the Drift Fence (1992) (20 page)

And he did take it, putting up a better fight than Frost's, though of obvious pain to himself and less fun for the cowboys. He brought the blood from Jim's nose, an inconsequential blow, yet one loudly applauded by his companions. Shortly after that Jim caught him in the ribs. Jack went down in a heap, rolled over, and laboriously sat up, his face ashen.

"Jim--it was--bad enough--hittin' all my other--places," he panted. "But them busted--ribs! I knowed you'd find them... Would you mind--callin' it off fer keeps?"

"If you want," replied Jim. "But you've bloodied my nose! And I reckon I'd like to soak you some more."

"Aw no! Take it out on Hackamore," replied Jack, beseechingly, and he got up to offer his hand to Jim.

His suggestion instantly charged the atmosphere with something more compelling.

"Strikes me," said Jim, quickly. "How about it, Jocelyn? You've a sore head. You've been mean and full of poison talk. And I haven't been as decent as I might have been. Let's have a whack at each other. It can't do any harm and it might do good."

"I wouldn't soil my gloves on you, Mister Traft," drawled Jocelyn, with undisguised malignity.

"Oh, wouldn't you? I reckon you're thinking more of your handsome face."

"Yep, I ben told it's handsome lately, an' I'm shore keepin' it so," returned Jocelyn, with caustic significance. No one there could have misinterpreted him.

Jim bit his tongue. It was no time for him to say more or make a move.

Jocelyn packed his gun and had the look of a man who would strain any chance to use it.

That incident marked the definite break between Jim and Jocelyn. There was no hope of a better state of feeling. Jim hoped this disgruntled cowboy would keep to his threat to quit the Diamond. Both Bud and Curly had warned Jim to let Hack alone to take his own time. They assured Jim that Hack would go presently, but they could not quite figure just what he was up to. Jim was glad of their advice and this late evidence of friendship. It seemed, indeed, that Jocelyn was now the only thorn in the flesh of the Diamond. Day by day he became more alienated from Cherry Winters and Hump Stevens, who had been the last of his stand-bys.

Another Saturday came. Some of the boys went to Flagerstown. Hack had disappeared before daylight, and according to Bud and Curly his horse tracks led south.

"Boss, he's gone to West Fork," claimed Bud, with a wise look. "Shore as you're born," agreed Curly, wagging his bright head. "Curly, let's ride down there, too," suggested Bud.

The idea found favour with Curly, who looked at Jim for approval.

"It ain't a bad idee, boss. We'll hit the Sycamore trail at Tobe's Well an' go off the mountain there. Thet's aboot at the haid of the brakes.

We'll get a line on driftin' cattle, an' mebbe other thin's, too."

"Go, by all means," replied Jim, and he found himself fighting an almost irresistible longing to go with them.

That was the longest week-end Jim had put in since his advent in Arizona.

He was on pins and needles until Bud and Curly returned, late on Sunday night. To his disappointment, they seemed uncommunicative and brought no news of any moment. They had not seen Hackamore Jocelyn. They did not mention either Slinger or Molly Dunn. They reported considerably more cattle than they had expected to run across. Numerous dead cows, and old carcasses, neither of which had been killed by wolves or lions, lying in the open along the trails, attested to a changed and startling condition of affairs since the drift fence had been started.

Jim was too sick at heart to go into the subject of stolen stock any deeper that night. What had he expected of the boys? When he lay alone in the dark, his eyes peering through the canopy of foliage at the stars, he confessed to himself that he had yearned for even a word of Molly Dunn.

Next morning at an opportune moment he asked Bud.

"Shore I seen Molly," replied the cowboy, frankly. "At the village. But she didn't see me. Looked sweeter'n a peach to me. Changed a little, though, somehow. Curly says so."

"Did you hear anything about Hack?"

"Yep. An' it ain't good news," replied Bud, soberly. "Curly reckoned we'd better not tell you."

"Why not?"

"Wal, you might ride, off down there."

"Bud, tell me if there's anything to worry you."

"It ain't worryin' us exzactly," rejoined Bud, scratching his head. "I wanted to tell you, an' Curly talked mein' it."

"Jocelyn went to see Molly Dunn," asserted-Jim, quietly.

