CHAPTER II. BIT BY BIT

The sun was near the meridian when Johnny rode into Gunsight, a town
which he took as a matter of course. They were all alike, he reflected.

If it were not for the names they scarcely could be told apart--and
it would have been just as well to have numbered them. A collection
of shacks, with the over-played brave names. The shack he was riding
for was the "Palace," which only rubbed it in. Out of a hundred towns,
seventy-five would have their Palace saloon and fifty would have a
Delmonico hotel. Dismounting before the door, he went in and saw the
proprietor slowly arising from a chair, and he was the fattest man
Johnny ever had seen. The visitor's unintentional stare started the
conversation for him.

"Well, don't you like my looks?" bridled the proprietor.

Johnny's expression was one of injured innocence. "Why, I wasn't seein'
you," he explained. "I was thinkin'--but now that you mention it, I
don't see nothin' th' matter with your looks. Should there be?"

The other grunted something, becoming coherent only when the words
concerned business. "What's yourn?"

"A drink with you, an' some information."

"Th' drink goes; but th' information don't."

"I take it all back," soliloquized Johnny. "This town don't need a
number; it don't even need a name. It's different. It's th' only one
this side of Montanny where the barkeeper was hostile at th' start. I'm
peaceful. My han's are up, palm out. If you won't give me information,
will you tell me where I can eat an' sleep? Which of th' numerous
hotels ain't as bad as th' rest of 'em?"

Davis Lee Beauregard Green slid a bottle across the bar, sent a glass
spinning after it, leaned against the back bar and grinned. "Gunsight
ain't impressin' you a hull lot?" he suggested.

"Why not? It's got all a man needs, which is why towns are made, ain't
it?" Johnny tasted the liquor and downed it. "I allus size up a town
by th' liquor it sells. I say Gunsight is a d--d sight better than I
thought from a superficial examination."

Dave Green, wise in the psychology of the drinking type, decided that
the stranger was not and never had been what he regarded as a drinking
man; and even went so far in a quick, spontaneous flash of thought, as
to tell himself that the stranger never had been drunk. Now, in his
opinion, a hard-drinking, two-gun man was "bad;" but a coldly sober,
real two-gun man was worse, although possibly less quarrelsome. He was
certain that they lived longer. Dave was a good man with a short gun,
despite his handicap; but a stirring warning instinct had told him
that this stranger was the best who ever had entered his place. This
impression came, was recognized, tabbed, and shoved back in his memory,
all in a mechanical way. It was too plain to be overlooked by a man
who, perhaps without realizing it, studied humanity, although he could
not lay a finger on a single thing and call it by name.

Dave put the bottle back and washed the glass. "Well," he remarked,
"every man sizes things up accordin' to his own way of thinkin', which
is why there are so many different opinions about th' same thing."
Letting this ponderous nugget sink in, he continued: "I reckon th'
bottom of it all is a man's wants. You want good liquor, so a town's
good, or bad. Which is as good a way as any other, for it suits you.

But, speakin' about eatin'-houses, there's a hotel just around th'
corner. It's th' only one in town. It butts up agin' th' corner of my
rear wall. Further than sayin' I've et there, I got no remarks to make.

I cook my own, owin' to th' pressure of business, an' choice."

"It ain't run by no woman, is it?" asked Johnny.

"No; why?"

Johnny grinned. "I'm ridin' clear of wimmin. It was wimmin that sent
me roamin' over th' face of th' earth, a wanderer. My friends all got
married, an'--oh, well, I drifted. Th' first section I come to where
there ain't none, I'll tie fast; an' this country looks like a snubbin'
post, to me."

"You lose," chuckled Dave. "There's one down here, an' some folks think
she's considerable. What's more, she's lookin' for a good man to run
her dad's ranch, an' get an outfit together, as will stay put. But if
you don't like 'em, that loses th' job for you. An' I reckon yo're
right lucky at that."

"Shore; I know th' kind of a 'good' man they want," said Johnny,
reminiscently. "'Good,' meanin' habits only. A man that don't smoke,
chew, drink, cuss, get mad, or keep his hat on in th' house. Losin' th'
job ain't bendin' my shoulders. I ain't lookin' for work; I'm dodgin'
it. Goin' to loaf till my money peters out, which won't be soon. You'd
be surprised if you knowed how many people between here an' Montanny
think they can play poker. Just now I'm a eddicator. I'm peddlin'
knowledge to th' ignorant, an' I ain't no gambler, at that!"

