The Free Range Part 32

Despite the havoc to their numbers occasioned by the battle with Jimmie Welsh, all the others stood by. With the cowboys this matter of war and its hazards was a decided improvement over the dangerous monotony of spring round-ups. Moreover, as long as one remained able to collect it, five dollars a day was several pegs better than forty dollars a month and all found.

To-day as the late sun drooped low toward the horizon revolvers and guns were being oiled, and other preparations made for a vigorous campaign. The camp backed directly on the river at the only fordable spot within ten miles, the stream forming the fourth side to a square, the other three sides of which were breastworks of earth and trenches.

A rope stretched from the three cook-wagons served as a coral for the horses, and in it were gathered fully sixty-five animals, waiting impatiently to be hobbled, and turned out to feed. They waited in vain, however, for it was a matter of course that they should stand saddled and ready for instant use.

Directly before the front of these earthworks were the pits and _chevaux de frise_ of sharp stakes that had been reported to Bud. The intention was to stampede the animals if possible, and run them into the pits and upon the stakes while a force of men, protected by the trenches, poured a withering and continuous fire into the on-surging ma.s.s. Meanwhile the greater force on horseback would be engaging the sheepmen.

That the cowboys knew the location of the flocks goes without saying, for had they not had spies on the lookout, the telltale pillar of dust that ever floated above the marching thousands would have betrayed their exact position.

The sun had just dropped below the horizon, when a man in the cowpunchers'

camp discerned a weary horse bearing a hump-shouldered rider disconsolately in the direction of the ford. The man, bore strange-looking paraphernalia, and could be cla.s.sified as neither fish, flesh, nor fowl--that is, cowboy, sheepman, or granger.

Without pausing the man urged his horse into the water at the ford, where it drank deeply. The man flung himself off the saddle and, scooping the water in his hands, imitated the horse's eagerness. When he had apparently satisfied an inordinate thirst he looked up at the man across the river and said:

"Say, could I git some grub in yore camp?"

"Yuh better move on, pardner. This here's resky territory," replied the other, his Winchester swinging idly back and forth across the stranger's middle.

"I'm hungry enough to take a chance," was the reply as Lester walked his mount deliberately across the stream. "Besides, I want to do business with yuh."

Another man, hearing the controversy, came up and ordered the newcomer away. Lester asked him who he was.

"My name's Bissell," snorted the man.

Lester advanced the rest of the way to sh.o.r.e his hand outstretched.

"I'm plumb glad to know yuh," he said. "My name's Skidmore, an' I've just come from the Bar T. I take pitchers, I do--yessir, the best in the business; an' if yuh don't believe me, just look at these."

From somewhere in his saddle-bags Skidmore whipped out two photographs and handed them to Bissell.

There, looking at him, sat Martha, in some of her long-unused finery, and Juliet, the daughter who had until now been the greatest blessing of his life.

Bissell started back as though he had seen a ghost, so excellent and speaking were the likenesses.

"Yes, they asked me to come an' take one of yuh, Mr. Bissell," went on the photographer.

"They did?" snapped Beef suspiciously. "How'd they know where I was?"

"Stelton told 'em. I was there when he got home."

"Oh, yes--Stelton, of course," apologized the owner. "How d'ye take the blame things? With that contraption yuh've got there?"

"Yes, and I think there is still light enough for me to get you!" cried Skidmore, s.n.a.t.c.hing his outfit from the back of his horse and starting hurriedly to set it up.

By this time quite a crowd had gathered, some of whom had never seen a camera in operation, and none of whom had seen such pictures as Skidmore was able to pa.s.s around.

Bissell posed with the embarra.s.sed air of a schoolboy saying his first piece, and after that Skidmore was busy arranging his subjects long after it was too dark to make an impression on the plates. Finally, affecting utter weariness, he asked for food, and the best in the camp was laid before him.

"Can't do any more to-night," he said when he had finished. "But to-morrow I can take a few; I have about half-a-dozen plates left."

"I may not look as tidy to-morrow morning as I do now," remarked one puncher suggestively. "Too bad yuh can't take pictures at night as well as in the daytime."

"I can," announced Skidmore, quite complacently.

"Well, didn't yuh just tell me," demanded an irate cowboy who vainly undertook to grasp the science of photography, "that the light actin' on the plate made the pitcher?"

"Yes."

"Well, how in the road to h.e.l.l can yuh take 'em when it's dark?"

"He rents a star, yuh fool!" volunteered another.

"I make my own light," explained Skidmore.

"How? With a wood-fire?" asked the curious puncher.

"No. Shall I show yuh?"

"Yes."

The reply came in a chorus, for the arrival of this man with his strange apparatus had created a stir among his hosts that one cannot conceive in these days of perfect pictures. The cowpunchers were not worrying about attack, for they had outposts on duty who could warn them of the advance of the enemy in plenty of time. The amus.e.m.e.nt of the camera was a fine thing with which to pa.s.s the lagging hours.

"All right," said Skidmore. "By George," he cried, "I've just the idea! My plates are low, and I'll take a picture of the whole outfit together."

"What! Get seventy men on the same thing that'll only hold one?" cried another puncher, furious that these wonders eluded him. "If yuh're foolin'

with me, son, I'll shoot yer contraption into a thousand pieces."

"Easiest thing in the world," said the photographer carelessly. "Only I'll have to ask yuh to move away from the fire; that'll spoil the plate. I think over here is a good place." He led the way to a spot directly in front of the horse corral.

Then he caused the lowest row to sit on the ground, the one behind it kneel, and the last stand up, and after peering through his camera made them close up tightly so that all could get into the picture. By the glow from the camp-fire it was a wonderful scene. The light showed broad hats, knotted neckerchiefs, and weather-beaten, grinning faces. It glanced dully from holsters and brightly from guns and buckles.

On a piece of board Skidmore carefully arranged his flashlight powder and took the cap off the lens. Then he ran to the fire and picked up a burning splinter, telling them all to watch it.

"Steady, now!" he commanded. "All quiet."

He thrust the lighted spill into the powder, and there was a blinding flash, accompanied by a hollow roar like a sudden gust of wind.

The next instant a terrific commotion arose in the corral. There were squeals of terror, and before the men could catch their breath the sixty-five cow ponies had bolted in a mad stampede, overturning the cook-wagons and thundering across the prairie.

The punchers, absolutely sightless for the instant from looking at the flash of the powder, broke into horrible cursing, and ran blindly here and there, colliding with one another and adding to the already great confusion. Their one desire was to lay hands on the wretched photographer, but that desire was never fulfilled.

For Lester Larkin, having shut his eyes during the flash, easily evaded the men and made his way to his horse that had been tethered to a tree near the river. With his instrument under his arm he untied the animal, climbed on his back, and dug in the spurs. A moment later, during the height of the confusion, he was galloping along parallel to the river. A mile and a half from the camp he turned his horse's head and sped at full speed toward the advancing herds.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE CROSSING