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I had made an enemy, and I didn't know why. Usually
when you save a man's life you get some notice of gratitude, if not a downright
thanks. Hastings acted like I had done him an injustice when I shot that snake.
Why?
At first I couldn't fathom it, but finally I concluded
that Buck did not want to feel beholden to me in any way. If I had said
something like, "Now you owe me " when he turned around then I know he
would have shot.
When we got to the ranch the hands were standing
around awaiting our return. Ben Drisco was just storming out from the main ranch
house to see what was going on.
"Haven't you poor excuses for cow chasers got
anything better to do than watch a couple of morons on foot? Now go about your
work." The crew didn't move. This incensed the owner so much I could swear
that steam came out his ears. We were almost into the yard, and his attention
shifted to us.
"Well, you varmints seem to be the main
attraction this morning. Where in tarnation have you been?"
"Up the snake canyon," I answered
truthfully.
"What in blazes for? I'm not paying you fighting
wages to have you risking your lives for fun."
"It was kind of a contest," I replied,
"and we came up with a draw."
"Foolishness. Damn foolishness. I'd like to get
rid of those snakes, but that's not the way. "
"Pigs." I said this word plainly, and was
surprised that everyone from the boss down to the cook had a hand hovering over
his gun.
Drisco spoke slowly and plainly. "What did you
say?"
'Pigs. That's what you need to get rid of the snakes.
They are death on them. They pin down snakes with their hooves and then they eat
them. You would think the hogs would be poisoned, but the fangs of the snakes
don't seem to penetrate through the hide and fat. That's what people did in the
hills back home."
A roper named Gator was from the south, and he piped
up in agreement. "I seen it too. Them hogs eat them snakes right up."
"Well, that's the first I ever heard of it,"
said Drisco. "I don't know if I'd want to smell the darn things around
though. It might be better just to keep the snakes. Now the rest of you get to
work." This time they went. "Snake, you hold up. I want to talk to
you."
"Yessir, what do you want?" Just because he
paid wages didn't mean he was cowing me.
"What's this I hear about you letting some
sodbusters go?"
"I didn't let 'em go, I turned them back," I
replied. Somebody from the bunkhouse must have told him. "They thought they
were going to settle on Brascom Flat. I figure somebody sold them a bill of
goods."
"Brascom Flat? That's crazy." Then he
thought about it and said, "You're right, somebody who doesn't know the
country sent them in. At least that means they're not my personal enemy. I
thought someone might have it in just for me. At any rate, next time force the
gunplay. I want to make a statement here, not be a travel service."
"I'm not going to gun down an innocent family
just to make a statement."
"I didn't say that. Just goad 'em a little. I
can't have these people taking over my land."
For the time being we left it at that. The taste in my
mouth was getting pretty sour. When I had signed on here I expected to be
protecting a ranch, not goading dumb farmers into gunfights. I made up my mind
right then and there that I would not become as calloused as the old gunmen like
Hastings. Near as I could see, fellows like that would kill anything or anybody
for the highest bidder.
On my next shift on the trail I turned back two more
parties, both heading for the Flat. One of these turned back peacefully. The
other meeting nearly erupted into gunplay.
There were just two travelers with no wagon, just a
team of mules that were loaded with farming implements. They were obviously
father and son. The boy was young but the shotgun in his hands didn't waver. The
father was armed with a cap and ball Colt Army 44 and he was ready to use it.
"What do you mean, turn around?" he boomed
as his hand went to rest on his revolver. "In case you haven't heard, this
is a free country, and we can go wherever we're a mind to."
"That's right," I mollified him, "but
that doesn't mean you can trespass on somebody else's land if they don't want
you to. And it makes no sense where you're going anyway. I tell you that flat is
mostly under water right now. It's no place to settle down."
"I don't believe you. We buried the boy's ma back
in Arkansas and came out here to make a new start. Now you don't want us to do
it."
"You haven't been here long, but you should know
you just said the wrong thing." He didn't look like he knew what I was
talking about, so I spelled it out for him. "Out here we're a long way from
banks and lawyer offices. So when a man says he will do something the only
guarantee you have is his word. If you call a man a liar you are putting him in
a bad light, and that's something that cannot stand. It is a cause for shooting
out here. You'd best remember it."
He nodded his head slowly. "I see. I didn't
understand. All right, you strike me as an honest man. If you say the Flat is
flooded then it is.
