Clint was grinning from ear to ear as he walked up to Smoky and put his hand on his neck.
“Good work, old boy,” he says—and then turning to Old Tom, who was picking himself up: “Want to try again?”
“You bet your doggone life I do,” says that old cowboy.
“All right,” answers Clint, getting peeved some more. “Go ahead and break your fool neck, there’s plenty of buffalo wallows around here we can bury you in.”
Old Tom walked over and jerked the reins out of Clint’s hands and started to get in the saddle again, but he didn’t even get well in it that time—Smoky bowed his head and went out from under him, leaving Old Tom come down on the other side.
It was as the old man was about to try Smoky once more when Jeff Nicks interfered, and told his boss how he’d rather not have him try that horse any more.
“That horse bucks every time he’s rode,” says Jeff.
Old Tom knowed he’d come to the end of his string but that didn’t ease his feelings any, and he was looking for some way of letting some of them feelings out before they choked him. When he spots Clint a standing to one side and by Smoky.
“You’re fired,” he hollered, pointing a finger at him, “I’ll get somebody to take the buck out of that horse, and the sooner you’re off this range the better I’ll like it.”
Clint just grinned at Old Tom, which made him all the madder, and about then Jeff spoke:
“I’m doing the hiring and firing on this outfit, Tom, and as long as I’m working for you I’ll keep on a doing it.”
Old Tom turned on him like a wild cat. “Fine!” he hollered, “you can go too.”
The old cowman had went as far as he could, and as he walked away to catch himself another saddle horse, he had a hunch that he’d also went further than he should; that hunch got stronger as he went on saddling, and as he gave the latigo a last yank, it all developed into plain common sense that he’d sure enough went too far.
But Old Tom wasn’t for giving in, not right then anyway. He got on his horse and riding close enough so Jeff could hear, says:
“You and Clint can come to the ranch and I’ll have your time ready for you,” and then to another rider—“you handle the outfit till I send out another foreman.”
A lot of orneriness was scattered to the winds as Old Tom covered the long fifty miles back to the ranch, and as he opened the big gate leading in, a brand new feeling had come over him—he was for catching a fresh horse the next morning early and hightailing it back to the wagon to sort of smooth things over best as he could.
He unsaddled and turned his horse loose, and was mighty surprised as he came up to the big ranch house to find both Jeff and Clint already there and waiting for him. Not a hint of the good resolutions he’d made showed as he walked up to ’em, and after some kind of a “howdy,” Old Tom heard Jeff say:
“All the boys sent word in by me, that as long as you’re making out my check you’d just as well make theirs out too. I’m sorry for that,” went on Jeff, “and I tried to talk ’em out of it, but it’s no use, they’re all for quitting if I go.”
The old cowman never said a word as he led Jeff and Clint in the big house. He walked to a big table in the center of the living room and there he turned on his two riders. A smile was on his face and he says:
“Daggone it, Jeff, I’m glad to hear that.” Then Old Tom, still pleasant, but serious, went on, “for no man does his best work unless he’s doing it with somebody he likes and has confidence in. Yes,” he repeated, “I’m glad to hear that, but the question is now, you’re fired and free to go, ain’t you?” he asks.
“Yes,” says Jeff, “soon as I get paid off.”
“Well, how’s chances of hiring you over again? I can’t afford to let a foreman like you go, Jeff.”
Jeff seemed to figger a while and then looked at Clint, and Old Tom guessing what was on his foreman’s mind, went on “and of course, being that I have no say in the hiring and firing of your riders, Clint wasn’t fired at all, and he can keep on riding for you.”
Finally hands was shook all around, and as Jeff and Clint started back for the wagon the next morning Old Tom was on hand to see ’em go.
“And don’t worry about that doggone mouse colored horse of yours, Clint,” he says as him and Jeff rode away, “I’ll never want him.”
The riders reached the big gate leading out the ranch, and there Jeff remarked as he got off his horse to open it:
“I guess Old Tom didn’t have to say that he was sorry.”
And Clint more than agreed.
X
“Amongst the Missing”
The remuda was in the big corrals of the home ranch once more, and after a few “winter” horses was cut out, the rest was hazed towards the winter range, and let go.—Four long winter months went by.—Then one day the roundup cook begin to get busy cleaning the chuck box, meadow larks was a tuning up on the high corral posts, and along with the bare patches of ground that could be seen, no better signs was needed that spring had come.
Clint was again the first to spot Smoky that spring and notice the amount of tallow that pony was packing. He was in fine shape for whatever
