The Old Timer
: ARIZONA NIGHTS: Arizona Nights
About a week later, in the course of the round-up, we reached the
valley of the Box Springs, where we camped for some days at the
dilapidated and abandoned adobe structure that had once been a ranch
house of some importance.
Just at dusk one afternoon we finished cutting the herd which our
morning's drive had collected. The stray-herd, with its new additions
from the day's work, we pushed rapidly into one
cows and unbranded calves we urged into another. Fifty head of beef
steers found asylum from dust, heat, and racing to and fro, in the mile
square wire enclosure called the pasture. All the remainder, for which
we had no further use we drove out of the flat into the brush and
toward the distant mountains. Then we let them go as best pleased them.
By now the desert bad turned slate-coloured, and the brush was olive
green with evening. The hard, uncompromising ranges, twenty miles to
eastward, had softened behind a wonderful veil of purple and pink,
vivid as the chiffon of a girl's gown. To the south and southwest the
Chiricahuas and Dragoons were lost in thunderclouds which flashed and
rumbled.
We jogged homewards, our cutting ponies, tired with the quick, sharp
work, shuffling knee deep in a dusk that seemed to disengage itself and
rise upwards from the surface of the desert. Everybody was hungry and
tired. At the chuck wagon we threw off our saddles and turned the
mounts into the remuda. Some of the wisest of us, remembering the
thunderclouds, stacked our gear under the veranda roof of the old ranch
house.
Supper was ready. We seized the tin battery, filled the plates with
the meat, bread, and canned corn, and squatted on our heels. The food
was good, and we ate hugely in silence. When we could hold no more we
lit pipes. Then we had leisure to notice that the storm cloud was
mounting in a portentous silence to the zenith, quenching the brilliant
desert stars.
"Rolls" were scattered everywhere. A roll includes a cowboy's bed and
all of his personal belongings. When the outfit includes a bed-wagon,
the roll assumes bulky proportions.
As soon as we had come to a definite conclusion that it was going to
rain, we deserted the camp fire and went rustling for our blankets. At
the end of ten minutes every bed was safe within the doors of the
abandoned adobe ranch house, each owner recumbent on the floor claim he
had pre-empted, and every man hoping fervently that he had guessed
right as to the location of leaks.
Ordinarily we had depended on the light of camp fires, so now
artificial illumination lacked. Each man was indicated by the
alternately glowing and waning lozenge of his cigarette fire.
Occasionally someone struck a match, revealing for a moment high-lights
on bronzed countenances, and the silhouette of a shading hand. Voices
spoke disembodied. As the conversation developed, we gradually
recognised the membership of our own roomful. I had forgotten to state
that the ranch house included four chambers. Outside, the rain roared
with Arizona ferocity. Inside, men congratulated themselves, or swore
as leaks developed and localised.
Naturally we talked first of stampedes. Cows and bears are the two
great cattle-country topics. Then we had a mouth-organ solo or two,
which naturally led on to songs. My turn came. I struck up the first
verse of a sailor chantey as possessing at least the interest of
novelty:
Oh, once we were a-sailing, a-sailing were we,
Blow high, blow low, what care we;
And we were a-sailing to see what we could see,
Down on the coast of the High Barbaree.
I had just gone so far when I was brought up short by a tremendous oath
behind me. At the same instant a match flared. I turned to face a
stranger holding the little light above his head, and peering with
fiery intentness over the group sprawled about the floor.
He was evidently just in from the storm. His dripping hat lay at his
feet. A shock of straight, close-clipped vigorous hair stood up grey
above his seamed forehead. Bushy iron-grey eyebrows drawn close
together thatched a pair of burning, unquenchable eyes. A square, deep
jaw, lightly stubbled with grey, was clamped so tight that the cheek
muscles above it stood out in knots and welts.
Then the match burned his thick, square fingers, and he dropped it into
the darkness that ascended to swallow it.
"Who was singing that song?" he cried harshly. Nobody answered.
"Who was that singing?" he demanded again.
By this time I had recovered from my first astonishment.
"I was singing," said I.
Another match was instantly lit and thrust into my very face. I
underwent the fierce scrutiny of an instant, then the taper was thrown
away half consumed.
"Where did you learn it?" the stranger asked in an altered voice.
"I don't remember," I replied; "it is a common enough deep-sea chantey."
A heavy pause fell. Finally the stranger sighed.
"Quite like," he said; "I never heard but one man sing it."
"Who in hell are you?" someone demanded out of the darkness.