Dave chuckled. "There's some around here, too. Now, me; I'm different.

I can't play, an' I know it; but, of course, I'll set in, just for th'
excitement of it, once in a while, if there ain't nothin' else to do.

Come to think of it, I got a deck of cards around here some'rs, right
now."

The rear door opened and closed. Johnny looked up and saw the
worst-looking tramp of his experience. The newcomer picked up a
sand-box cuspidor and started with it for the street.

"Hi, stranger!" called Johnny. "Ain't that dusty work?"

The tramp stiffened. He hardly could believe his ears. The tones which
had assailed them were so spontaneously friendly that for a moment he
was stunned. It had been a long time since he had been hailed like
that--far too long a time. He turned his head slowly and looked and
believed, for the grin which met his eyes was as sincere as the voice.

It made him honest in his reply.

"No," he said, "this here's sand."

"But ain't yore throat dusty?"

Two-Spot put the box down. "Seems like it allus is. If these boxes
_get_ dusty, I'll know how it come about, me bendin' over 'em like I
do, an' breathin' on 'em."

Johnny laughed. "I take it we're all dusty." He turned to Dave. "Got
three left?"

Two-Spot walked up to the bar. Usually he sidled. He picked up his
glass and held it up to the light, and drank it in three swallows.

Usually it was one gulp. Wiping his lips on a sleeve, he pushed back
the glass, dug down into a pocket and brought up a silver dollar, which
he tossed onto the bar. "Fill 'em again, Dave," he said, quietly.

At this Dave's slowly accumulating wonder leaped. He looked at the
coin and from it to Two-Spot. Sensing the situation, Johnny pushed it
farther along towards the proprietor. "Our friend is right, Dave," he
said, "two is company. Make mine th' same."

Two-Spot put down his empty glass and grinned. "I'll now go on from
where I was interrupted, Gents," and, picking up the box, went towards
the door. As he was about to pass through he saw Pepper, and he
stopped. "Good, Lord!" he muttered. "What a hoss! I've seen passels
of hosses, but never one like that. Midnight her name oughter be, or
Thunderbolt." He turned. "Stranger, what name do you call that hoss?"

Johnny looked around. "That's Pepper."

Two-Spot grinned. "Did you see that?" he demanded, tilting the box
until the sand ran out. "Did you _see_ it? She knows her name like a
child. Well, it's a good name--a fair name," he hedged. "But, shucks!

There ain't _no_ name fit for that hoss! How fur has she come today?"

"Near forty miles," answered Johnny.

"I say it ag'in--there ain't _no_ name fit for that hoss. She looks
like she come five," and he passed out.

"Don't mind him," said Dave. "But where did he git that dollar? Steal
it? Find it? Reckon he found it. I near dropped dead. Pore devil--he
come here last winter an' walks in, cleans my boxes an' sweeps. Then he
goes 'round to th' hotel an' mops an' cleans th' pans better than they
ever was before. He was so handy an' useful that we let him stay. An'
I've never seen him more than half drunk--it's amazin' th' liquor he
can hold."

"Sleep here?"

"No; an' nobody knows where he does sleep. He's cunnin' as a fox, an'
fooled 'em every time. But wherever it is, it's dry."

Johnny produced a Sharp's single-shot cartridge. "Where can I get some
of these Specials?" he asked.

Dave looked at it "'.45-120-550'--you won't get none of 'em down in
this country."

"Post office in town?"

"Not yet. Th' nearest is Rawlins, thirty mile east, with th' worst
trail a man ever rode. Th' next is Highbank, forty mile south. We use
that, for th' trail's good. We get mail about twice a month. Th' Bar H
an' th' Triangle take turns at it."

"Then I'll write for some of these after I feed. I'll tell 'em to send
'em to you, at Highbank. What name will I give?"

"Dave Green, Highbank-Gunsight mail. But you better write before you
eat. This is goin' away day, an' th' Bar H will be in any minute now."

Johnny arose. "Not before I eat. I ain't had nothin' since daybreak,
an' it's afternoon now. I hate letter writin'; an' if I don't eat soon
I'll get thin."

