The Flying U's Last Stand by B. M. Bower (inspirational novels .txt) đź“–
- Author: B. M. Bower
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Spite of past experience he believed, at that moment, every word which Andy Green had uttered upon the subject of the proposed immigration. He was about to tell Andy so, when Chip walked unexpectedly out of Silver's stall and glanced from Weary to Andy standing still in the doorway. Weary looked at him enquiringly; for Chip must have heard every word they said, and if Chip believed it—
“Have you got that plat with you, Andy?” Chip asked tersely and with never a doubt in his tone.
Andy swung toward him like a prisoner who has just heard a jury return a verdict of not guilty to the judge. “I've got it, yes,” he answered simply, with only his voice betraying the emotions he felt—and his eye? “Want it?”
“I'll take a look at it, if it's handy,” said Chip.
Andy felt in his inside coat pocket, drew out a thin, folded map of that particular part of the county with all the government land marked upon it, and handed it to Chip without a word. He singled out a couple of pamphlets from a bunch of old letters such as men are in the habit of carrying upon their persons, and gave them to Chip also.
“That's a copy of the homestead and desert laws,” he said. “I guess you heard me telling Weary what kinda deal we're up against, here. Better not say anything to the Old Man till you have to; no use worrying him—he can't do nothing.” It was amazing, the change that had come over Andy's face and manner since Chip first spoke. Now he grinned a little.
“If you want to go in on this deal,” he said quizzically, “maybe it'll be just as well if you talk to the bunch yourself about it, Chip. You ain't any tin, angel, but I'm willing to admit the boys'll believe you; a whole lot quicker than they would me.”
“Yes—and they'll probably hand me a bunch of pity for getting stung by you,” Chip retorted. “I'll take a chance, anyway—but the Lord help you, Andy if you can't produce proof when the time comes.”
CHAPTER 5. THE HAPPY FAMILY TURN NESTERS
“Say, Andy, where's them dry-farmers?” Big Medicine inquired at the top of his voice when the Happy Family had reached the biscuit-and-syrup stage of supper that evening.
“Oh, they're trying to make up their minds whether to bring the old fannin'-mill along or sell it and buy new when they get here,” Andy informed him imperturbably. “The women-folks are busy going through their rag bags, cutting the buttons off all the pants that ain't worth patching no more, and getting father's socks all darned up.”
The Happy Family snickered appreciatively; this was more like the Andy Green with whom they were accustomed to deal.
“What's daughter doin', about now?” asked Cal Emmett, fixing his round, baby-blue stare upon Andy.
“Daughter? Why, daughter's leaning over the gate telling him she wouldn't never LOOK at one of them wild cowboys—the idea! She's heard all about 'em, and they're too rough and rude for HER. And she's promising to write every day, and giving him a lock of hair to keep in the back of his dollar watch. Pass the cane Juice, somebody.”
“Yeah—all right for daughter. If she's a good looker we'll see if she don't change her verdict about cowboys.”
“Who will? You don't call yourself one, do yuh?” Pink flung at him quickly.
“Well, that depends; I know I ain't any LADY broncho—hey, cut it out!” This last because of half a biscuit aimed accurately at the middle of his face. If you want to know why, search out the history of a certain War Bonnet Roundup, wherein Pink rashly impersonated a lady broncho-fighter.
“Wher'e they going to live when they git here?” asked Happy Jack, reverting to the subject of dry farmers.
“Close enough so you can holler from here to their back door, my boy—if they have their say about it,” Andy assured him cheerfully. Andy felt that he could afford to be facetious now that he had Chip and Weary on his side.
“Aw, gwan! I betche there ain't a word of truth in all that scarey talk,” Happy Jack fleered heavily.
“Name your bet. I'll take it.” Andy filled his mouth with hot biscuit and stirred up the sugar in his coffee like a man who is occupied chiefly with the joys of the table.
“Aw, you ain't going to git me that way agin,” Happy Jack declared. “They's some ketch to it.”
“There sure is, Happy. The biggest ketch you ever seen in your life. It's ketch the Flying U outfit and squeeze the life out of it; that's the ketch.” Andy's tone had in it no banter, but considerable earnestness. For, though Chip would no doubt convince the boys that the danger was very real, there was a small matter of personal pride to urge Andy into trying to convince, them himself, without aid from Chip or any one else.
“Well, by golly, I'd like to see anybody try that there scheme,” blurted Slim. “That's all—I'd just like to see 'em TRY it once!”
“Oh, you'll see it, all right—and you won't have to wait long, either. Just set around on your haunches a couple of weeks or so. That's all you'll have to do, Slim; you'll see it tried, fast enough.”
Pink eyed him with a wide, purple glance. “You'd like to make us fall for that, wouldn't you?” he challenged warily.
Andy gave him a level look. “No, I wouldn't. I'd like to put one over on you smart gazabos that think you know it all; but I don't want to bad enough to see the Flying U go outa business just so I could holler didn't-I-tell-you. There's a limit to what I'll pay for a josh.”
“Well,” put in the Native Son with his easy drawl, “I'm coming to the centre with my ante, just for the sake of seeing the cards turned. Deal 'em out, amigo; state your case once more, so we can take a good, square look at these dry-farmers.”
“Yeah—go ahead and tell us what's bustin' the buttons off your vest,” Cal Emmett invited.
“What's the use?” Andy argued. “You'd all just raise up on your hind legs and holler your heads off. You wouldn't DO anything about it—not if you knew it was the truth!” This, of course, was pure guile upon his part.
“Oh, wouldn't we? I guess, by golly, we'd do as much for the outfit as what you would—and a hull lot more if it come to a show-down.” Slim swallowed the bait.
“Maybe you would, if you could take it out in talking,” snorted Andy. “My chips are in. I've got three-hundred-and-twenty acres picked out, up here, and I'm going to file on 'em before these damned nesters get off the train. Uh course,
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