"You know, the West is a mighty big place. If we
don't plant stakes here we'll just keep on going. We'll find our own place
somewhere."
"Yes, you will, I'm sure of it," I told him.
"Why don't you go up to Kirbyville for a few days while I try to find out
what is really going on. I'll be up to see you. I promise."
While I waited for Toad to relieve me again I tried to
think of what might be behind this misguided migration. These travelers were not
being sent to farming land, that was for sure. Of course, what a stupid bug tit
I was! I hadn't even asked those people who had sent them. There must be some
kind of paperwork, although reading and writing skills were a tad hard to come
by and a lot of documents were just signed with an x.
There had been a lot of mining strikes quite a ways
south and west of here but none that I had heard of locally. Of course, that is
the draw of prospecting; a lot of ore is found in unlikely places, hence the old
saying, "Gold is where you find it." Still, why send a bunch of
farmers ahead to claim the land? All a man had to do was file a claim, and he
would be free to mine to his heart's content. No, there had to be more to it
than that. .
When Toad showed up I rode back to the ranch and went
directly to the main house. I knew that Drisco wouldn't like it but it couldn't
be helped. I wanted to dig into the roots of this matter and maybe he could shed
some light.
"What's the matter?" roared Drisco when he
came to the door. "Bunkhouse not good enough for ya?"
"Mr. Drisco, I'd like to talk to you about all
these squatters that are showing up. They obviously don't know what they're
getting into. You say you don't have anybody in mine as to being behind all
this. Then what other reason could there be to send a bunch of people in to a
flooded area?"
"Come on in." When we got seated in his
office he became surly. "You're hired to keep the farmers away from my
spread. Why they come doesn't really matter, does it? If I didn't know that
you're one of the fastest shooters around I'd let you go right now. So how does
it lay? Are you going to start shooting those nesters or wipe their noses?"
"I'm not going to shoot innocent people just to
make a point, if that's what you mean." To diffuse him I stood up and went
to a wall map. "Tell me about this area they are aiming for. What makes it
so special?"
"Nothing that I can see. The river keeps shifting
course so you never quite know where the boundary is. I keep the cattle back a
ways just in case."
"What boundary? I don't see what you mean."
"Why, the Navajo reservation. Because the
government is involved I don't go right up to the line. I don't know where it
is. The Indians don't push too hard the other way. I look the other way whenever
they want some beef for their families. Heck, the buffalo are about gone and the
people have to eat. I don't mind that. I'm just worried that someone will grab
control of the area between us. Then my cattle could be cleaned out and the
blame placed on the wrong tribe."
"But if you are on the line, how does someone get
between you?"
"I told you, the river keeps shifting."
"That much?"
"Sure. Every few years that old Navajo Wash moves
miles out of its old route."
"Then there might be thousands of acres involved,
couldn't there? "
"Yep. A fellow could latch onto a good sized
spread. If he could hold it would be another story."
I had started out the door, but I turned on my heel
and looked back. "You care if I take a couple of days and look over that
area? I might do you more good in figuring this out than I would guarding a
trail. Any of the others can do that."
I didn't like the look that he gave me. It was a
steady stare showing no emotion. Was he trying to figure me out, or was he
planning how to be rid of me? Finally he said, "All right. See what you can
find out. But report directly back to me. And I don't want to hear about you
going easy on any squatters again. If you get the chance, I want 'em dead. Now
get out of here."
I took off at daybreak the next morning, grateful to
be off on my own. That bunkhouse could get pretty crowded with cowboys that
snored and ate beans at every meal. The wind quickened as the day progressed and
it looked like the afternoon would see more rain. It was the type of day made
for a hunter, when the very air seems charged with excitement and you are sure
you will see a deer just over the next hill. In truth I felt more like seeing
some strange country and game than I did in checking out the course of an errant
river. I had given my word so to the Navajo Wash I went.
By finding that end of the northern trail first I
found what I took to be Brascom Flat. Sure enough, it was a good spot for ducks.
As I watched a small group of teal pitched down and landed with loud splashes. A
man who liked to eat ducks could live well here until the flooding subsided.
Above the Flat I found a spot shallow enough that my
horse could comfortably wade through. On the other side I rode over a mile
before I found another old channel. From the looks of the vegetation that was
taking hold in the bed I guessed it had not seen the Wash run through it for a
good four years. The strip in back of me then was what was known on the
battlefield as 'no man's land."
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