"Then don't eat--'though I wasn't thinkin' of you when I spoke,"
growled Dave. "Wish I was in danger of gettin' thin."

"What you care?" demanded Johnny. "Yo're healthy, an' yore job don't
call for a man bein' light."

"That's th' way you fellers talk," said Dave. "I'm short-winded, I'm in
my own way, an' the joke of th' country. I can't ride a hoss--why, cuss
it, I can't even get a gun out quick enough to get a hop-toad before
he's moved twenty feet!"

"Pullin' a gun has its advantages, I admits," replied Johnny, who had
his own ideas about Dave's ability in that line. Dave, he thought,
could get a gun out quick enough for the average need--being a
bartender, and still alive, was proof enough of that. He walked toward
the door. "If you was to get a big hoss--a single-footer, you could
ride, all right."

He went around and entered the hotel, mentally numbering it. Arranging
for a week's board and bed for himself and Pepper, he hurried out to
the wash bench just outside the dining-room door, where he found two
tin basins, a bucket of water, a cake of yellow soap, a towel, and two
men using them all. Taking his turn he in turn followed them into the
dining-room and chose the fourth and last table, which was next to a
window. The meal was better than he had expected but, hungry as he
was, he did not eat as hurriedly as was his habit. Fragments of the
conversation of the two punchers in the corner reached and interested
him. It had to do with the SV ranch, as near as he could judge, and
helped him to build the skeleton upon which he hoped to hang a body
by dint of investigation and questioning. The episode of that morning
had occurred on the SV ranch if the brands on the cattle he had seen
meant anything. The woman's name was Arnold, and she had a father and
a brother, the latter a boy. There was a fragment about "th' Doc," but
just what it was he did not hear, except that it was coupled to the Bar
H. Also, something was afoot, but it was so cautiously mentioned that
he gained no information about it. Finishing before him, the two men
went out, and soon rode past the window, mounted on Triangle horses.

He rattled his cup and ordered it refilled, and when the waiter
slouched back with it, Johnny slid a perfectly good cigar across the
table and waved his hand. "Sit down, an' smoke. You ought to rest while
you got th' chance."

The waiter lost some of his slouch and obeyed, nodding his thanks. "Are
you punchin'?" he asked.

"When I'm broke," answered Johnny. "Just now I'm ridin' around lookin'
at th' scenery. Never knowed we had any out here till I heard some
Easterners goin' mad about it. I've been tryin' to find it ever since.

But, anyhow, punchin' is shore monotonous."

"If you can show me anythin' monotoner than _this_ job, I'll eat it,"
growled the waiter. "It's hell on wheels for me."

"Oh, this whole range is monotonous," grunted Johnny. "Reckon nothin'
interestin' has happened down here since Moses got lost. But there's
one thing I like about it--there ain't no woman in thirty miles."

"You foller Clear River into Green Valley, which is SV, an' you'll
change yore mind," chuckled the waiter. "She'll chase you off, too."

"I'll be cussed. An' she's suspicious of strangers?"

"Don't put no limit on it like that; she's suspicious of everythin'
that wears pants."

"How's that?"

"Well, her cows has been wanderin' off, lookin' for better grass, I
reckon, an' she thinks they're bein' drove."

Johnny pictured the valley, but hid his smile. "Oh, well; you can't
blame the cows. They'll find th' best. Any ranches 'round here run by
men?"

"Shore; three of 'em. There's th' Bar H, an' th' Triangle, an' over
west is th' Double X, but it's ranchhouse is so fur from here that it's
a sort of outsider. It's th' biggest, th' Bar H is next, an' then comes
th' Triangle. Th' Triangle don't hardly count, neither 'though it's
close by."

"What about th' SV you mentioned? An' what's yore name?"

"My name's George. Th' SV has gone to th' dogs since it was sold. It
ain't a ranch no more. Of course, it's got range, an' water, an' some
cows, an' a couple of buildin's--but it ain't got no outfit. Old
Arnold, his gal, an' his kid--all tenderfeet--are tryin' to run it."

"But they've got to have punchers," objected Johnny.

"They can't keep 'em, though I ain't sayin' why," replied George
mysteriously.

"Does th' Doc own th' Bar H?" asked Johnny.

