Durran's comment was an inarticulate grunt, and for some miles they loped steadily over the grassy plain without exchanging a word, though the new man did not fail to note the covert, appraising glances of the other.
`Feed a-plenty,' he remarked presently. `If she's all like this, the Y Z should carry some cattle.'
`She ain't all like this, but there's enough that is,' Durran replied. `She'd be one big ranch if the owner knew his job.' `I heard he was a good cattleman,' Green said.
`Yu heard correct--he was a good cattleman; but he started gittin' old quite a piece ago, an' it's tellin' on him. Why, there's cows bein' stole every week, an' he don't do nothin'. If it wasn't for Rattler, them rustlers would 'a got the whole shootin' match by now.' `Good man, Rattler, eh?' queried Green.
`Yu said it,' responded Durran, but with no undue enthusiasm in his tone. `Up to his work. Yes, sir. An' it wouldn't astonish me none to find him ownin' this ranch some day. I've a hunch it'll pay to tie to him.'
They had left the undulating plain and were entering a stretch of rough country which, gashed and scarred, formed the base to a great range of hills, the jagged ridge-line of which showed clear against the sky. The ground in front of them presented a multiplicity of character. Miniature deserts, arid little areas of sand and cactus, interspersed with brush-filled draws, tiny canyons with verdure-clad, overhanging sides, valleys carpeted with lush grass and fed by trickling streams, huge masses of rock, apparently hurled by some mighty hand from the distant range, all jumbled together in inextricable confusion. And behind it all the black belt of pines which clothed the lower slopes of the mountains.
`Best keep yer eyes open, in case we git separated,' warned Durran. `We call this the Maze, an' it's a damned sight easier to git into than out of, 'specially for a stranger.'
`Reckon yo're right,' Green agreed. `What do they call the hills over there?'
`Big Chief Range,' replied Durran. `An' mighty mean country 'cept for redskins an' rustlers.'
They now began to come upon signs of strayed cattle, and were too fully occupied in routing them out of the brush and starting them back to the plain for converse. Green soon discovered that his mount, though obviously new to the work, had the inherited instincts of a cow-pony, and was quick to learn.
`Yu an' me is goin' to get along fine, Blue,' the rider soliloquized after a tussle with a pugnacious steer which had to be roped and thrown before it would listen to reason. This was by no means the only incident of the kind, for the strays were in a half-wild state, and showed a tendency to `go on the prod' when driven from their retreat.
Presently, riding through a small grassy glade surrounded by cottonwoods, Green pulled up sharply. At his feet lay a dead cow, and a few yards away were the ashes of a tiny fire. His hail brought Durran to the spot.
'Paches,' he said at once, pointing to a broken feather, lying as though accidentally dropped, near the carcase. The new hand picked it up and examined it thoughtfully.
`Ain't like Injuns to leave their name and address,' he said slowly. `Nor meat either.'
`Huh! They was interrupted an' had to make a quick getaway,' suggested Durran.
Green was examining the dead cow. It had been shot in the head, and round the bullet-hole the hair was singed.
`So they fired that shot to advertise their whereabouts,' he said. `No, that don't explain it.'
`Well, that war-bonnet plume talks plenty loud enough for me,' returned Durran, with a dark look. `Fac's is fac's.' Green saw that the man's mind was made up, and that argument would be futile, so he dropped the subject. He could not fail to note, however, that Durran's attitude for the rest of the day was a sulky one; apparently he resented the questioning of his judgment, and his conversation was confined to the work in hand.
It was getting towards evening when they returned to the ranch, and they were as hungry as a day in the saddle can make a man. Nevertheless, Green rode past the bunkhouse and up to the owner's dwelling. Old Simon was on the verandah. He listened quietly to the new hand's report, looked at the feather, and Len said :
`Yu got any ideas about it?'
I'm guessin' it ain't 'Paches, but they want us to think it is,' Green replied. `That feather is plumb clumsy-- even a Reservation brave ain't that careless. An' what was the fire for? Injuns don't carry runnin'-irons. 'Sides, the hosses they rode was shod, even the grass trail showed that.'
