Part 17 (1/2)
”Because I think the things that have been done to Mr. Larkin are contemptible and mean.” There was no placidity in those brown eyes now.
They flashed fire. Her face had grown pale, and she, too, had risen to her feet. ”I'm a cowman's daughter, but still I can be reasonable. Our range is free range, and he has a perfect right to walk his sheep north if he wants to. And even if he hadn't, there is no excuse for the stampede that took place the other night.
”And last of all, you have no right to keep Mr. Larkin here against his will so that he does not know what is happening to the rest of his flocks.
I consider the whole thing a hideous outrage. But that isn't all. You have talked to me this afternoon in a suspicious manner that you have no right to use toward me. I am not a child, and shall think and act for myself.”
”What do you mean by that? That you will help this scoundrel?”
”Yes, if I think it is the right thing to do.”
Bissell started back as though someone had struck him. Then he seemed to lose his strength and to shrivel up, consumed by the flame of his bitterness and disappointment. At the sight, the girl's whole heart melted toward the unhappy man, and she longed to throw her arms around him and plead for forgiveness. But the same strain that had made her father what he was, in his hard environment, was dominant in her, and she stood her ground.
For a minute Bissell looked at her out of dull, hurt eyes. Then he motioned toward the door.
”Go in,” he said gently; ”I don't want to see yuh.”
CHAPTER XIII
THE HEATHEN CHINEE
Hard-winter Sims, lying at full length on the gra.s.s, indulging in another of his frequent siestas, was rudely awakened by one of his herders.
”More sheep they come,” said the man.
”Great Michaeljohn!” swore Sims, heaving his long length erect. ”More?”
”Yes; it is Rubino with the third flock.”
Sims cast a practiced eye over the sides of the swelling hills, where already two thousand animals, the second consignment, were feeding. It was now a week since he had met Bud Larkin after the stampede, and he was worried over the non-appearance of his chief. Here, in the hills of the southern hook of the Big Horn Mountains, he had fed the second flock up one valley and down the next, waiting for Larkin's arrival or some word from him.
Hurrying south after that midnight meeting, he had reached his destination just in time to check the advance of the second two thousand that had come the night before. Knowing the hard march north, but ignorant of the conditions now prevailing on the Bar T range, he had hesitated to expose more of Larkin's animals to ruin.
The arrival of this third flock complicated matters in the extreme, since the feeding-ground became constantly farther away from the original rendezvous.
He looked in the direction indicated by the herder and saw the cloud of dust that betokened the advance of the new flock. Soon the tinkle of the bells and the blethering of the animals themselves reached him, and he started leisurely back to meet Rubino.
He found the sheep in good physical shape, for they had been traveling at a natural pace, a condition not always easily brought about, and totally dependent on the skill of the herder. If the dogs or men follow constantly behind the animals, they, feeling that they are being constantly urged, will go faster and faster, neglecting to crop, and so starve on their feet in the midst of abundant feed. For this reason herders often walk slowly ahead of their flock, holding them back.
”Where are the next two thousand?” Sims asked Rubino.
”Two days behind, and coming slowly.”
”And the last?”
”Three days behind them, but farther to the east.”
Sims whistled. He realized that in five days, if nothing were done, he would have eight thousand sheep on his hands, scattered over the hills in every direction and subject to heavy loss both by wild animals and straying.
With the aplomb of a general disposing his forces, Sims indicated the rising hill on which Rubino should bed his flock down, and watched critically as they went through this evolution.