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Page 23
The foreman was the first to pull up in front of the house.
"Hullo, Uncle Jim!" he cried.
"Hello, Sage-brush," answered the Colonel, a broad smile
illuminating his face. Holding his pipe in one hand, he licked
his lips at the thought of "lickering up" without the invention
of an excuse for his wife.
Then he joined in a hearty laugh with the men about the corral as
he heard the grunts and stamping of a plunging mustang. A
cow-pony had entered into the spirit of the occasion and was
trying to toss his rider over his head.
Fresno was the victim of the horse's deviltry.
His predicament aroused wild shouts of mirth and sallies of the
wit of the corral.
"Hunt leather, Fresno, or he'll buck you clean over the wall,"
shouted Sage-brush.
"Grab his tail," yelled Show Low, with a whoop.
"All over," was the chorus, as Fresno, with a vicious jab of his
spurs and a jerk of the head, brought the animal into subjection.
"Come right in, boys!" called Allen. "Let the Greasers take the
hosses."
With shrill shouts, whoops, and much laughter the guests crowded
about the ranchman.
Each wore his holiday clothes; new handkerchiefs were knotted
about their necks. Fresno had stuck little American flags in the
band of his hat, the crown of which he had removed. "I want
head-room for the morning after," he had said.
Show Low's chaps were conspicuously new, and his movements were
heralded by the creaking of unsoftened leather.
Last of the band was Parenthesis, short, bow-legged, with a face
tanned and seamed by exposure.
The cowboys ran stiffly, toeing slightly inward. Long hours in
the saddle made them apparently awkward and really ungraceful
when on the ground.
They greeted Allen with hearty enthusiasm, slapping him on the
back, poking him in the ribs, and swinging him from one to the
other, with cries of: "Howdy, Uncle Jim!"
"Howdy, Sage-brush? Hello, Fresno! Waltz right in, Show Low.
Glad to see you all!" cried Allen, as he, in turn, brought his
hand down with ringing slaps upon shoulder and back. Meantime
Parenthesis hopped about the outer edge of the ring, seeking an
entrance. Failing to reach his host, he crowed: "How de doddle
do," to attract his attention.
Allen broke from the ring. Grasping Parenthesis by the hand, he
said: "I'm tolerable, thankee, Parenthesis. Where's Jack?--
didn't he come over with you?"
"What! the boss? Ain't he got here yet?" asked the foreman. Tall
and lean, with hardened muscles, Sage-brush Charley was as lithe
as a panther on horseback. His first toy had been a rope with
which, as a toddler, he had practised on the dogs and chickens
about the ranch-yard. He could not remember when he could not
ride. Days on the round-up, hours of watching the sleeping herd
in the night-watch, had made him quiet and self-contained in his
dealings with men. His eyes looked out fearlessly on the world.
All of his life he had handled cattle. Daily facing dangers on
the long drives or in the corral, he schooled himself to face
emergencies. Acquiring self-control, he was trusted and admired.
When Lyman, the old foreman of the Sweetwater resigned, Jack
Payson promoted Sage-brush, although next to Bud Lane he was at
the time the youngest man in the outfit. He made his employer's
interests his own. At the mention of Payson's name he always
became attentive. With a shade of anxiety he awaited Allen's
answer.
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