Before replying, the newcomer lit a third match, searching for a place
to sit down. As he bent forward, his strong, harsh face once more came
clearly into view.
"He's Colorado Rogers," the Cattleman answered for him; "I know him."
"Well," insisted the first voice, "what in hell does Colorado Rogers
mean by bustin' in on our song fiesta that way?"
"Tell them, Rogers," advised the Cattleman, "tell them--just as you
told it down on the Gila ten years ago next month."
"What?" inquired Rogers. "Who are you?"
"You don't know me," replied the Cattleman, "but I was with Buck
Johnson's outfit then. Give us the yarn."
"Well," agreed Rogers, "pass over the 'makings' and I will."
He rolled and lit a cigarette, while I revelled in the memory of his
rich, great voice. It was of the sort made to declaim against the sea
or the rush of rivers or, as here, the fall of waters and the
thunder--full, from the chest, with the caressing throat vibration that
gives colour to the most ordinary statements. After ten words we sank
back oblivious of the storm, forgetful of the leaky roof and the dirty
floor, lost in the story told us by the Old Timer.
More
-
The Man Of No Account
His name was Fagg--David Fagg. He came to California in '52 with us, in the SKYSCRAPER. I don't think he did it in an adventurous way. He probably had no other place to go to. When a knot of us young fellows would recite what splendid opportunitie... The Man On The Other Bank
I. It was before Smoke Bellew staked the farcical town-site of Tra-Lee, made the historic corner of eggs that nearly broke Swiftwater Bill's bank account, or won the dog-team race down the Yukon for an even million dollars, that he and Shor... The Man On The Train
Travelling was a new experience to me, and on the first night after I left home I lay awake until we reached Altoona. We rolled out of smoky Pittsburg at dawn, and from then on the only bitter drop in my cup of bliss was that the train went so fast ... The Man Under The Bed
The Eagle tavern was a long, low structure and stood close beside the highway, on the opposite side of which was the weather-beaten log and frame barn to which John had referred. Near the tavern was a well and an old-fashioned sweep towering above... The Man With Nerve
At about ten o'clock of the Fourth of July a rider topped the summit of the last swell of land, and loped his animal down into the single street of Pereza. The buildings on either side were flat-roofed and coated with plaster. Over the sidewalks e... The Man With The Chihuahua Hat
A little dust cloud was traveling up the trail toward the Bar Double G, the center of which presently defined itself as a rider moving at a road gait. He wore a Chihuahua hat and with it the picturesque trappings the Southwest borrows on occasion ... The Marathon
"I have seen a thing that humans call friendship. It is clearer, higher, less frequent than the thing they call love." MUSINGS OF THE ELEPHANT. At 66th street, Jim had passed the Califo... The Mask Ball
"I have seen in the coyote pack that coyotes who will not hunt and fight for the pack must starve and die." MUSINGS OF THE ELEPHANT. "You are not!" returned Pen flatly. "You don't see the hum... The Masked Rider
Venters looked quickly from the fallen rustlers to the canyon where the others had disappeared. He calculated on the time needed for running horses to return to the open, if their riders heard shots. He waited breathlessly. But the estimat... The Master
It was noon by the sun when Hopalong and Red shook hands south of the old ford and the former turned to enter the brush. Hopalong was cool and ominously calm while his companion was the opposite. Red was frankly suspicious of the whole affair and nu... The Meeting At Sandy
December, and the noonday sun at Sandy still beat hotly on the barren level of the parade. The fierce and sudden campaign seemed ended, for the time, at least, as only in scattered remnants could the renegade Indians be found. Eastward from the Ag... The Meeting By The Waters
Under the willows at the edge of the pool a young girl sat daydreaming, though the day was nearly done. All in the valley was wrapped in shadow, though the cliffs and turrets across the stream were resplendent in a radiance of slanting sunshine. N... The Midnight Searching Party
The night was growing late and there were anxious hearts at "Roderick's." The four-in-hand had arrived hours before, and Silent Pete had also brought his party safely in--to the mutual relief of himself and Miss Milliken, the latter really surpris... The Midnight Visitor
Toy raised his head sharply from his little flat pillow where he lay in his tent, pitched for convenience beside the kitchen, and listened. A sound like the cautious scraping of the sagging storehouse door on the other side of the kitchen had awak... The Mill-wheel Of Steers
Meantime, at the ranch, when Judkins's news had sent Venters on the trail of the rustlers, Jane Withersteen led the injured man to her house and with skilled fingers dressed the gunshot wound in his arm. "Judkins, what do you think ... The Moon The Maid And The Winged Shoes
