The Flying U Ranch by B. M. Bower (heaven official's blessing novel english TXT) 📖

Andy stood quiet while Weary unwound the rope; lifted his numbed arms with some difficulty, and displayed to the doubters his rope-creased wrists, and purple, swollen hands.

“I couldn't fight a caterpiller right now,” he said thickly. “Look at them hands! Do yuh call that a josh? I've been tied up like a bed-roll for five hours, you—” Well, never mind, he merely repeated a part of what he had recited aloud in Antelope coulee, the only difference being that he applied the vitriolic utterances to the Happy Family instead of to sheepherders, and that with the second recitation he gained much in fluency and dramatic delivery.

It is not nice for a man to swear; to swear the way Andy did, at any rate. But the result perhaps atoned in a measure for the wickedness, in that the Happy Family were absolutely convinced of his sincerity, and the feelings of Andy greatly relieved, so that, when he had for the third time that day completely exhausted his vocabulary, he sat down and began to eat his dinner with a keen appetite.

“I don't suppose you know where your horse is at, by this tine,” Weary observed, as casually as possible, breaking a somewhat constrained silence.

“I don't—and I don't give a darn,” Andy snapped back. He ate a few mouthfuls, and added less savagely: “He wasn't in sight, as I came along. I didn't follow the trail; I struck straight across and came down the coulee. He may be at the gate, and he may be down toward Rogers'.”

Pink reached for a toothpick, eyeing Andy side-long; dimpled his cheeks disarmingly, and cleared his throat. “Please don't kill me off when you get that pie swallowed,” he began pacifically. “Strange as it may seem, I believe you, Andy. What I want to know is this: Who owns them Dots? And what are they chasing all over the Flying U range for? It looks plumb malicious, to me. Did you find out anything about 'en, Andy, while you—er—while they—” His eyes twinkled and betrayed him for an arrant pretender. (Pink was not afraid of anything on earth—least of all Andy Green.)

“I will kill yuh by inches, if I hear any remarks out of yuh that ain't respectful,” Andy promised, thawing to his normal tone, which was pleasant to the ear. “I didn't find out much about 'em. The fellow I licked told me that Whittaker and Oleson owned the sheep. He didn't say—”

“Well—by—golly!” Shin thrust his head forward belligerently. “Whittaker! Well, what d'yuh think uh that!” He glared from one face to the other, his gaze at last resting upon Weary. “Say, do yuh reckon it's—Dunk?”

Weary paid no heed to Slim. He leaned forward, his face turned to Andy with that concentration of attention which means so much more than mere exclamation. “You're sure he said Whittaker?” he asked.

His tone and his attitude arrested Andy's cup midway to his mouth. “Sure—Whittaker and Oleson. I never heard of the outfit—who's this Whittaker person?”

Weary settled back in his place and smiled, but his eyes had quite lost their habitually sunny expression.

“Up until four years ago,” he explained evenly, “he was the Old Man's partner. We caught him in some mighty dirty work, and—well, he sold out to the Old Man. The old party with the hoofs and tail can't be everywhere at once, the way I've got it sized up, so he turns some of his business over to other folks. Dunk Whittaker's his top hand.”

“Why, by golly, he framed up a job on the Gordon boys, and railroaded 'em to the pen, just—”

“Oh, that's the gazabo!” Andy's eyes shone with enlightenment. “I've heard a lot about Dunk, but I didn't know his last name—”

“Say! I'll bet they're the outfit that bought out Denson. That's why old Denson acted so queer, maybe. Selling to a sheep outfit would make the old devil feel kinda uneasy, talking to us—” Pink's eyes were big and purple with excitement. “And that train-load of sheep we saw Sunday, I'll bet is the same identical outfit.”

“Dunk Whittaker'd better not try to monkey with me, by golly!” Slim's face was lowering. “And he'd better not monkey with the Flying U either. I'd pump him so full uh holes he'd look like a colander, by golly!”

Weary got up and started to the door, his face suddenly grown careworn. “Slim, you and Miguel better go and hunt up Andy's horse,” he said with a hint of abstraction in his tone, as though his mind was busy with more important things. “Maybe Andy'll feel able to help you set those posts, Bud—and you'd better go along the upper end of the little pasture with the wire stretchers and tighten her up; the top wire is pretty loose, I noticed this morning.” His fingers fumbled with the door-knob.

“Want me to do anything?” Pink asked quizzically just behind him. “I thought sure we'd go and remonstrate with then gay—”

Weary interrupted him. “The herders can wait—and, anyway, I've kinda got an idea Andy wants to hand out his own brand of poison to that bunch. You and I will take a ride over to Denson's and see what's going on over there. Mamma!” he added fervently, under his breath, “I sure do wish Chip and the Old Man were here!”