The Flying U's Last Stand by B. M. Bower (inspirational novels .txt) 📖

“Some men refused to let them cross that big coulee back there. They drove the cattle back toward Dry Lake, and told Mr. Simmons and Mr. Chase and some others that they shouldn't come on this bench back here at all. That was another thing I wanted to see you men about.”

“Maybe they were going to mix their stock up with ours,” Pink ventured mildly.

“Your men shot, and shot, and shot—the atmosphere up there is shot so full of holes that the wind just whistles through!” Miss Allen informed then gravely, with her eyebrows all puckered together and the furtive little twinkle in her eyes. “And they yelled so that we could hear them from the house! They made those poor cows and those poor, weenty calves just go trotting back across the coulee. My new book on farming says you positively must not hurry cattle. It—oh, it does something to the butter-fat—joggles it all up or something—I'll lend you the book. I found the chapter on Proper Treatment of Dairy Stock, and I watched those men with the book in my hands. Why, it was terribly unscientific, the way they drove those cow-critters!”

“I'll come over and get the book,” Andy promised her, with a look in his eyes that displeased Miss Hallman very much. “We're ashamed of our ignorance. We'd like to have you learn us what's in the book.”

“I will. And every week—just think of that! I'm to get a real farm paper.”

“I'd like to borrow the paper too,” Andy declared instantly.

“Oh, and—what's going to be done about all those bullet-holes? They—they might create a draught—”

“We'll ride around that way and plug 'em up,” Andy assured her solemnly. “Whenever you've got time to show me about where they're at.”

“It will be a pleasure. I can tell where they are, but they're too high for me to reach. Wherever the wind whistles there's a hole in the atmosphere. And there are places where the air just quivers, so you can see it. That is the shock those bold, bad men gave it with the words they used. They—used—words, Mr. Green! If we could scheme some way to pull out all those wrinkles—I do love a nice, clean, smooth atmosphere where I live. It's so wrinkly—”

“I'll attend to all that, right away.”

Miss Hallman decided that she had nothing further to say to Mr. Green. She wheeled her horse rather abruptly and rode off with a curt goodbye. Miss Allen, being new at the business of handling a horse, took more time in pulling her mount around. While her back was turned to Florence Grace and her face was turned toward Pink and Andy, she gave them a twinkling glance that had one lowered eyelid to it, twisted her lips, and spoke sharply to her horse. They might make of it what they would. Florence Grace looked back impatiently—perhaps suspiciously also—and saw Miss Allen coming on with docile haste.

So that ended the interview which Miss Hallman had meant to be so impressive. A lot of nonsense that left a laugh behind and the idea that Miss Allen at least did not disapprove of harassing claim-jumpers. Andy Green was two hundred per cent. more cheerful after that, and his brain was more active and his determination more fixed. For all that he stared after them thoughtfully.

“She winked at us—if I've got eyes in my head. What do you reckon she meant, Pink?” he asked when the two riders had climbed over the ridge. “And what she said about the bold, bad men shooting holes that have to be plugged up—and about liking a nice, smooth atmosphere? Do you suppose she meant that it's liable to take bold, bad men to clean the atmosphere, or—”

“What difference does it make what she meant? There's jumpers left—two on Bud's place—and he's oary-eyed over it, and was going to read 'em the riot act proper, when I left to come over here. And a couple of men drove onto that south eighty of Mig's with a load of lumber, just as I come by. Looks to me like we've got our hands full, Andy. There'll be holes to plug up somewhere besides in the atmosphere, if you ask me.”

“Long as they don't get anything on us I ain't in the state of mind where I give a darn. That little brown-eyed Susan'll keep us posted if they start anything new—what did she mean by that wink, do you reckon?”

“Ah, don't get softening of the emotions,” Pink advised impatiently. “That's the worst thing we've got to steer clear of, Andy! All them women in the game is going to make it four times as hard to stand 'em off. Irish is foolish over this one you're gettin' stuck on—you'll be fighting each other, if you don't look out. That Florence Grace lady ain't so slow—she's going to use the women to keep us fellows guessing.”

Andy sighed. “We can block that play, of course,” he said. “Come on, Pink, let's go round up the boys and see what's been taking place with them cattle. Shipped in four carloads already, have they?” He began pulling on his chaps rather hurriedly. “Worst of it is, you can't stampede a bunch of darned tame cows, either,” he complained.

They found Irish and the Native Son on day-herd, with the cattle scattered well along the western line of the claims. Big Medicine, Weary, Cal Emmett and Jack Bates were just returning from driving the settlers' stock well across Antelope Coulee which had been decided upon as a hypothetical boundary line until such time as a fence could be built.

They talked with the day-herders, and they talked with the other four. Chip came up from the ranch with the Kid riding proudly beside him on Silver, and told them that the Honorable Mr. Blake was at the Flying U and had sent word that he would be pleased to take the legal end of the fight, if the Happy Family so desired. Which was in itself a vast encouragement. The Honorable Blake had said that they were well within their rights thus far, and advised them to permit service of the contest notices, and to go calmly on fulfilling the law. Which was all very well as far as it went, providing they were permitted to go on calmly.

“What about them cattle they're trying to git across our land?” Slim wanted to know. “We got a right to keep 'em off, ain't we?”

Chip said that he thought they had, but to make sure, he would ask the Honorable Blake. Trespassing, he said, might be avoided—

Right there Andy was seized with an idea. He took Chip—because of his artistic talents which, he said, had been plumb wasted lately—to one side. After wards they departed in haste, with Pink and Weary galloping close at their heels. In a couple of hours they returned to the boundary where the cattle still fed all scattered out in a long line, and behind them drove Pink and Weary in the one wagon which the Family possessed.

“It oughta help some,” grinned Andy, when the Native Son came curiously over to see what it was they were erecting there on the prairie. “It's a fair warning, and shows 'em where to head in at.”

The Native Son read the sign, which was three feet long and stood nailed to two posts ready for planting solidly in the earth. He showed his even, white teeth in a smile of approval. “Back