Bob Chester's Grit/Chapter 23
CHAPTER XXIII
BOB OVERHEARS A SECOND PLOT
Chester had accompanied Bob and Ford to the cowboys' station, and when they saw that the dog showed no signs of returning, Yellow Tom called out:
"Hey, you Ford. Take this cur of yours with you—or I won't stay on the job another minute."
The ranchman, however, either did not hear or pretended not to, and after a minute Bob said:
"Mr. Ford has given Chester to me."
"What?" chorused the cowboys, in amazement.
"I said that Mr. Ford had given Chester to me," replied Bob.
"And you let him?" queried Crazy Ned, staring at the boy as though he must be daft.
"Why not?"
"You're liable to wake up in mincemeat some fine day, that's all," commented Yellow Tom drily.
"Oh, I guess not," answered Bob. "Chester and I are good friends, aren't we, my boy?" and dismounting, he called the dog to him and stroked his head.
A moment the cowboys watched the proceeding in amazement, then Shorty Flinn voiced their feelings by saying:
"Am I dreamin' or is this tenderfoot pattin' that ornery cur?"
"He's pattin' him, all right," returned Merry Dick. "Say, kid, you're a wonder. There ain't no man ever dared touch that dog so long as I've known about him and that's for ten years."
"But can you make him mind?" demanded Yellow Tom.
"Surely."
"Then stop his growlin* at me."
Recognizing this as a test, Bob stroked the dog's head caressingly, saying, in a matter-of-fact tone:
"Stop growling, boy. None of these men are going to harm me."
A moment the dog looked at Bob, then leisurely glanced from one to another of the cowboys—and stopped snarling.
"That beats all," declared Crazy Ned. "Say, kid, you don't need to fear anybody's playin' tricks on you when that brute is with you."
"No, I guess not," smiled Bob. And then in a burst of confidence he added: "But I don't want people to be nice because they are afraid of Chester. If they don't like me for myself, I don't want them to like me at all."
"That's all right, kid. But there's some ornery critturs wearin' the clothes of cowboys, so just take advice of a man who knows and keep the dog with you," said Yellow Tom.
"Yellow's givin' it to you straight," asserted Shorty Flinn. "There's some folks ain't never happy unless they're makin' others onhappy."
Bob took the advice in the spirit it was given and, while Merry Dick was putting together enough food to last them for the three days he was to be with the boy, chatted and joked with them, answering such questions as he saw fit and turning off those he did not care to. And such manliness and good nature did he display that he won the respect of the four cowpunchers, than whom there were no harder characters riding the plains.
At last Merry Dick had stowed the food in his saddle bags, unhobbled and made ready his broncho, and as he waited for Bob to mount, the others began to tease him.
"No tricks, now," said one. "Remember what John said about the comparative value of cowboys and steers. Don't put salt instead of sugar in Bob's coffee."
"Don't worry about me," laughed Bob. "With Chester my friend, we're more likely to play tricks on Merry Dick than he is to play any on us."
And amid the shouts of merriment this suggestion produced, the cowboy and his youthful companion galloped away.
"Ain't that Firefly you're ridin'?" asked Merry Dick, after having tried in vain to leave Bob behind by sending his own pony at a mad gallop.
"Y—yes," returned Bob. "Mr. Thomas, the station agent, bought him for me."
"Bought him?" repeated the cowboy in amazement. "You must be rollin' in money, kid. Simons said he'd never sell for less than two hundred dollars."
Bob had no idea as to the value of horseflesh, so he asked:
"Is that much to pay for a pony?"
"Much? Well, I don't know what you call much, but I do know that you can buy all the ponies you want, good ones at that, for fifty dollars."
This knowledge of the expense to which Mr. Nichols had been put to provide him with a mount, for Bob believed it was he who had ordered the agent so to do, grieved the boy and he became silent, wondering if he should not send back the one hundred dollars present in part payment.
Merry Dick, however, mistook his silence for displeasure and exclaimed:
"I don't mean Firefly ain't a good pony. He's the best within fifty mile, so you didn't get stuck."
In due course of time, they reached a spot where a few trees surrounded a spring, and there the cowboy said they would pitch camp.
With surprise, he watched Bob hobble his pony and then rub him down, observing:
"I reckon you ain't so green as you make out."
Ignoring the left-handed compliment, Bob asked:
"What do I have to do with the cattle?"
"Mighty little, so long as you have the dog with you. He's as good as any cowboy." And then Merry Dick explained that Bob's duties lay in riding around and driving back the cattle that strayed from the herd, especially in the morning, and in case of a stampede, than which there is nothing more dreaded by cowboys, in outrunning the leaders and changing their direction, yelling and waving arms, until the frenzied animals are made to tire themselves out traveling in a circle.
