Part 5 (1/2)
CHAPTER V
STRATEGY AND A SURPRISE
”Gub pi-i-i-le!” yelled the cook at the top of his voice.
The weary herders with Sims and Larkin answered the cry as one man, for they were spent with the exertions of the night, and heavy-eyed from want of sleep. The meal of mutton, camp-bread, beans, and Spanish onions was dispatched with the speed that usually accompanied such ceremonies, and Sims told off the herders to watch the flock while the others slept.
A general commanding soldiers would have pressed forward, thus increasing the advantage gained in the enemy's country, but when sheep compose the marching column, human desires are the last thing consulted. After their long thirst and forced drive it was necessary that the animals recover their strength for a day amid abundant feed and water.
Immediately after breakfast Larkin called a small, close-knit herder to him.
”Can you ride a horse?” he asked.
”_Si, senor_,” replied the man, who came originally from the southern range.
”Then saddle that piebald mare and take provisions for four days. Travel day and night until you reach the Larkin ranch in Montana, and give this letter to the man who is in charge there.”
Bud drew a penciled note from the pocket of his s.h.i.+rt and handed it to the other. Then he produced a rough map of the country he had drawn and added it to the letter, explaining a number of times the distances from point to point, and tracing the route with his pencil. At last the herder understood.
”Tell them to hurry,” was Larkin's parting injunction, as the other turned away to saddle the mare.
”_Si, senor_. Hurry like blazes, eh?” said Miguel, comprehending, with a flash of white teeth.
”Exactly.”
Hardly had the man galloped away north, following the bank of the river for the better concealment past the Bar T range, when Sims languidly approached.
”I reckon we're in for trouble, boss,” he remarked, yawning sleepily, ”an'
I'm plumb dyin' for rest, but I s'pose I better look over the country ahead if we're goin' to get these muttons out o' here.”
”I was just going to suggest it,” said Larkin. ”I am going to stay by the camp and meet some friends of mine that I expect very shortly. Come back _p.r.o.nto_, Hardy, for there's no telling what we may have to do before night.”
Larkin's predictions of a visit were soon enough fulfilled. It was barely ten o'clock when several hors.e.m.e.n were seen riding toward the banks of the Big Horn. Bud mounted Pinte and advanced to meet them.
First came Beef Bissell, closely attended by Stelton, and after them, four or five of the Bar T punchers. The actual encounter took place half a mile from the camp. Looking back, Larkin could see his sheep feeding in plain sight amid the green of the river bottoms.
”Howdy,” snapped Bissell, by way of greeting. And then, without waiting for a reply: ”What does this mean?” He indicated the placid sheep.
”My flock was dying of thirst, and I brought them up last night,” said Bud. ”They crossed the river early this morning.”
”Why didn't you keep them on the other side? I warned you about this.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”I warned you first, Mr. Bissell. My sheep have got to go North and the range West of the Big Horn is the only practicable way to drive them.”]
”I warned you first, Mr. Bissell. My sheep have got to go north, and the range west of the Big Horn is the only practicable way to drive them. They would never come through if I started them through the mountains. You ought to know that.”
”Never mind what I ought to know,” cried Bissell angrily, his red face flaming with fury. ”There's one thing I do know, and that is, that those range-killers don't go a step farther north on my side of the river.”
”If you can show me clear t.i.tle to owners.h.i.+p of this part of the range I will risk them in the mountains; otherwise not,” replied Bud, imperturbably. ”This range is free, and as much mine as yours. There's no use going into this question again.”