`Yu didn't follow the tracks?'
`No,' explained Green. `Durran didn't seem interested, an' I had no orders.'
The old man regarded him steadily for a while, and then said, 'Yo're gettin' 'em now. I want this rustler business cleaned up. That's yore job.'
`Better not advertise it,' suggested Green.
`I ain't a-goin to; I'll explain to Blaynes that yo're on special work for me,' said the rancher.
Green had his own ideas as to the importance Blaynes would attach to his employer's explanation, and he was soon to learn that he was right, for at that moment the foreman came up. There was a note of triumph in his tone as he said:
`Well, Simon, Durran tells me that he come upon some more rustler work, with shore Injun sign; I reckon that settles it.'
`Green's just been tellin' me he come on it,' said Old Simon quietly.
`Well, they was together anyway,' replied Rattler, with a surly glance at the new hand. `Durran reported to me as foreman, which was the proper thing to do.'
`Green agrees with me that it ain't Injuns,' said the ranch-owner, `an' I think he's right.'
`So do I,' retorted Blaynes. `If I'd just been took on, an' wanted to hold my job, I'd agree with the boss every time.'
A sneering smile accompanied the words. Green heard the taunt unmoved, his face like granite. Old Simon laughed. `Have it yore way, Blaynes. Yu say it's Injuns. All right, fetch in their scalps, an' I'll believe yu. By the way, Green'll be doin' what I say for a bit. Savvy?'
The foreman nodded, and the two men walked towards the bunkhouse. The foreman was the first to break the silence. `Yu shore are in luck,' he remarked acidly, `to get a fine hoss an' a soft job all in twenty-four hours.'
`Did the Old Man tell yu it was a soft job?' queried Green sweetly.
`That's what I'd call moseyin' around pertendin' to look for rustlers,' retorted Blaynes.
`So would I,' replied the other. `But there ain't no rustlers, so it'll be a hard job to find any. Yore way of it the Injuns are stockin' the Reservation with Y Z cows. Why don't yu pay the agent a visit?'
Blaynes made no reply to this pleasantry. Supper was nearly over when they entered the bunkhouse, but with the foreman there, the harassed cook knew better than to make any fuss over producing fresh supplies. Green soon learned that the news of his treatment of Poker Pete had become known, and had been received variously by the men. Some of the younger did not scruple to hide their hearty approbation.
`On'y hope yu ain't scared 'im off the reservation,' was Dirty's comment. `He owes me money, that hombre.'
`Don't yu worry none,' said one of the older men, whose semi-Indian origin and dark skin had earned for him the name of Nigger.' `If Pete owed a feller anythin', he gets it.'
The speaker directed a malicious glance at Green as he said the words, but the new hand appeared to be entirely occupied with his plate. Nevertheless, he had heard, and sensed that the threat was intended for him.
`Aw, hell! I reckon the old tinhorn will drift,' said another of the younger group, whose name being Simon, found himself promptly re-christened `Simple,' to distinguish him from the Old Man.
The wrangle went on, and it became more and more evident that the disgraced gambler had friends in the outfit. Green refused to be drawn into the discussion. His meal finished, he rolled a cigarette and slipped outside, after a glance at Larry which was an invitation. Strolling down to the corral, he climbed the rail, and sat there smoking. Presently Barton joined him.
`Well, what do yu think o' the bunch?' he asked, when he had perched himself alongside his friend.
`Yu heard the story o' the curate's egg?' asked Green.
`Shore, yu've said it: good in parts,' replied Larry, with a chuckle. `So yu've been elecned to collect the rustlers' ha'r, eh?' `Who told yu?' Green asked quickly.
`Oh, Rattler ain't makin' any secret of it,' was the reply. `I somehow got the idea he don't like yu.'
`I've a dim suspicion myself thataway,' returned the new hand easily; `but I don't guess I'll lose any sleep over it.'