The last place I locked wheels with Mike Butters was in Idaho. I'd just sold a silver-lead prospect and was proclaimin' my prosperity with soundin' brass and ticklin' symbols. I was tuned up to G and singin' quartettes with the bartender--opery bu... The Morgan Hills
Once out of Rickett, Barry pulled the stallion back to an easy canter. He had camped during the latter part of the night near the town and ridden in in the morning, so that Satan was full of running. He rebelled now against this easy pace, and tosse... The Mountain Trail
As Stewart departed from one door Florence knocked upon another; and Madeline, far shaken out of her usual serenity, admitted the cool Western girl with more than gladness. Just to have her near helped Madeline to get back her balance. She was consc... The Mourners At San Francisco
The telegraph operator at the Golden Gate of San Francisco had long since given up hope of the Excelsior. During the months of September and October, 1854, stimulated by the promised reward, and often by the actual presence of her owners, he had s... The Mourners At Todos Santos
There was a breath of spring in the soft morning air of Todos Santos--a breath so subtle and odorous that it penetrated the veil of fog beyond the bay, and for a moment lingered on the deck of a passing steamer like an arresting memory. But only f... The Mule Driver And The Garrulous Mute
Bill had finished panning the concentrates from our last clean-up, and now the silver ball of amalgam sizzled and fried on the shovel over the little chip-fire, while we smoked in the sun before the cabin. Removed from the salivating fumes of the q... The Muleshoe
The riders of the Muleshoe outfit were eating breakfast when Bud rode past the long, low-roofed log cabin to the corral which stood nearest the clutter of stables and sheds. He stopped there and waited to see if his new boss was anywhere in sight an... The Murder On The Beach
At this moment the cook stuck his head in at the open door. "Say, you fellows," he complained, "I got to be up at three o'clock. Ain't you never going to turn in?" "Shut up, Doctor!" "Somebody kill him!" "Here, sit down and listen to this yar... The Music
To the last ravine Kate's horse carried her easily enough, but that mountain pass was impenetrable through all its length to anything except the uncanny agility of Satan, and so she left the cow-pony in the bottom of the gorge and climbed the last r... The Mysterious Motor-car
Buck took to Jim Tenny at once. There was something about this long, lean, brown-faced foreman of the Rocking-R, with his clear gray eyes and that half-humorous twist to his thin lips, which inspired not only confidence but liking as well. He list... The New Alliance
"And so," said Lee Haines, when he joined Buck Daniels in the living-room, "there goes our reinforcements. That whole crew will scatter like dead leaves when Barry breezes in. It looks to me--" "Shut up!" cut in Daniels. "Shut up!" His dark, ho... The New Assistant At Pine Clearing School
CHAPTER I. The schoolmistress of Pine Clearing was taking a last look around her schoolroom before leaving it for the day. She might have done so with pride, for the schoolroom was considered a marvel of architectural elegance by the citizens... The New Foreman
Toward the end of the week Stillwell informed Madeline that Stewart had arrived at the ranch and had taken up quarters with Nels. "Gene's sick. He looks bad," said the old cattleman. "He's so weak an' shaky he can't lift a cup. Nels says that Gene... The New Master
Right in front of the school door, and some little distance from it, in the midst of a clump of maples, stood an old beech-tree with a dead top, and half-way down where a limb had once been and had rotted off, a hole. Inside this hole two very res... The Newspaper Clew
"Do you think he'll catch that fellow?" It was Phil who asked the question, as he and Dave and Roger watched the old miner disappear around a bend of the back trail. "I don't know about that," returned Dave. "But if he gets the horses back it... The Night Herd
By the time the Hardy faction had given up the chase in disgust, Caldwell, White, and Scotty had joined Tip and the Texan some miles below Midway on the Chisholm Trail. The former three were jubilant over their unexpected release from the fire trap... The North Wind's Malice
It had snowed during the night, but toward morning it had grown cold; now the sled-runners complained and the load dragged heavily. Folsom, who had been heaving at the handle-bars all the way up the Dexter Creek hill, halted his dogs at the crest ... The Oasis
AUGUST NAAB'S oasis was an oval valley, level as a floor, green with leaf and white with blossom, enclosed by a circle of colossal cliffs of vivid vermilion hue. At its western curve the Colorado River split the red walls from north to south. When... The Old Hunter
I ran till I got a stitch in my side, and then slowed down to a dog-trot. The one thing to do was to get a long way ahead of my pursuers, for surely at the outset they would stick like hounds to my trail. A mile or more below the gorge I took to ... The Old Sheep-herder