"He shore did, which ain't none of our bizness, since thet little devil has no use for us. But, boss, this is damn queer. Hack is makin' up to the Haverlys. An' thet means the Cibeque outfit!"

"Well, what of it? I wish he'd quit us, as he's hinted."

"What of it? Gosh! I don't know. But if Hack quits us I'll shore tell you what Curly an' I think."

Hackamore Jocelyn did not ride into camp until late Monday night. This was a break against rules, and Jim saw that the cowboys were keen to get his reaction to it.

"Where've you been, Jocelyn?" he asked.

"Down in the brakes to see my gurl," replied the cowboy, almost gayly. He had not been drinking. There seemed to be a singular elation or buoyancy about him.

"Why didn't you get back Sunday night, same as Curly and Bud? They went down to West Fork."

"Hell you say!" In a twinkling Jocelyn was his old self. "Wal, if you want to know I was havin' too sweet a time with Molly."

"I'm not inquiring into your private affairs," said Jim, coldly. "But if you take another day off without permission, I'll tire you... Do you understand?"

"Wal, I ain't hard of hearin', Mister Traft," replied Jocelyn, softly.

No more was said. Jocelyn ate his supper alone. The cowboys sat silent.

Jim sought his bed presently, and tried to find ease from his pain in slumber.

The drift fence went on mile after mile, and one camp followed another.

Three week-ends in succession Jocelyn rode down to West Fork, but on each occasion he returned some time late on Sunday night. The other cowboys ceased riding to Flagerstown. Curly and Bud rode off alone the second week-end, evidently bent on a mission of their own, which Jim guessed to be the movement of cattle, as well as of Hackmore Jocelyn.

Early in August, Jim Traft, acting solely upon his own judgment and responsibility, celebrated his fencing off the many heads of Sycamore Canyon from the brakes of the Cibeque, by posting notices that the Diamond would lay no further claim to stock in and north of Sycamore, and west of the drift fence.

It was a strategic move on Jim's part. It caught the fancy of every cowboy in his outfit, excepting Jocelyn, who, nevertheless, was staggered by it. Jim had just wanted to be generous to the riders down in the brakes. He had authority to do what he thought best. What did a few herds of cattle, more or less, matter to his uncle? But a singular reaction to this proclamation was the effect upon his cowboys and the several homesteaders living in the proscribed limits. Jim won his cowboys by that act, and further alienated Jocelyn. The homesteaders called at his camp, unmistakably friendly and grateful. They all profited by it. One of them told Bud that he could now make a good start at ranching.

"He was stealin' a few cattle right along," vowed Bud. "An' he admitted it. Any honest cattleman will admit he's run a few haid not strictly his... Dog-gone it, boys, Jim Traft has hit one plumb centre."

But so far as Jim was concerned this splendid news, which he knew would travel like wild-fire all over the range, was more than offset by Jocelyn's talk. The shrewd cowboy had divined how his talk about West Fork and Molly Dunn hurt Jim, and after that he kept everlastingly at it at meal hours or round the camp fire. At first it was just conceited comments upon his girl and her attachment to him. Gradually, however, it developed into vulgar parade of conquest, at which times Jim would make himself scarce. It threatened worse, and Jim vowed if he heard any more derogatory to Molly Dunn that he would force the issue with Jocelyn, come what might, and dismiss him from the Diamond.

In mid-August the drift fence, now up on the great triangular promontory, received its first backset from enemies. Half a dozen stretches, where it crossed the heads of Rock Canyon, had been laid low, with wire cut and hopelessly tangled, and posts broken down. Two days of hard labour were required to repair the damage. Jim had his consolation in the slow anger of the cowboys. It frightened him, too, for he now saw indications of his uncle's prophecy coming true.

"Boss, let me trail them boss tracks," begged Curly Prentiss. "I can find out in two days who cut our wire."

"Suppose you do, Curly. What good will that do?"

"Wal, we can stop it from happenin' ag'in. An', Jim, shore as Gawd made little apples it will happen, onless we hit thet trail."

"How do you propose to stop it?" queried Jim, aghast at the flashing-eyed cowboy.

"Thet's fer you to say, after we ketch these hombres."