The hours till twilight passed quickly with the stories the cowboy told of experiences he had had and had heard, in both of which he did not hesitate to draw freely on his imagination.
As the sunset bathed the plains in a glorious red, the two rode out and drove the straggling cattle back to the herd, and then Merry Dick showed Bob how to boil coffee over a bed of coals and fry bacon by holding it on a fork.
As night fell, many sounds reached the boy's ears, but none scared him except the melancholy howl of the coyotes.
Without incident the hours of darkness passed and the two days that Merry Dick was with him, and, on the third, Ford rode over to see how they were getting along.
"He'll do," announced the cowboy, nodding toward Bob.
"Then you can go back to the others," returned his boss, who remained with the boy.
Day followed day with monotonous regularity, and many a time Bob was glad of the dog's company. Several times Thomas came to see him, bringing letters from both Mr. Perkins and Mr. Nichols and taking back Bob's answers, which told of his experiences, gratitude for their assistance, and delight in his new life.
Once a week, Ford came to bring his food, a signal mark of favor, for the ranch cooks supplied the others. And as month after month passed, Bob developed wonderfully. The free, outdoor life made his muscles like steel and the responsibility and solitude matured him, so that instead of the rather timid boy who had stepped from the limited that morning, he was a powerful, self-reliant young man.
Realizing this and feeling his desire growing stronger, at the end of the sixth month to learn the truth about his father when Ford paid him, Bob asked if he could ride over to Red Top for a day.
In reply to the ranchman's question as to the reason, he said he wanted to find out about a man.
At this answer, Ford scanned his face closely, but, unable to read its expression, gave his permission, provided he took the dog, saying he would stand Bob's tour of duty.
His heart agog, Bob was on his way early the next morning, the faithful Chester at his side.
The village of Red Top was similar to Fairfax, but being the location of the Land Office was of more importance. As the boy, accompanied by the dog passed along the one street of the town, they attracted much attention, for many of the people recognized Chester.
Drawing rein, Bob dismounted at the store, went inside and asked where he could find out who owned property in the town fifteen years ago.
The interest of the loungers in the boy was no whit lessened by this question and several of them chorused:
"The Land Office, right next door."
Thanking them collectively, Bob went out, leaving the idlers to speculate over his identity and purpose.
But though he found the Land Office without difficulty, he could make neither head nor tail out of the records.
Noticing the perplexity on his face, the clerk, a kindly-faced, gray-haired man, asked him for what he was searching.
"To see if Horace Chester ever owned any property in Red Top."
"I can tell you that without looking," replied the clerk. "He had one of the best ranches in Oklahoma. It was good when he died. But it's worth ten times as much now."
This information set Bob's head in a whirl, and for some minutes he could not speak, but when he did, he asked hesitatingly:
"Was he—was he crazy?"
"Crazy? well, I should say not!" ejaculated the clerk, staring at Bob in wonder.
"Who owns the property now?"
"A. Leon Dardus."
"How'd he get it?"
"By will. There was a long legal battle between Sam and John Ford and Dardus. But Dardus finally won."
"Where is the ranch?"
"Twenty miles south of here. Jim Haskins hires it."
At these surprising answers, Bob's heart seemed to come up in his throat, stifling his speech. But noticing that his questions had aroused the clerk's curiosity, he hurriedly left the office.
Needing time to think, the boy hastened along till he came to a building which served as a saloon, diningroom and gambling den.
Attracted by the food sign, he entered, took a seat near a partition, and ordered some pork and beans.
But before it was brought, he had forgotten about eating. From behind the partition, loud voices were audible and he caught the word "Ford."
Listening intently, he heard a voice say:
"Sure, we can do it! I've got the papers all ready, old Sam Ford's signature and all. Just pass over that two thousand five hundred dollars, and I'll give them to you."
"But suppose Ford fights us in court?" exclaimed another voice.
"He won't do that!" growled a third. "Leave it to me!"
"Now, Bill, there's to be no"
But before Bob could catch the last word, the waiter came in with his pork and beans and, noticing that the boy was listening with head close to the partition, shouted:
"What you listenin' to? That don't go in Red Top!"
And dropping his dishes, he leaped for Bob, just as the men behind the partition, who had heard the waiter's angry words, struggled to get through the door.
Realizing he was no match for so many, Bob took to his heels, the others in pursuit.
As he dashed from the restaurant, Chester leaped to his feet and, back bristling, jaws distended, faced the pursuers.
"That's Ford's dog!" gasped the waiter. "That fellow must have been one of his men!"
The commotion had attracted the attention of the loungers in the store and as they hurried to the street, the conspirators, pointing to Bob, yelled:
"Stop him! Stop him!"
But Bob, paying no heed, raced to where Firefly stood, vaulted into his saddle and, with the dog at his heels, dashed up the street.