The ranger was awakened in the first faint dawn by the passing of the girl's light feet as she went across the hall to her mother's room, and a moment later he heard the low murmur of her voice. Throwing off his blankets and making such scant toil... The Old Swimming Hole
"The same sand that gave birth to the coyote and the eagle gave birth to the Indian and to me. I wonder why!" MUSINGS OF THE ELEPHANT. Little Jim and his mother were left very much alone by B... The Old Timer
About a week later, in the course of the round-up, we reached the valley of the Box Springs, where we camped for some days at the dilapidated and abandoned adobe structure that had once been a ranch house of some importance. Just at dusk one afte... The Old Trail
For another mile Wade followed the main road and then diverged sharply to the left into what was known as the old, or upper, trail. This had formerly been the valley road until made dangerous by a wash-out a year or two previous. In the following ... The Ole Virginia
The ring around the sun had thickened all day long, and the turquoise blue of the Arizona sky had filmed. Storms in the dry countries are infrequent, but heavy; and this surely meant storm. We had ridden since sun-up over broad mesas, down and ou... The Open Door
The proprietor of the Nugget and Rope, a German named Baum, not being troubled with police rules, kept the door wide open for the purpose of inviting trade, a proceeding not to the liking of his patrons for obvious reasons. Probably not one man i... The Ordeal By Fire
That action had been resolved upon, and prompt action, was now apparent. Stabber, fighting chief though he had been in the past, had had his reason for opposing the plans of this new and vehement leader; but public sentiment, stirred by vehement o... The Ore-theft
At half past five next morning Joe and I slipped out of bed, leaving Tom Connor, who had to go to work again at seven, still fast asleep. While Joe quietly prepared breakfast, I went out to examine by daylight the scene of last night's explosion. ... The Other Girl
The girl's voice stirred the benumbed youth into action again, and he followed her mechanically. His slender stock of physical strength was almost gone, but his will remained unbroken. At every rough place she came back to him to support him, to h... The Outcasts Of Poker Flat
As Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street of Poker Flat on the morning of the twenty-third of November, 1850, he was conscious of a change in its moral atmosphere since the preceding night. Two or three men, conversing earnestly ... The Outlaw Gets A Bad Break
Houck crawled through the barbed-wire fence and looked back into the park from which he had just fled. June was kneeling beside the man he had shot. Some one was running across the grass toward her. Soon the pursuit would be at his heels. He dared... The Outlaws
For the first few weeks after the change in ownership and the arrival of the new superintendent, the Red Butte Western and its nerve-centre, Angels, seemed disposed to take Mr. Howard Lidgerwood as a rather ill-timed joke, perpetrated upon a primi... The Paper A Year Old
Sang hurried out for a broom. Senor Johnson sat where he was, his heavy, square brows knit. Suddenly he stooped, seized one of the newspapers, drew near the lamp, and began to read. It was a Kansas City paper and, by a strange coincidence, was d... The Parting By The Waters
"Some day I may tell Miss Angela--but never you," had Mr. Blakely said, before setting forth on his perilous essay to find Angela's father, and with native tenacity Miss Wren the elder had remembered the words and nourished her wrath. It was stran... The Passing Of The Colt's Forty-five
The man of whom I am now to tell you came to Arizona in the early days of Chief Cochise. He settled in the Soda Springs Valley, and there persisted in spite of the devastating forays of that Apache. After a time he owned all the wells and springs ... The Penalty
While Mr. Travennes had been entertained in the manner narrated, Mr. Connors had passed the time by relating stale jokes to the uproarious laughter of his extremely bored audience, who had heard the aged efforts many times since they had first see... The Pest-house
Cavanagh had kept a keen watch over Wetherford, and when one night the old man began to complain of the ache in his bones his decision was instant. "You've got it," he said. "It's up to us to move down the valley to-morrow." Wetherford protes... The Pit
Just as Going mounted the steps on the edge of the pit the great gong struck, a roar of a hundred voices developed with the swiftness of successive explosions, the rush of a hundred men surging downward to the centre of the pit filled the air with t... The Pleasurers
The freight wreck in the Crosswater Hills, coming a fortnight after Rufford's arrest and deportation to Copah and the county jail, rudely marked the close of the short armistice in the conflict between law and order and the demoralization which se... The Poachers
