they reached the point where the road must be left to go across the prairie to the camp. Here they stopped and removed the saddles from the horses, allowing them to roll and to eat a bite of grass. Then they saddled and started off again; and it was getting light when Mason pointed out to Donald the white wagon covers of the camp, and the cattle that dotted the hillsides not far from it. Mason had told Donald that he would better turn his animals into the cávaya the next day, in order that they might rest, and had suggested that he himself might like to ride in the bed wagon and sleep during the day, but the Englishman very quietly said that he thought he would go along with some part of the outfit, if he had a horse which he could ride.
As the new arrivals sat by the fire, waiting for the announcement of breakfast, the sleepy cowboys rose one by one from their beds, and after dousing their heads and arms in cold water, gathered around the fire. Breakfast was soon over, and just as the men were saddling up, Jack Danvers and Vicente, who had been on the last relief of the night herd, came trotting into camp. Jack was introduced to Donald, who told him he was headed for Swift Water Ranch when he could get there, and the two young men shook hands cordially.
"I have been out in this western country two or three times," said Donald, "but this is the first time I have stopped in a cow camp. It must be very interesting and full of excitement, I should think."
"Well," said Jack, "that depends on what you call excitement. I can tell you it is full of hard work; and just about as soon as the bloom of novelty has worn off, hard work is all you see of it. I can remember when I was a little fellow that I used to think it would be the greatest fun in the world to have a string of horses and ride around wearing shaps and clinking spurs, and maybe with a silver saddle-horn; but I have seen too much of it to care for it greatly now. How is it with you, Joe?" he asked, turning to Tulare Joe, who stood rolling a cigarette by the fire, with his horse's bridle rein over his arm.
"Well, Jack, I guess you've been through some school and have learned some lesson. Cow punching is awful good fun to read about, but reading is the best part of it. Books don't ever tell you how thick the dust is, nor how dry you get, nor how sore you become from riding, nor how mean a horse or a cow or a steer can be. No, the books leave out all that sort of thing."
"Well, Mr. Donald," said Jack, "you are going along with us for a few days until you get a chance to go over to Uncle Will's, aren't you?"
"Yes," answered Donald; "that is what I should like to do. But if I am going to stay in the camp, I should like to be of some use. I don't want to just ride a horse up and down and nothing else. I'd like to earn my grub, if I do nothing more."
"Mason says you have no horses to ride," said Jack; "and, of course, on a round-up a man cannot do much without horses."
"No," admitted Donald; "but I was wondering whether I could not hire three or four horses—say one from each of four or five men, so that I could really do some riding. I would enjoy the experience; and, while I do not know anything about the work, I fancy I could learn. Of course, I am more or less used to the saddle."
"Of course you could learn," replied Jack. "It is just riding and being able to put your string on an animal when you need to."
"There is where I am weak," Donald said. "I know nothing about roping. Of course, if a horse is walking in a corral I can put a noose over his head; but as for standing off and throwing it far, I cannot do that."
"That's easy to learn," explained Joe, as he threw down the end of the brand with which he had lighted his cigarette. "Any of us could teach you all you have to know about that in a mighty short while."
"What are you going to do to-day?" asked Jack.
"Why, Mason said that he would lend me a horse out of his string for the day, as both of mine traveled all night, and I thought I would ride along either with the cattle herd or the horse bunch, and use my eyes as much as I could."
"That's a good idea," said Jack. "Now Joe and I are going out with the cattle herd to-day, and if you want to come with us, you can see something, and I think you can learn something too."
"Ripping," was Donald's answer.
"Well, I'll go over and see Mason and find out what horse he wants you to ride and then we'll get started; but, hold on, here's Mason now;" and a moment later Mason rode up to the fire and handed to Donald the rope that was about the neck of a small but beautiful bay horse.
"Have you fixed on what you're going to do, Donald?" he asked; and Donald told him what they had decided on.
"That's bully," said Mason. "I'm riding with the herd to-day, so we'll be together again."
As they rode off toward the herd, Donald turned to Jack.
"It seems to me that Mason is a great man," he said.
"How do you mean?"
"Why, all last night as we rode along he was singing and whistling and making jokes, and telling funny stories. Three or four times I nearly fell off my horse from laughing at him; and yet the day before that, according to the story, he beat up a man in town so that he will have to be in bed for six weeks."
"Beat up a man!" exclaimed Jack. "That couldn't have been Mason."
"Why," said Donald, in some confusion, "I hope it is not a secret. Everybody in town was talking about it. I was only there a few hours, and five or six men spoke to me about it. It seems that a man there tried to draw his gun on Mason, and Mason was too quick for him. He picked him up and threw him pretty nearly through the side of the house and almost broke his neck."
"Great Cæsar's ghost!" exclaimed Jack. "That will be news to everybody in this camp."
"Hold on," said Donald; "I wish you would not say anything about it until somebody else does. I do not want to be carrying gossip around from one place to another; but, as I told you, it was the only thing that they were talking about in town day before yesterday. I fancy it is the most exciting thing that has happened there for a long time."
"Yes," assented Jack, "I guess it's quiet enough there most of the time; but say, what was the name of this man that Mason got into a quarrel with?"
"I cannot remember what the full name was, but almost everybody spoke of him as 'Claib.' I do not know any such name as that, but I suppose it may be a nickname."
"Good Lord!" cried Jack; "why that must be Claib Wood! They say he is one of the worst men in the country—a regular killer. He was ordered away from here because he was suspected of cattle stealing—and they say that there is hardly anybody in the country as quick with a gun as he is."
"Well, he was not quick enough for Mason, it seems," said Donald. "I asked one of the men in the saloon how it happened, and he said it was so quick he really did not know how it did happen. He said that the two men seized hold of each other, and that Mason called out to somebody to take away both guns, that there was not to be a shooting-match; and then a minute or two later Mason lifted up Claib and threw him against the side of the house and through the plaster and almost out through the boards. I saw the place and it certainly did look as if something very heavy had been thrown against the wall."
"I'd like to know just what happened," said Jack; "but one could not very well ask Mason; and I suppose we will have to wait until somebody comes out from town to tell us the news."