The Flying U's Last Stand by B. M. Bower (ebook reader with highlighter TXT) 📕

yards, at the outside, to carry water. Up hill? Well, what of that? Look at Pink—had to haul water half a mile from One Man Creek, and no trail. Look at Weary—had to pack water twice as far as Patsy. And hadn't they clubbed together and put up his darned shack first thing, just so he COULD get busy and cook? What did the old devil expect, anyway?

Well—you see that the Happy Family had been fully occupied in the week since the arrival of the homeseekers' excursion. They could not be expected to give very much thought to their next steps. But there was Andy, who had only to move into the cabin in One Man coulee, with a spring handy, and a stable for his horse, and a corral and everything. Andy had not been harassed with the house-building and settling, except as he assisted the others. As fast as the shacks were up, the Happy Family had taken possession, so that now Andy was alone, stuck down there in the coulee out of sight of everybody. Pink had once named One Man coulee as the lonesomest hole in all that country, and he had not been far wrong. But at any rate the lonesomeness had served one good purpose, for it had started Andy to thinking out the details of their so called land-pool. Now the thinking had borne fruit to the extent that he felt an urgent need of the Happy Family in council upon the subject.

As he topped at last the final rise which put him on a level with the great undulating bench-land gashed here and there with coulees and narrow gulches that gave no evidence of their existence until one rode quite close, he lifted his head and gazed about him half regretfully, half proudly. He hated to see that wide upland dotted here and there with new, raw buildings, which proclaimed themselves claim-shacks as far a one could see them. Andy hated the sight of claim-shacks with a hatred born of long range experience and the vital interests of the cattleman. A claim-shack stuck out on the prairie meant a barbed wire fence somewhere in the immediate vicinity; and that meant a hindrance to the easy handling of herds. A claim-shack meant a nester, and a nester was a nuisance, with his plowed fields and his few head of cattle that must be painstakingly weeded out of a herd to prevent a howl going up to high heaven. Therefore, Andy Green instinctively hated the sight of a shack on the prairie. On the other hand, those shacks belonged to the Happy Family—and that pleased him. From where he sat on his horse he could count five in sight, and there were more hidden by ridges and tucked away in hollows.

But there were others going up—shacks whose owners he did not know. He scowled when he saw, on distant hilltops, the yellow skeletons that would presently be fattened with boards and paper and made the dwelling-place of interlopers. To be sure, they had as much right to take government land as had he or any of his friends—but Andy, being a normally selfish person, did not think so.

From one partially built shack three quarters of a mile away on a bald ridge which the Happy Family had passed up because of its barrenness and the barrenness of the coulee on the other side, and because no one was willing to waste even a desert right on that particular eighty-acres, a team and light buggy came swiftly toward him. Andy, trained to quick thinking, was puzzled at the direction the driver was taking. That eighty acres joined his own west line, and unless the driver was lost or on the way to One Man coulee, there was no reason whatever for coming this way.

He watched and saw that the team was comin' straight toward him over the uneven prairie sod, and at a pace that threatened damage to the buggy-springs. Instinctively Andy braced himself in the saddle. At a half mile he knew the team, and it did not require much shrewdness to guess at the errand. He twitched the reins, turned his spurred heels against his horse and went loping over the grassland to meet the person who drove in such haste; and the probability that he was meeting trouble halfway only sent him the more eagerly forward.

Trouble met him with hard, brown eyes and corn yellow hair blown in loose strands across cheeks roughened by the spring winds and sun-glare of Montana. Trouble pulled up and twisted sidewise in the seat and kicked the heads off some wild larkspurs with her whip while her tongue flayed the soul of Andy Green with sarcasm.

“Well, I have found out just how you helped me colonize this tract, Mr. Green,” she began with a hard inflection under the smoothness of her voice. “I must compliment you upon your promptness and thoroughness in the matter; for an amateur you have made a remarkable showing—in—in treachery and deceit. I really did not suppose you had it in you.”

“Remember, I told you I might buy in if it looked good to me,” Andy reminded her in the mildest tone of which he was capable—and he could be as mild as new milk when he chose.

Florence Grace Hallman looked at him with a lift of her full upper lip at the left side. “It does look good, then? You told Mr. Graham and that Mr. Wirt a different story, Mr. Green. You told them this land won't raise white beans, and you were at some pains, I believe, to explain why it would not. You convinced them, by some means or other, that the whole tract is practically worthless for agricultural purposes. Both Mr. Wirt and Mr. Graham had some capital to invest here, and now they are leaving, and they have persuaded several others to leave with them. Does it really look good to you—this land proposition?”

“Not your proposition—no, it don't.” Andy faced her with a Keen level glance as hard as her own. One could get the truth straight from the shoulder if one pushed Andy Green into a corner. “You know and I know that you're trying to cold-deck this bunch. The land won't raise white beans or anything else without water, and you know it. You can plant folks on the land and collect your money and tell 'em goodbye and go to it—and that settles your part of it. But how about the poor devils that put in their time and money?”

Florence Grace Hallman spread her hands in a limited gesture because of the reins, and smiled unpleasantly. “And yet, you nearly broke your neck filing on the land yourself and getting a lot of your friends to file,” she retorted. “What was your object, Mr. Green—since the land is worthless?”

“My object don't matter to anyone but myself.” Andy busied himself with his smoking material and did not look at her.

“Oh, but it Does! It matters to me, Mr. Green, and to my company, and to our clients.”

“I'll have to buy me a new dictionary,” Andy observed casually, reaching behind him to scratch a match on the skirt of his saddle. “The one I've got don't say anything about 'client' and 'victim' meaning the same thing. It's getting all outa date.”

“I brought enough clients”—she emphasized the word—“to settle every eighty acres of land in that whole tract. The policy of the company was eminently fair. We guaranteed to furnish a claim of eighty, acres to every person who joined our homeseekers' Club, and free pasturage to all the stock they wanted to bring. Failing to do that, we pledged ourselves to refund the fee and pay all return expenses. We could have located every member of this lot, and more—only for YOU.”