The Orphan by Clarence E. Mulford (best books to read now .txt) 📖

“This ain’t no fly-away notion, as you know. I’ve had an itching for a good ranch for several years, and for just about that length of time I’ve had my eyes on the A-Y. I was going to buy it when Crawford gobbled it up at that fancy price and I felt a little put out when he took up his option on it, but I’m glad he did, now. Why, Reeves sold out to Crawford for almost three times what I am going to pay for it, and it has been improved fifty per cent. since he has had it. But, of course, there was more cattle then than there is now. You get me that herd at a good figure and I’ll be able to take care of them very soon now, just as soon as I close the deal. But, mind you, no Texas cattle goes–I don’t want any Spanish fever in mine.

“I’m thinking some of putting Charley in charge temporarily, just as soon as Sneed gets some men, and when The Orphan takes it over things will be in purty fair shape. I won’t move out there because my wife don’t like ranching–she wants to be in town where she is near somebody, but I’ll spend most of my time out there until everything gets in running order. Oh, yes–in consideration of the five thousand down at the time the papers are signed, Crawford has agreed to leave the ranch-house furnished practically as it is, and that will be nice for Helen and The Orphan if they ever should decide to join hands in double blessedness. You used to have a lot of fun about the high-faluting fixings in your ranch-house, but just wait ’til you see this one! An inside look around will open your eyes some, all right. It is a wonder, a real wonder! Running water from the windmills, a bath-room, sinks in the kitchen, a wood-burning boiler in the cellar, and all the comforts possible. If Crawford tries to move all that stuff back East it would cost him more than he could get for it, and he knows it, too. It’s a bargain at twice the price, and I’m going to nail it. I can’t think of anything else.”

“Well,” replied Blake, “I don’t see how you could do anything better, that’s sure. It all depends on the price, and if you’re satisfied with that, there ain’t no use of turning it down. I know you can make money out there with any kind of attention, for I’m purty well acquainted with the A-Y. And I’ll see about the cattle next week, but you better leave The Orphan stay with me a while longer. My boys are the best crowd that ever lived in a bunk-house, and if he minds his business they’ll smooth down his corners until you won’t hardly know him; and they’ll teach him a little about the cow-puncher game if he’s rusty.

“You remember the time we had that killing out there, don’t you?” Blake asked. “Well, you also remember that we agreed to cut out all gunplay on the ranch in the future, and that I sent East for some boxing gloves, which were to be used in case anybody wanted to settle any trouble. They have been out there for two years now, and haven’t been used except in fun. Give the boys a chance and they’ll cure him of the itching trigger-finger, all right. They’re only a lot of big-hearted, overgrown kids, and they can get along with the devil himself if he’ll let them. But they are hell-fire and brimstone when aroused,” then he laughed softly: “They heard about your trouble with Sneed and they shore was dead anxious to call on the Cross Bar-8 and make a few remarks about long life and happiness, but I made them wait ’til they should be sent for.

“They know all about The Orphan–that is, as much as I did before I called to-night. Joe Haines is a great listener and when he rustles our mail once a week he takes it all in, so of course they know all about it. They had a lot of fun about the way he made the Cross Bar-8 sit up and take notice, for they ain’t wasting any love on Sneed’s crowd. And it took Bill Howland over an hour to tell Joe about his experiences. So when The Orphan met the outfit they knew him to be the man who had saved the sheriff’s sisters, which went a long way with them. Say, Jim,” he exclaimed, “can I tell them what you said about him to-night? Let me tell them everything, for it’ll go far with them, especially with Silent, who had some trouble with the U-B about five years ago. He was taking a herd of about three thousand head across their range and he swears yet at the treatment he got. Yes? All right, it’ll make him solid with the outfit.”

“Tell them anything you want about him,” said the sheriff, “but don’t say anything about the A-Y. I want to keep it quiet for a while.”

Shields poured himself a cup of coffee and then glanced at the clock: “Too late for a game, Tom?” he asked, expectantly.

The foreman laughed: “It’s seldom too late for that,” he replied.

“Good enough!” cried his host. “What shall it be this time–pinochle or crib?”

The foreman slowly closed his eyes as he replied: “Either suits me–this feed has made me plumb easy to please. Why, I’d even play casino to-night!”

“Well, what do you say to crib?” asked the sheriff. “You licked me so bad at it the last time you were here that I hanker to get revenge.”

“Well, I don’t blame you for wanting to get it, but I’ll tell you right now that you won’t, for I can lick the man that invented crib to-night,” laughed the foreman. “Bring out your cards.”

Shields placed the cards on the table and arranged things where they would be handy while his friend shuffled the pack.

The foreman pushed the cards toward his host: “There you are–low deals as usual, I suppose.”

“Oh, you might as well go ahead and deal,” grumbled the sheriff good-naturedly. “I don’t remember ever cutting low enough for you–by George! A five!”

