The Sheriff of Badger Part 26

Johnson had acquired in lonely places. "Doggone your fat head, why can't you lift your feet? Hey? Hold still, can't you, till I light this cigarette? Oh, you needn't look back. You know I'm here all right."

In early afternoon we crossed a canon on the far side of The Hatter and turned to the left along a mesa. Lafe puckered his eyes, squinted carefully and said: "Well, I swan. Do you see that?"

A man was sitting on the skull of a horse and he was counting the tops of the hills. It struck me as a profitless form of endeavor. As we neared him: "No," he remarked, "that's not right. I made it two thousand and three before."

"Off in your tally, pardner?" Lafe inquired civilly.

He proceeded, unheeding, with his simple addition. "One thousand and seventy-six, and those five little fellows make--what do they make, now?" He broke off to scratch his head in vexation. He looked at Johnson briefly and then stared at me.

"That fellow there," he said, with a nod at Lafe, "that fellow's crazy.

Everybody's crazy out here--all but me."

He was not an old man, but his hair was grizzled and fell in dirty disorder to his shoulders. We could see portions of him through his clothes, and a sleeve of his s.h.i.+rt was not. Yet I began to marvel, for he spoke with the accent of culture.

"There used to be three thousand four hundred and eight scrub-cedars on that big mountain yonder," he confided to me. "I've lost count a bit lately, though. What do you make 'em?"

"You're short six. Four hundred and fourteen--not four hundred and eight."

He thanked me and considered this for some minutes. "Perhaps you're right," he said. "Sometimes when these old rocks take to hopping up and down, it keeps a man on the move not to lose track of 'em."

"It must be right hard doing that 'rithmetic all day long?" Johnson ventured.

"Oh, yes. I get hungry frequently. Have you boys got anything to eat?

Well, if you haven't, you'd best be on your way."

Complying with the suggestion, Lafe turned his horse. "It's that ol'

prospector who lives up on the shoulder of The Hatter," he told me.

It did not seem right to leave him thus. The man was deranged and unfit to be at large. But when I proposed that he accompany us to The Tanks, our acquaintance returned a vehement refusal. We could not fool him, he said. The last man who gave him a ride had tried to put him on board a train, and he had been compelled to knock the fellow on the head with a stick of wood. So we left him sitting on the skull, counting the tops of the hills. He mentioned carelessly that he would probably see us again.

There was no mistaking the lady we had come to escort.

"There she is. Wouldn't she knock you cold?" Lafe whispered.

Her hair was yellow, and she gave the impression of having been melted and poured into her pink muslin. a.s.suredly she was not of our world, and most certainly her clothes fitted. The conductor, a large individual of red hair and an aloof expression, closed his left eye slowly at Lafe and stepped aboard. The Burro express crawled away up the valley and we set out for the ranch, Johnson riding close to the buckboard, the better to converse with Mrs. Vining.

She began to question about the country and cow work. Everything was "astonis.h.i.+ng" or "delightful, really," of course; and no matter what she said, there was injected into her speech an indefinable note that seemed to place the listener on a confidential footing, to the exclusion of all others. Some women have this faculty. The two ignored me utterly. I coughed once or twice as a faint reminder to Lafe that he was a newly married man and that I was prepared to do the civil thing myself, but he took no notice.

We had forgotten all about our friend of the mathematical propensities, when he appeared suddenly beside the trail.

"h.e.l.lo," he cried, "back already?"

Mrs. Vining regarded the unkempt figure with composure.

"Why don't we drive on?" she said. "Drive on, please."

"Who's that? Who's that, I say?" The prospector advanced on the buckboard at a shambling trot.

"Please, please drive on," Mrs. Vining entreated faintly.

Instead of obeying, the Mexican waited. The prospector came to the wheel of the buckboard and peered hard at Mrs. Vining. She met his gaze in a sort of horrified fascination for a moment and then turned completely about in her seat, so that her shoulders were to him. Before we could intervene, he seized her by the arm and commenced to drag her out. He was mumbling as he did so.

"No, I won't go," she screamed. "It wasn't my fault. I won't go. Help!

Help me!"

Lafe spurred almost on top of the fellow and cut at him with a quirt. He released his hold and dodged, and Mrs. Vining sank back into the buckboard.

"Hi, you--drive on," Johnson commanded.

He made no attempt to chastise the prospector. A demented man is not responsible and is protected of G.o.d. Such is the creed of primitive peoples and to it Lafe held strongly. Manuel whipped the mules and we went by the mountain prowler amid a shower of sand and pebbles. He remained in the trail, staring after us. He shouted something and whirled his arms at a great rate, but when Lafe cantered back, he scurried off among the mesquite like a scared rabbit.

"What an extraordinary person," said Mrs. Vining, when Johnson overtook us. Her lips were open in a fixed smile and her skin faded yellow under its powder.

"He's harmless, ma'am," Lafe a.s.sured her. "Don't you be scared. He's just a bit locoed. We'll go fetch him to-morrow or next day, if you say so."

"No, no," she begged. "Leave the poor creature alone."

I could see her hands tremble in her lap. She seemed distrait all the way home and as soon as Mrs. Horne had done embracing her, she retired.

Next morning, however, she was sitting on the porch and called Lafe to her side. They talked there for an hour or two and we could hear Johnson's soft ba.s.s laugh. When he joined me in the corrals to catch the horses, he was looking very pleased with himself.

Mrs. Vining spent the next three days in minute probing of range life.

At least, that is what Lafe told me she found to talk to him about.

Apparently Mrs. Horne had little sympathy for this seeking after knowledge, for she laughed a trifle impatiently and remarked to me that men were idiots the world over and it was none of her business.

She made it her business on the third day.

"Why don't you leave Lafe alone?" she demanded.

"Why, my dear Martha, I'm not running after Mr. Johnson."

"Well, then, what do you find to talk about all the time? It's shameful, Judy."

"There you go again. One can't be civil to any sort of a man, but that Puritanical conscience of yours--"

"Oh, darn," said Mrs. Horne.

We were treated on succeeding days to the spectacle of Lafe hovering about Mrs. Vining like a fly above mola.s.ses paper--he knows he ought not to be there at all, but cannot keep away. I am persuaded that a third party could have heard all they said without embarra.s.sment; but still, there was Hetty. And it interfered with his work, just when he was new to it and should have applied himself whole-heartedly. The entire superintendence of the Anvil range fell to him, but Lafe now gave up long trips. When he did go out, Mrs. Vining went with him on the pretext of familiarizing herself with the country. Lafe began to a.s.sume a hint of bravado in his bearing and was evidently flattered that he could attract a woman of Mrs. Vining's world.

"Judith," said Mrs. Horne, "if you don't let up on Lafe Johnson, I'll tell his wife, or get Bob to give him his time."

"His time? What's that?" she asked in amaze. She had just got out of bed and was brus.h.i.+ng her yellow hair. They could hear Johnson whistling "Turkey in the Straw" as he went past the house.

"Fire him." Her friend faced Mrs. Vining squarely. She was intensely angry. "What do you mean by taking him out on the porch as you did last night?"

"Martha, how dare you say such a thing? You're horribly rude and--and unkind. Why, I never thought--"

"Of course you didn't," Mrs. Horne went on in a level voice. "You never do. And you're going to tell me all that nonsense? Remember, I'm a woman, Judy, and the woman was never born who wouldn't lie about some things."

"We're nothing but the most casual friends," said Mrs. Vining warmly.