"Lord, no! It owns him--but, say; you'll have to excuse me. I got work
to do. See you at supper. So long."

Johnny left and rode back the way he had come that morning, lost in
meditation. Reaching the rim of the valley he looked down over the
rolling expanse of vivid green, here and there broken by shallow draws,
with their brush and trees. He noticed an irregular circle of posts
just south of him and close to the river. Experience told him what they
meant, and he frowned. Here was a discordant note--that enclosure,
small as it was, was a thing sinister, malevolent, to him almost
possessing a personality. Turning from the quicksands he sat and gazed
at the nest of rocks below him until Pepper, well trained though she
was, became restless and thought it time to move. Stirring, he smiled
and pressed a knee against her and as he rode away he shook his head.

"Yes, girl, I'm still a-rollin'--an' I don't know where to."

After supper he talked with George until they heard the creaking of
wheels and harness. Looking up they saw four heavy horses slowly
passing the window, followed by a huge, covered wagon with great, heavy
wheels having four-inch tires. A grizzled, whiskered, weather-beaten
patriarch handled the lines and talked to his horses as though they
were children.

"Now I got to make a new fire an' cook more grub," growled George,
arising. "Why can't he get here in time for supper? He's allus late,
goin' an' comin'."

"Who is he, an' where's he from?"

"Ol' Buffaler Wheatley from Highbank. He's goin' up to Juniper an'
Sherman."

"He come from Highbank today?" demanded Johnny, surprised.

"Shore--an' he must 'a' come slow."

"Slow? Forty miles with _that_ in a day, an' he come _slow_?" retorted
Johnny. "He was lucky to get here before midnight. If you'd 'a' done
what that old feller has today, you'd not think much of anybody as
wanted you on hand at supper time."

"Mebby yo're right," conceded George, dubiously, as he went into the
kitchen.

Johnny arose and went out to the shed where the driver was flexing his
muscles. "Howd'y," he said. "Got th' waggin where you want it?"

"Howd'y, friend," replied Buffalo, looking out from under bushy brows.

"I reckon so. 'Most any place'll do. Ain't nothin' 'round'll scratch
th' polish off it," he grinned.

Johnny laughed and began unhitching the tired, patient horses, and his
deft fingers had it done before Buffalo had any more than started.

"Fine hosses," he complimented, slapping the big gray at his side. "You
must treat 'em well."

"I do," said Buffalo. "I may abuse myself, sometimes, but not these
here fellers. They'll pull all day, an' are as gentle as kittens."

"How do you find freightin'?" asked Johnny, leading his pair into the
shed.

"Pickin' up, an' pickin' fast," answered Buffalo, following with the
second team. "It's gettin' too much for one old man an' this waggin.

An' top of that I got th' mail contract I been askin' for for years. So
I got to put on another waggin an' make th' trip every week 'stead of
only when th' freight piles up enough to make it worth while. Reckon
I'll break my boy in on th' new waggin."

"I'll leave th' feedin' to you," said Johnny, leaning against the wall.

"You know what they need."

"All right, friend; much obliged to you. I just let 'em eat all th' hay
they can hold an' give 'em their measures of oats. I have to carry them
with me--can't get none away from Highbank, everythin' up here bein'
grass fed."

"I feed oats when I can get 'em," replied Johnny. "I allus reckon a
corn-fed hoss has more bottom."

"Shore has--if they're that kind," agreed Buffalo.

"Travel th' same way all th' time?"

"Yes. I won't gain nothin' goin' t'other way 'round," answered Buffalo,
busy with his pets. "You see I allus come north loaded. Th' first stop,
after here, is Juniper, where I loses part of th' load. That's thirty
miles from here, an' th' road's good. Then I cross over to Sherman,
lose th' rest of th' load, an' come back from there light--it's fifty
mile of hard travelin'. Goin' like I do I has th' good, short haul with
th' heavy load; comin' back I have a light waggin on th' long, mean
haul. If I went to Sherman first, things would just be turned 'round."

"What do you do when you have passengers for Sherman?"

"Don't want none!" snorted Buffalo. "Wouldn't carry 'em to Sherman,
anyhow. Anybody with sense that can sit a hoss wouldn't crawl along
with me in th' heat an' dust on that jouncin' seat. But sometimes I has
a tenderfoot to nurse, consarn 'em. They ask so many fool questions I
near go _loco_. But they pays me well for it, you bet!"