One morning, as he topped the rise between the sawmill and his own station, Cavanagh heard two rifle-shots in quick succession snapping across the high peak on his left. Bringing his horse to a stand, he unslung his field-glasses, and slowly and m... The Postmistress Of Laurel Run
CHAPTER I. The mail stage had just passed Laurel Run,--so rapidly that the whirling cloud of dust dragged with it down the steep grade from the summit hung over the level long after the stage had vanished, and then, drifting away, slowly sift... The Price
MacQueen lost no time in announcing his new program. "Boys, the hanging's off. I've decided to accept West's offer for Flatray's life. It's too good to turn down." "That's what I told you all the time," growled Buck. "Well, I'm telling you ... The Priest From Monclova
That was a night of terror for the women. Although Longorio's discipline was in some ways strict, in others it was extremely lax. From some quarter his men had secured a supply of mescal, and, forgetful of Felipe's unhappy fate, they rendered the ... The Primeval Instinct
On the other side of the house Buck found the mistress of the ranch and her two guests standing in a little group beside one of the dusty, discouraged-looking flower-beds. As he appeared they all glanced toward him, and a troubled, almost frighten... The Private Car
After he went away Berrie turned to her mother with a look in which humor and awe were blent. "Am I dreaming, mother, or am I actually sitting here in the city? My head is dizzy with it all." Then, without waiting for an answer, she fervently adde... The Prodigal Son
They found the prodigal son with his sister and Laura London at the Del Mar. Repentance was writ large all over his face and manner. From Davis and from the girls he had heard the story of how Soapy Stone had intended to destroy him. His scheme of... The Promised Land
Perhaps there were ten of them--these galloping dots were hard to count--down in the distant bottom across the river. Their swiftly moving dust hung with them close, thinning to a yellow veil when they halted short. They clustered a moment, then p... The Quarry
"An Elephant of Rock, I have lain here in the desert for countless ages, watching, waiting. I wonder for what!" MUSINGS OF THE ELEPHANT. Little Jim sat at the quarry edge and dangled his legs... The Queen Wins
She arrived breathless, distraught, instantly to drag me down beside her, from where I stood stupidly defiant. "Keep out of sight," she panted. And--"Oh, why did you do it? Why did you? I think you killed him--they'll never forgive. They'll call... The Race For Number One
I. "Huh! Get on to the glad rags!" Shorty surveyed his partner with simulated disapproval, and Smoke, vainly attempting to rub the wrinkles out of the pair of trousers he had just put on, was irritated. "They sure fit you close for a ... The Rage Of The Old Lion
"TAKE Holderness away--quick!" ordered Hare. A thin curl of blue smoke floated from the muzzle of his raised weapon. The rustlers started out of their statue-like immobility, and lifting their dead leader dragged him down the garden path with hi... The Range
After a much-needed rest at Emmett's, we bade good-by to him and his hospitable family, and under the guidance of his man once more took to the wind-swept trail. We pursued a southwesterly course now, following the lead of the craggy red wall that s... The Rashness Of Shorty
Buckskin was very hot; in fact it was never anything else. Few people were on the streets and the town was quiet. Over in the Houston hotel a crowd of cowboys was lounging in the barroom. They were very quiet-a condition as rare as it was ominous... The Rawhide
First of all he unhitched the horses from the buckboard and turned them loose. Then, since he was early trained in Indian warfare, he dragged Palmer to the wagon wheel, and tied him so closely to it that he could not roll over. For, though the bro... The Real And The Make-believe
On his way down-town Phillips stopped at a Subway news-stand and bought all the morning papers. He acknowledged that he was vastly excited. As he turned in at the stage door he thrilled at sight of the big electric sign over the theater, pallid no... The Real Bucky And The False
Number seven was churning its way furiously through brown Arizona. The day had been hot, with a palpitating heat which shimmered over the desert waste. Defiantly the sun had gone down beyond the horizon, a great ball of fire, leaving behind a bril... The Rebound
A man moaned and stirred restlessly in a bunk, muttering incoherently. A stampeded herd was thundering over him, the grinding hoofs beating him slowly to death. He saw one mad steer stop and lower its head to gore him and just as the sharp horns tou... The Red Desert
In the beginning the Red Desert, figuring unpronounceably under its Navajo name of Tse-nastci--Circle-of-Red-Stones--was shunned alike by man and beast, and the bravest of the gold-hunters, seeking to penetrate to the placer ground in the hill gul...