What Happened To Andy





With the sun shining comfortably upon his back, and with a cigarette

between his lips, Andy sat upon his horse and watched in silent glee

while the irate Happy Family scurried here and there behind the band,

swinging their ropes down upon the woolly backs, and searching their

vocabularies for new and terrible epithets. Andy smiled broadly as a

colorful phrase now and then boomed across the coulee in that clear,

snappy atmosphere, which carries sounds so far. He did not expect to

do much smiling upon his own account, that day, and he was therefore

grateful for the opportunity to behold the spectacle before him.



There was Slim, for instance, unwillingly careening down hill toward

home, because, in his zeal to slap an old ewe smartly with his rope, he

drove her unexpectedly under his horse, and so created a momentary panic

that came near standing both horse and rider upon their heads. And there

was Big Medicine whistling until he was purple, while the herder, with a

single gesture, held the dog motionless, though a dozen sheep broke

back from the band and climbed a slope so steep that Big Medicine was

compelled to go after them afoot, and turn them with stones and profane

objurgations.



It was very funny--when one could sit at ease upon the hilltop and smoke

a cigarette while others risked apoplexy and their souls' salvation

below. By the time they panted up the last rock-strewn slope of the

bluff, and sent the vanguard of the invaders under the fence, Andy's

mood was complacent in the extreme, and his smile offensively wide.



"Oh, you needn't look so sorry for us," drawled the Native Son, jingling

over toward him until only the fence and a few feet of space divided

them. "Here's where you get yours, amigo. I wish you a pleasant day--and

a long one!" He waved his hand in mocking adieu, touched his horse with

his silver spurs, and rode gaily away down the coulee.



"Here, sheepherder's your outfit. Ma-aa-a-a!" jeered Big Medicine.

"You'll wisht, by cripes, you was a dozen men just like yuh before

you're through with the deal. Haw-haw-haw-w!"



There were others who, seeing Andy's grin, had something to say upon the

subject before they left.



Weary rode up, and looked undecidedly from Andy to the sheep, and back

again.



"If you don't feel like tackling it single-handed, I'll send--"



"What do yuh think I am, anyway?" Andy interrupted crisply, "a

Montgomery Ward two-for-a-quarter cowpuncher? Don't you fellows waste

any time worrying over me!"



The herders stared at Andy curiously when he swung in behind the

tail-end of the band and kept pace with their slow moving, but they did

not speak beyond shouting an occasional command to their dogs. Neither

did Andy have anything to say, until he saw that they were swinging

steadily to the west, instead of keeping straight north, as they had

been told to do. Then he rode over to the nearest herder, who happened

to be the bug-killer.



"You don't want to get turned around," he hinted quietly. "That's north,

over there."



"I'm workin' fer the man that pays my wages," the fellow retorted

glumly, and waved an arm to a collie that was waiting for orders. The

dog dropped his head, and ran around the right wing of the band, with

sharp yelps and dartings here and there, turning them still more to the

west.



Andy hesitated, decided to leave the man alone for the present, and rode

around to the other herder.



"You swing these sheep north!" he commanded, disdaining preface or

explanation.



"I'm workin' for the man that pays my wages," the herder made answer

stolidly, and chewed steadily upon a quid of tobacco that had stained

his lips unbecomingly.



So they had talked the thing over--had those two herders--and were

following a premeditated plan of defiance! Andy hooked at the man a

minute. "You turn them sheep, damn you," he commanded again, and laid a

hand upon his saddle-horn suggestively.



"You go to the devil, damn yuh," advised the herder, and cocked a wary

eye at him from under his hat-brim. Not all herders, let it be said

in passing, take unto themselves the mental attributes of their sheep;

there are those who believe that a bold front is better than weak

compliance, and who will back that belief by a very bold front indeed.



Andy appraised him mentally, decided that he was an able-bodied man

and therefore fightable, and threw his right leg over the cantle with a

quite surprising alacrity.



"Are you going to turn them sheep?" Andy was taking off his coat when he

made that inquiry.



"Not for your tellin'. You keep back, young feller, or I'll sick the

dogs on yuh." He turned and whistled to the nearest one, and Andy hit

him on the ear.



They clinched and pummeled when they could and where they could. The

dog came up, circled the gyrating forms twice, then sat down upon his

haunches at a safe distance, tilted his head sidewise and lifted his

ears interestedly. He was a wise little dog; the other dog was also

wise, and remained phlegmatically at his post, as did the bug-killer.



"Are you going to turn them sheep?" Andy spoke breathlessly, but with

deadly significance.



"N-yes."



Andy took his fingers from the other's Adam's apple, his knee from the

other's diaphragm, and went over to where he had thrown down his coat,

felt in a pocket for his handkerchief, and, when he had found it,

applied it to his nose, which was bleeding profusely.



"Fly at it, then," he advised, eyeing the other sternly over the

handkerchief. "I'd hate to ask you a third time."



"I'd hate to have yuh," conceded the herder reluctantly. "I was sure I

c'd lick yuh, or I'd 'a' turned 'em before." He sent the dog racing down

the south line of the band.



Andy got thoughtfully back upon his horse, and sat looking hard at the

herder. "Say, you're grade above the general run uh lamb-hickers," he

observed, after a minute. "Who are you working for, and what's your

object in throwing sheep on Flying U land? There's plenty of range to

the north."



"I'm workin'," said the herder, "for the Dot outfit. I thought you could

read brands."



"Don't get sassy--I've got a punch or two I haven't used yet. Who owns

these woollies?"



"Well--Whittaker and Oleson, if yuh want to know."