Blake picked up the cards and started to deal, but the sheriff stopped him.

“Hey! You haven’t cut yet!” Shields cried, putting his hand on the cards. “What are you doing, anyhow?”

Blake laughed with delight: “Well, anybody that can’t cut lower than a five hadn’t ought to play the game. What’s the use of wasting time?”

“Well, you never mind about the time–you go ahead and beat me,” cried the sheriff. “Of all the nerve!”

Blake picked up the cards again: “Do you want to cut again?” he asked.

“Not a bit of it! That five stands!”

“Well, how would a four do?” asked the foreman, lifting his hand. “It’s a three!” he exulted. “All that time wasted,” he said.

“You go to blazes,” pleasantly replied the sheriff as he sorted his hand. “This ain’t so bad for you, not at all bad; you could have done worse, but I doubt it.” He discarded, cut, and Blake turned a six.

“Seven,” called Shields as he played.

“Seventeen,” replied Blake, playing a queen.

“No you don’t, either,” grinned the sheriff. “You can play that four later if you want to, but not now on twenty-seven. Call it twenty-five,” he said, playing an eight.

Blake carefully scanned his hand and finally played the four, grumbling a little as his friend laughed.

“Thirty-one–first blood,” remarked the sheriff, dropping the deuce.

While he pegged his points Blake suddenly laughed.

“Say, Jim,” he said, “before I forget it I want to tell you a joke on Humble. He thought it would be easy money if he taught Lee Lung how to play poker. He bothered Lee’s life out of him for several days, and finally the Chinaman consented to learn the great American game.”

Blake played a six and the sheriff scored two by pairing, whereupon his opponent made it threes for six, and took a point for the last card.

“As I was saying, Humble wanted the cook to learn poker. Lee’s face was as blank as a cow’s, and Humble had to explain everything several times before the cook seemed to understand what he was driving at. Anybody would have thought he had been brought up in a monastery and that he didn’t know a card from an army mule.”

Blake pegged his seven points and picked up his cards without breaking the story.

“But Lee had awful luck, and in half an hour he owned half of Humble’s next month’s pay. Now, every time he gets a chance he shows Humble the cards and asks for a game. ‘Nicee game, ploker, nicee game,’ he’ll say. What Humble says is pertinent, profane and permeating. Then the boys guy him to a finish. He’ll be wanting to teach Lee how to play fan-tan some day, so the boys say. Lee must have graduated in poker before Humble ever heard of the game.”

Shields laughed heartily and swiftly ran over his cards.

“Fifteen two, four, six, a pair is eight, and a double run of three is fourteen. Real good,” he said as he pegged. “Passed the crack that time. What have you got?”

The foreman put his cards down, found three sixes and then turned the crib face up. “Pair of tens and His Highness,” he grumbled. “Only three in that crib!”

“That’s what you get for cutting a three,” laughed the sheriff.

The game continued until the striking of the clock startled the guest.

“Midnight!” he cried. “Thirty miles before I get to bed–no, no, I can’t stay with you to-night –much obliged, all the same.”

He clapped his sombrero on his head and started for the door: “Well, better luck next time, Jim–three twenty-four hands shore did make a difference. Right where they were needed, too. So long.”

“Sorry you won’t stay, Tom,” called his friend from the door as the foreman mounted. “You might just as well, you know.”

“I’m sorry, too, but I’ve got to be on hand to-morrow–anyway, it’s bright moonlight–so long!” he cried as he cantered away.

“Hey, Tom!” cried the sheriff, leaping from the porch and running to the gate. “Tom!”

“Hullo, what is it?” asked the foreman, drawing rein and returning.

“Smoke this on your way, it’ll seem shorter,” said the sheriff, holding out a cigar.

“By George, I will!” laughed Blake. “That’s fine, you’re all right!”

“Be good,” cried the sheriff, watching his friend ride down the street.

“Shore enough good–I have to be,” floated back to his ears.

THE Sunday morning following Blake’s visit to Ford’s Station found the Star C in excitement. Notwithstanding the fact that on every pleasant night after the day’s work had been done it was the custom for the outfit to indulge in a swim, and that Saturday night had been very pleasant, the Limping Water was being violently disturbed, and laughter and splashing greeted the sun as it looked over the rim of the bank. Cakes of soap glistened on the sand on the west bank and towels hung from convenient limbs of the bushes which fringed the creek.

Silent, who was noted among his companions for the length of time he could stay under water, challenged them to a submersion test. The rules were simple, inasmuch as they consisted in all plunging under at the same time, the winner being he who was the last man up. Silent had steadfastly refused to have his endurance timed, which his friends mistook for modesty, and no sooner had all “ducked under” than his head popped up–but this time he was not alone. Humble, whose utmost limit was not over half a minute, grew angry at his inability to make a good