"Well, let's wait a little. A few miles of wire, a few days' extra work--what's that to us? I'll admit, though, if they keep on we'll be up a stump."

"Shore. We cain't help matters by waitin'. Bud an' I agree it's thet Cibeque outfit, though we cain't prove it."

"Prentiss," spoke up Jocelyn, bitingly, "I reckon you know it's onhealthy to speak names when you cain't prove nothin'."

"Hack, I can shore prove one thing damn pronto," snapped Curly.

"An' what's thet?"

"I take offence at your speakin' up fer the Cibeque."

"Ahuh. But what does thet prove?"

"It proves you can git my game any minnit."

"Wal, if thet's so there ain't any helluva rush. I've a date with my gurl, Molly, on Sunday, an' I shore wouldn't want to miss thet."

"Aw, you're a liar, Hack!" retorted Curly, passionately.

Jim got between the two, and by backing Curly away from the camp fire he prevented more trouble for the present.

"Boss, he makes me see red," raved Curly, when they were alone. "I could uv stood his crack aboot the Cibeque, 'cause Bud an' I don't know shore who cut the fence. But he's all the time throwin' pore little Molly Dunn up to me. I liked her orful well, Jim. An' I cain't believe she's thick with him. I cain't! Mebbe she is. But I jest cain't believe it. He's a ---- liar!"

"Thick!" echoed Jim.

"Shore. He claims he's thick with Molly. Haven't you heahed him?"

"No. What do you mean by thick?"

"Wal, it's pretty low-down fer a gurl as sweet an' young as Molly."

"But you ----. It might be true?"

"Hell yes. Thet's what hurts so. Shore he'll marry her sooner or later, if it's true. Gurls like Molly don't grow on all the bushes. An' I reckon most uv the cowboys would take her if she was a d---- little hussy. Bud swore he would."

"How about you, Curly?" asked Jim, in strangely level voice.

"I would, too. In a minnit," replied Curly, with his fair head lifting in a way to thrill Jim. "What chance has thet pore kid had? Her father's no good. An' they say her mother will cock her eye at a cowboy. An' Slinger Dunn! He'd be enough to ruin any gurl."

Jim made no immediate reply. He sat on his bed and pulled the petals off a tiny aster, which he had absent-mindedly plucked. Twilight was stealing down through the forest, melancholy and tranquil. The heat of the day was dissipating. A bell on one of the hobbled horses tinkled musically. The vast forest sighed with a breath of breeze, moving down from the heights.

"Curly, I wish I were as much of a man as you are," said Jim, presently.

"Aw, boss, thet's nonsense! You shore are an' more," burst out Curly, nonplussed yet pleased. "It's bin a drill fer you--this Diamond job. But the outfit's with you. Honest, Jim, an' heah's my hand on it. We cain't count Jocelyn. But to hell with him! He's been a disturber always, an' he's growed wuss. I reckon you'd better fire him pronto."

"Curly, I couldn't answer for my temper--if I faced him again tonight," replied Jim, unsteadily. "Perhaps tomorrow or soon."

"Jim, ain't you takin' this hombre too serious? After all, you're boss of the Diamond. An' who's Hack Jocelyn?"

"It's not who he is, but what he claims, that's dug into me," replied Jim, frankly, lifting his head.

"Claims! You mean aboot Molly?" asked Curly, incredulously.

"Yes. Only I take it harder than you, Curly."

"Fust Bud, an' then me, an' now you! Aw!... Who'd ever think it? Thet black-eyed little devil."

"Curly, I'd bet my life she's decent," declared Jim, with emotion.

"So would I. But it's a long shot, an' we're takin' odds!"

Chapter
FOURTEEN

The day came when Jim Traft had his first look at the country from the rim of the Diamond.

It was from the western promontory under which the Cibeque curled like a winding snake. The rest was endless green, relieved by bare spots and gray specks, which were the homesteads of the inhabitants. West Fork lay almost under the rim, a few cabins and fields, a gray line of road between some houses. Far to the south the dense forest began to lose its grip and showed bare grass flats and ridges. Westward the slopes ran up in long slants, like the ribs of a washboard, ending in a craggy mountain range.