Charlie lifted his head from a bunk in one corner of the Seventy-seven ranch house. A wagon was clattering into the yard. Elmer Duffy and half a dozen riders flanked it like a bodyguard.
The box was piled high with beef. A tarpaulin was stretched over the quarters. On top of the tarp lay several fresh hides. Beside the man driving the wagon sat a sullen-looking captive.
Charlie went out to meet them without undue haste. He looked the layout over from the porch and stooped to buckle on his spurs. Elmer Duffy swung down from his sweaty horse.
“Well, kid,” he said genially, “we got ’em with the goods. That contractor slid out, but the stock inspectors are after him. Come back by the furnace an’ the old corral an’ pick up the hides an’ the feller you bumped off. Some of them cattle was Seventy-sevens, but mostly TL stuff. These fellers had a lot of the money on ’em they got for this beef. You sure done a nice stroke of business last night.”
“Yeah,” Charlie agreed, “for a bonehead josher—yes.”
He walked on to the stable. His two horses stood in stalls. He had them out, saddled, and his pack part hitched, when Elmer Duffy came striding from the house. He had a green slip in his hand which he held out to Charlie. It was a check for five hundred dollars.
“Say, you ain’t pullin’ your freight, are you, Charlie?” Elmer inquired.
“Oh, no,” Charlie replied ironically, his eyes on the check. “I’m fixin’ to make myself at home with the Seventy-seven for all time, naturally. What’s this?”
“I made a crack before the whole outfit, didn’t I,” Elmer stated, “that I’d give five hundred dollars to lay my hands on whoever was killin’ beef? Well, I’m makin’ good on it. You got it comin’.”
Charlie stared at him and the check, but he said nothing.
“Look here,” Elmer said hurriedly. “You got a steady job with the Seventy-seven as long as you want. You’ll have to be on hand to give your evidence, anyhow, at the trial. An’ I guess maybe you’re a smarter kid than I reckoned. Maybe I was kinda hasty the other day. I can use fellers like you in this outfit.”
“I don’t want neither your money nor your job nor your gratitude, Elmer,” Charlie said politely.
“You better think that over, Charlie,” Elmer said, not quite so politely. “There’s a long, hard winter comin’, remember.”
Charlie tucked in the last hitch on the pack, stuck his foot in the stirrup, and swung up to his saddle on Crepe. The black horse shook his head, jingling the bit, and pawed the hard earth impatiently. Charlie looked down with an expansive grin.
“Listen, Elmer,” said he. “I wouldn’t work for you ever again, nohow. I told you, when you were fonchin’ around the other mornin’, that I’d show you. I’ve done it. I rounded up your thieves, while you were runnin’ around in circles, cussin’ the luck. If you feel that you’re under any obligation to me, forget it. I did that little job for nothin’, just to show you I could.
“And,” he concluded, “as far as that hard winter thing is concerned, I was born in El Paso. I come up the trail when it was a tough proposition. I’m twenty-six years old, an’, by Judas priest, I ain’t never died a winter yet!”
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the June 20, 1927 issue ofThe Popular Magazine.
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the June 20, 1927 issue ofThe Popular Magazine.