Sundown Slim Part 24

"You tell that to Hi and see what he says."

"Nope. 'T ain't necessary. You see when them docs seen, about a week after, that I was comin' strong instead of goin', they says, 'Me man, if you'd 'a' had pie in your stummick when you was shot, you wouldn't be here to-day. You'd be planted--or somethin' similar. The fac' that your stummick was empty evidentially saved your life.' And," concluded Sundown, "they's no use temptin' Providence now."

Shortly after breakfast next morning Corliss sent for Sundown. The rancher sat propped up in a wide armchair. He was pale, but his eyes were clear and steady.

"Bud told me about yesterday," he began, antic.i.p.ating Sundown's leisurely and erratic recital. "I understand you found me on the trail and went for help."

"Yes. I thought you was needin' some about then."

"How did you come to find me?"

"Got lost. Hoss he took me there."

"Did you see any one on the trail?"

"Nope."

"Hear any shooting?"

"Nope. But I seen some turkeys."

"Well, I expect the sheriff will be here tomorrow. He'll want to talk to you. Answer him straight. Don't try to help me in any way. Just tell him what you know--not what you think."

"I sure will, boss. Wish Chance could talk. He could tell."

Corliss smiled faintly. "Yes, I suppose he could. You followed him to Fernando's camp?"

"Uhuh."

"All right. Now, I've had a talk with Bud about something that has been bothering me. I think I can trust you. I want you to ride to Antelope to-morrow morning and give a letter from me to the lawyer there, Kennedy. He'll tell you what to do after that. I don't feel like talking much, but I'll say this: You remember the water-hole ranch. Well, I want you to file application to homestead it. Kennedy will tell you what to do. Don't ask any questions, but do as he says.

You'll have to go to Usher by train and he'll go with you. You won't lose anything by it."

"Me? Homestead? Huh! And have cows and pigs and things? I don't jest get you, boss, but what you say goes. Why, I'd homestead a ranch in h.e.l.l and take chances on findin' water if you said it. Say, boss,"--and Sundown leaned toward Corliss confidentially and lowered his voice,--"I ain't what you'd call a nervy man, but say, I got somethin' jest as good. I--I--" and Sundown staggered around feeling for the word he wanted.

"I know. We'll look it up in the dictionary some day when we're in town. Here's ten dollars for your trip. If you need more, Kennedy will give it to you."

Sundown departed, thrilled with the thought that his employer had placed so much confidence in him. He wanted to write a poem, but circ.u.mstances forbade his signaling to his muse. On his way to the bunk-house he hesitated and retraced his steps to the ranch office.

Corliss told him to come in. He approached his employer deferentially as though about to ask a favor.

"Say, boss," he began, "they's two things just hit me to onct. Can I take Chance with me?"

"If you like. Part of your trip will be on the train."

"I can fix that. Then I was thinkin': No! my hoss is lame. I got to ride a strange hoss, which I'm gettin' kind o' used to. But if you'll keep your eye on my hoss while I'm gone, it'll ease me mind considerable. You see he's been with me reg'lar and ain't learned no bad tricks. If the boys know I'm gone and get to learnin' him about buckin' and bitin' the arm offen a guy and kickin' a guy's head off and rollin' on him, and rarin' up and stompin' him, like some, they's no tellin' what might happen when I get back."

Corliss laughed outright. "That's so. But I guess the boys will be busy enough without monkeying with your cayuse. If you put that homestead deal through, you can have any horse on the range except Chinook. You'll need a team, anyway, when you go to ranching."

"Thanks, boss, but I'm gettin' kind of used to Pill."

"Pill? You mean Phil--Phil Sheridan. That's your horse's name."

"Mebby. I did try callin' him 'Phil.' It went all right when he was standin' quiet. But when he got to goin' I was lucky if I could holler just 'Whoa, Pill!' The 'h' got jarred loose every time. 'Course, bein' a puncher now,"--and Sundown threw out his chest,--"it's different. Anyhow, Pill is his name because there ain't anything a doc ever give a fella that can stir up your insides worse 'n he can when he takes a spell. Your head hurtin' much?"

"No. But it will be if you don't get out of here." And Corliss laughed and waved his hand toward the door.

CHAPTER XVII

THE STRANGER

Sundown, maintaining a mysterious and unusual silence, prepared to carry out his employer's plans. His preparations were not extensive.

First, he polished his silver spurs. Then he borrowed a coat from one of the boys, brushed his Stetson, and with the business instinct of a Hebrew offered Hi Wingle nine dollars for a pair of Texas wing chaps.

The cook, whose active riding-days were over, had no use for the chaps and would have gladly given them to Sundown. The latter's offer of nine dollars, however, interested Wingle. He decided to have a bit of fun with the tall one. He cared nothing for the money, but wondered why Sundown had offered nine dollars instead of ten.

"What you been eatin'?" he queried as Sundown made his bid. "Goin'

courtin'?"

"Nope," replied the lean one. "Goin' east."

"Huh! Expect to ride all the way in them chaps?"

"Nope! But I need 'em. Heard you tell Bud you paid ten dollars for 'em 'way back fifteen years. Guess they's a dollar's worth worn off of 'em by now."

"Well, you sure do some close figurin'. I sure paid ten for 'em. Got 'em from a Chola puncher what was hard up. Mebby you ain't figurin'

that they's about twenty bucks' worth of hand-worked silver conchas on 'em which ain't wore off any."

Sundown took this as Wingle's final word. The amused Hi noted the other's disappointment and determined to enhance the value of the chaps by making them difficult to obtain, then give them to his a.s.sistant.

Wingle liked Sundown in a rough-shod way, though Sundown was a bit too serious-minded to appreciate the fact.

The cook a.s.sumed the air of one gravely concerned about his friend's mental balance. "Somethin' sure crawled into your roost, Sun, but if you're goin' crazy I suppose a pair of chaps won't make no difference either way. Anyhow, you ain't crazy in your legs--just your head."

"Thanks, Hi. It's accommodatin' of you to put me wise to myself. I know I ain't so durned smart as some."

"Say, you old fool, can't you take a fall to it that I'm jos.h.i.+n'? You sure are the melancholiest stretch of bones and hide I ever seen.

Somehow you always make a fella come down to cases every time, with that sad-lookin' mug of yourn. You sure would 'a' made a good undertaker. I'll get them chaps."

And Wingle, fat, bald, and deliberate, chuckled as he dug among his belongings and brought forth the coveted riding apparel. "Them chaps has set on some good hosses, if I do say it," he remarked. "Take 'em and keep your nine bucks for life insurance. You'll need it."

Sundown grinned like a boy. "Nope. A bargain's a bargain. Here's the money. Mebby you could buy a fust-cla.s.s cook-book with it and learn somethin'."

"Learn somethin'! Why, you long-geared, double-jointed, gla.s.s-eyed, hay-topped, star-smellin' st-st-steeple, you! Get out o' this afore I break my neck tryin' to see your face! Set down so I can look you in the eye!" And Wingle waved his stout arms and glowered in mock anger.

Sundown laid the money on the table. "Keep the change," he said mildly with a twinkle in his eye.

He picked up the chaps and stalked from the bunk-house. Chance, who had been an interested spectator of this lively exchange of compliment and merchandise, followed his master to the stable where Sundown at once put on the chaps and strutted for the dog's benefit, and his own.

By degrees he was a.s.suming the characteristics of a genuine cow-puncher. He would show the folks in Antelope what a rider for the Concho looked like.