"I do." Andy was keeping pace with him around the band, which edged

off from then and the dogs. "And what makes you so crazy about Flying U

grass?" he pursued.



"We've got to cross that coulee to git to where we're headed for; we got

a right to, and we're going to do it." The herder paused and glanced up

at Andy sourly. "We knowed you was a mean outfit; the boss told us so.

And he told us you was blank ca'tridges and we needn't back up just

'cause you raised up on your hind legs and howled a little. I've had

truck with you cowmen before. I've herded sheep in Wyoming." He walked a

few steps with his head down, considering.



"I better go over and talk some sense into the other fellow," he said,

looking up at Andy as if all his antagonism had oozed in the fight. "You

ride along this edge, so they won't scatter--we ought to be grazin' 'em

along, by rights; only you seem to be in such an all-fired rush--"



"You go on and tell that loco son-of-a-gun over there what he's up

against," Andy urged. "Blank cartridges--I sure do like that! If you

only knew it, high power dum-dums would be a lot closer to our brand.

Run along--I am in a kinda hurry, this morning."



Andy, riding slowly upon the outskirts of the grazing, blatting band,

watched the two confer earnestly together a hundred yards or so

away. They seemed to be having some sort of argument; the bug-killer

gesticulated with the long stick he carried, and the sheep, while

the herders talked, scattered irresponsibly. Andy wondered what made

sheepmen so "ornery," particularly herders. He wondered why the fellow

he had thrashed was so insultingly defiant at first, and, after

the thrashing, so unresentful and communicative, and so amenable to

authority withal. He felt his nose, and decided that it was, all

things considered, a cheap victory, and yet one of which he need not be

ashamed.



The herder cane back presently and helped drive the sheep over the edge

of the bluff which bordered Antelope coulee. The bug-killer, upon his

side, also seemed imbued with the spirit of obedience; Andy heard him

curse a collie into frenzied zeal, and smiled approvingly.



"Now you're acting a heap more human," he observed; and the man from

Wyoming grinned ruefully by way of reply.



Antelope coulee, at that point, was steep; too steep for riding, so that

Andy dismounted and dug his boot-heels into the soft soil, to gain a

foothold on the descent. When he was halfway down, he chanced to look

back, straight into the scowling gaze of the bug-killer, who was sliding

down behind him.



"Thought you were hazing down the other side of 'em," Andy called back,

but the herder did not choose to answer save with another scowl.



Andy edged his horse around an impracticable slope of shale stuff and

went on. The herder followed. When he was within twelve feet or so

of the bottom, there was a sound of pebbles knocked loose in haste, a

scrambling, and then came the impact of his body. Andy teetered, lost

his balance, and went to the bottom in one glorious slide. He landed

with the bug-killer on top--and the bug-killer failed to remove his

person as speedily as true courtesy exacted.



Andy kicked and wriggled and tried to remember what was that

high-colored, vituperative sentence that Irish had invented over a

stubborn sheep, that he might repeat it to the bug-killer. The herder

from Wyoming ran up, caught Andy's horse, and untied Andy's rope from

the saddle.



"Good fer you, Oscar," he praised the bug-killer. "Hang onto him while

I take a few turns." He thereupon helped force Andy's arms to his side,

and wound the rope several times rather tightly around Andy's outraged,

squirming person.



"Oh, it ain't goin' to do yuh no good to buck 'n bawl," admonished

the tier. "I learnt this here little trick down in Wyoming. A bunch uh

punchers done it to me--and I've been just achin' all over fer a chance

to return the favor to some uh you gay boys. And," he added, with

malicious satisfaction, while he rolled Andy over and tied a perfectly

unslippable knot behind, "it gives me great pleasure to hand the dose

out to you, in p'ticular. If I was a mean man, I'd hand yuh the boot a

few times fer luck; but I'll save that up till next time."



"You can bet your sweet life there'll be a next time," Andy promised

earnestly, with embellishments better suited to the occasion than to a

children's party.



"Well, when it arrives I'm sure Johnny-on-the-spot. Them Wyoming

punchers beat me up after they'd got me tied. I'm tellin' yuh so you'll

see I ain't mean unless I'm drove to it. Turn him feet down hill, Oscar,

so he won't git a rush uh brains to the head and die on our hands. Now

you're goin' to mind your own business, sonny. Next time yuh set out to

herd sheep, better see the boss first and git on the job right."



He rose to his feet, surveyed Andy with his hands on his hips, mentally

pronounced the job well done, and took a generous chew of tobacco, after

which he grinned down at the trussed one.



"That the language uh flowers you're talkin'?" he inquired banteringly,

before he turned his attention to the horse, which he disposed of by

tying up the reins and giving it a slap on the rump. When it had trotted

fifty yards down the coulee bottom, and showed a disposition to go

farther, he whistled to his dogs, and turned again to Andy.



"This here is just a hint to that bunch you trot with, to leave us and

our sheep alone," he said. "We don't pick no quarrels, but we're goin'

to cross our sheep wherever we dern please, to git where we want to go.

Gawd didn't make this range and hand it over to you cowmen to put in yer

pockets--I guess there's a chance fer other folks to hang on by their

eyebrows, anyway."



Andy, lying there like a very good presentation of a giant cocoon, roped

round and round, with his arms pinned to his sides, had the doubtful

pleasure of seeing that noisome, foolish-faced band trail down Antelope

coulee and back upon the level they had just left, and of knowing to a

gloomy certainty that he could do nothing about it, except swear; and

even that palls when a man has gone over his entire repertoire three

times in rapid succession.



Andy, therefore, when the last sheep had trotted out of sight, hearing

and smell, wriggled himself into as comfortable a position as his bonds

would permit, and took a nap.





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