"Anythin' else I can give you a hand with?" asked Johnny, following the
old man out of the shed.

"No, thankee; I'm all done. Th' only man that can give me a hand now is
that scamp, George. I'm goin' in to eat, friend. Got to be up an' be
on my way before th' sun comes up. I get th' cool of th' mornin' for
my team, an' give 'em a longer rest when she gets hot. If you see Jim
Fanning, tell him I'm buyin' hides as a side line now. I pays spot cash
for 'em, same price as Ol' Saunders would pay, less th' freight. He has
quit th' business an' went to live with his married da'ter, ol' fool!"

"Fanning sell hides?"

"No; I just want him to know so he can tell th' Bar H an' th' Triangle
an' mebby th' Double X. I want to have a good load goin' back from
here. There ain't no profit in goin' all th' way back with an empty
waggin. Well, good night, friend! I'm much obliged to you."

"That's all right," smiled Johnny. "I'll tell him. Good night; an'
good luck!" he added as an after-thought, and then drifted around to
the saloon, where he found several men at the bar.

Dave performed the introductions, and added: "Nelson, here, says he
ain't goin' back punchin' cows as long as his money lasts. He's a
travelin' eddicator in th' innercent game of draw--or was it studhoss,
Nelson?"

"Draw is closer to my heart," laughed Johnny. "My friend, Tex, told me
I might learn draw if I lived long enough; but I'd have to have a pack
of cards buried with me an' practice in th' other world if I aimed to
learn studhoss."

"It grieves me to see a young man wastin' his time in idleness," said
Ben Dailey, the storekeeper. "Th' devil is allus lookin' for holts.

Young men should keep workin'. Might I inquire if you feel like
indulgin' in a little game of draw? You'll find us rusty, though."

"We don't play oftener than every night, an' some afternoons," said
Fanning.

"I'm a little scared when a man says he's rusty," replied Johnny. "But
I reckon I might as well lose tonight as later. I hope Dave is too busy
to cut in--he said he don't know _nothin'_ about it."

"Dave's still cuttin' his teeth," chuckled Jim Fanning; "but he uses my
silver to cut 'em on. When he learns th' game I'm goin' to drift out of
town while I still got a cayuse."

Two punchers came stamping in and Dave nodded to them. "Here's yore
victims; here's them infants from th' Double X. Boys, say 'Howd'y' to
Mr. Nelson. Nelson, that tall, red-headed feller is Slim Hawkes; an'
that bowlegged towhead is Tom Wilkes. They ain't been in here in three
months, an' they've rid twenty miles to rob us."

"An' we might walk home," retorted Wilkes. "Let's lay th' dust before
we starts anythin'. Nelson, yo're in bad company. This gang would rob
a church. You want to get a kneehold an' hang onto th' pommel after
_this_ game starts. Here's how!"

As the game progressed the few newcomers who straggled in felt their
interest grow. As each finished his drink, Dave would lean forward and
whisper: "There's what I call a poker game. Four highway-men playin'
'em close. To listen to 'em you'd think they never saw a card before."

Johnny was complaining. "Gents, I know I'm ignorant--but would you
advise me to draw to a pair of treys? Shall I hold up an ace, or take
three cards? I'll chance it; I never hold a sider. Gimme three."

"Ain't that just my luck," sighed Ben. "An' me with three of a kind."

A little later Johnny picked up another hand and frowned at it "Well,
seein' as I allus hold up a sider, I'll have two, this time."

Hoofbeats drummed up and stopped, and a voice was heard outside. Dave
looked at the calendar. "Big Tom's a day ahead--he ain't due for his
spree till pay-day. Hello, Huff! What you doin' so fur from home?"

"Hello, Dave! Hello, boys!" said the newcomer. "I feel purty good
tonight. Just got word that McCullough wants two thousand head from us
fellers up here. He'll be along with his reg'lar trail outfit in a few
weeks. Sixteen men, a four-mule chuck waggin, an' nine saddle hosses to
th' man. I'm sendin' word that I can give him a thousand head, an' th'
Triangle is goin' to give him five hundred; so he'll want five hundred
from th' Double X, which Slim an' Tom can tell Sherwood."

"Shore," growled Slim, and his ranch mate nodded.

"Goin' up to Dodge again?" queried Dailey.

"He didn't say," answered Big Tom. "Who's doin' the scalpin'?" he
asked, going over to the table, where he gradually grew more restless
as he watched.

"Some of these days, when I grows up," grinned Wilkes, "I'm goin'
up th' trail with a herd, like a reg'lar cow-puncher. Dodge may be
top-heavy with marshals, but I'd like to see it again, with money in my
pockets."

Slim grunted. "Huh!" He looked over his hand, and drawled: "Th' last
time you went up you put on too many airs. Just because Cimarron let
you play _segundo_ once in a while when he went on ahead to size up th'
water or some river we would have to cross, you got too puffed up. I'm
aimin' to be th' second boss th' next trip, an' I'll hand you a few
jobs that'll keep you out of mischief."

Big Tom watched the winner rake in the chips and could stand it no
longer. "Say," he growled, "anybody gettin' tired, an' want to drop
out?"

Dailey looked up. "I only won two dollars in two hours, an' I got some
work to do. Everybody bein' willin', I'll go out an' bury my winnin's."

Big Tom took his place. "I'm shore of one thing: I can't lose th'
ranch, for I don't own it."

A round or two had been played when Big Tom drew his first openers.

Johnny raised it and cards were drawn. After it had gone around twice,
the others dropped out. Big Tom raised and Johnny helped it along.

The betting became stiffer and Big Tom laughed. "I hope you keep on
boostin' her."

"You can't get me out of this pot with dynamite," replied Johnny,
pushing out a raise.

Big Tom's gun was out before he left his seat. His chair crashed
backward and he leaned over the table. "Meanin'?" he snarled.

Johnny, surprised, kept his hand on the chips. "What I said," he
answered, evenly.

"Tom!" yelled Dave. "He don't mean nothin'! He's a stranger down here."

Big Tom's scowl faded at the words. "I reckon I was hasty, Nelson," he
said.

Johnny spoke slowly, his voice metallic "You was so hasty you come near
never gettin' over it. Put down th' gun."

"I'm a mite touchy at----"

"If you has anythin' to say, put--down--that--gun."

"No offense?"

"For th' third time: Put--down--that--gun."

Big Tom shook his head and appeared to be genuinely sorry. He slid the
gun back and picked up his chair. "You raised?"

"I did. I advise you to call--and end it."

"She's called. Five little hearts," said Big Tom, lying down his cards.

"They're hasty, too. Queen full, count 'em. Let's liquor."

The foreman paused in indecision. "Nelson----"

"We all get touchy," interrupted Johnny, scraping in the winnings.

"Will you drink with me?"

"I'll take the same," said Big Tom, and he bought the next round,
nodded his good night and went out.

Johnny turned to Dave. "Will you oblige me by tellin' me what Mr. Huff
got huffy about?"

Dave hesitated, but Slim Hawkes laughed and answered for him, his slow
drawl enhancing the humor of his tale, and wrinkles playing about his
eyes and lips told of the enjoyment the picture gave to him. "Clear
River crossed our range, flowed through Little Canyon, made a big bend
on th' Bar H, passed out of East Canyon, an' flowed down the middle of
th' SV. Three years ago a piece of Little Canyon busted loose an' slid
down, blockin' th' river, which backed up, getting' higher an' higher,
an' began to cut through its bank about three miles above. Big Tom got
busy, _pronto_. He sends for a box of dynamite, sticks it around in th'
_débris_ an' let's her go--_all_ of it. When th' earthquake stopped
there was a second one in th' dust an' smoke--we all thought it was a
delayed charge. It wasn't. It was a section of th' canyon wall, near a
hundred feet long an' almost two hundred feet high. There was a shale
fault runnin' down from th' top, back about forty feet. Everythin' in
front of that was jarred loose an' slid. Th' canyon was choked so hard
an' fast that it won't never get open again. Clear River kept right on
a-cuttin', an' it now flows on th' other side of Pine Mountain, which
means th' Bar H ain't got no water of its own, except a few muddy holes
south an' west of th' ranch buildings. That's why he's touchy. But
that's a long speech, an' a dry one. Let's all liquor again."