Bob Chester's Grit/Chapter 9
CHAPTER IX
A TALE OF THE PLAINS
Placing in his pocket the money and the precious piece of pasteboard which possessed the magic power of procuring for him transportation to the land of his dreams, Bob rose from the breakfast-table and made his way back to his chair.
As the train stopped at one station after another, people kept getting aboard, and soon the car in which Bob was riding was filled to its capacity.
Having nothing better to do, the lad amused himself by studying each new passenger, and he was amusing himself in trying to assign them to their proper vocations, when he was attracted to the man who came in and took the seat directly in front of him.
Tall and inordinately thin, the man's clothes seemed simply to hang from his shoulders. His hair, of a curious rusty gray, seemed to stick out from under the faded straw hat, and his whole appearance suggested nothing so much as a scarecrow.
Despite the man's ungainly appearance, however, his face was one that would attract and hold attention. So thin was it that it seemed as though the cheek bones would any minute pierce the bronzed skin, and from under bushy eyebrows two restless black eyes glistened.
Like Bob, this man surveyed his fellow passengers, giving them, however, only a momentary glance, until his eyes rested upon Bob, and upon him they lingered, glancing him over from head to foot, and then dropping to the lunch-box which was on the floor.
During this inspection of himself, Bob had also been examining the man more closely, and had discovered that his forehead was marked with a deep scar.
"You don't happen to have any lunch in that box, do you, that you would be willing to sell me?" asked the stranger. "I didn't have time to get any before I started. In fact, I came mighty near losing the train as it was, and there won't be any station where I can get anything before noon."
"Why, yes," replied Bob; "that is, I have some lunch. But I won't sell it to you. You are welcome to some of it, if you would like it."
How the man had been able to divine that his package contained food, Bob could not understand. But had the boy been as keen an observer as the stranger, he would have noticed that the paper on one end of the box was saturated with grease, causing the obvious inference that some sort of food was wrapped up inside.
"I don't like to take your grub for nothing, son," returned the other, "but I sure am hungry. I have always made it a rule never to accept anything from any one without giving something in return. So I tell you what I'll do. If you're sure you won't accept any money, and will give me a bite, when the train stops for dinner, I'll pay for whatever you want to eat."
"That seems fair," returned Bob, "but I should be just as willing to give you some, even if you didn't return it."
While Bob had been speaking, he had picked up the box, broken the string, unwrapped the paper and opened it, after which he held it out to the stranger, saying:
"Help yourself."
To Bob's surprise, the man accepted the invitation literally—and took the whole box, which he rested on his knee. Though it contained cake and pie, hard-boiled eggs, and several sandwiches, the stranger exercised no choice of selection, but began at one end of the box and ate everything just as it came.
Naturally Bob had supposed that the man would eat possibly only a couple of eggs and one or two sandwiches, with perhaps even a piece of cake or a piece of pie. But as he saw one piece of food disappearing after another, and remembered that the stranger had asked only for a bite, he wondered what he would require to make a full meal.
As the last piece of food was devoured, the man reached down, put the cover on the box, folded the paper, wrapped up the box and set it on the floor, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then exclaimed:
"My, but that went to the right spot! I sure was hungry."
"Yes, I guess you were," assented Bob, a bit ruefully, for he had expected to have at least a portion of the food, put up for him by the kind waitress, to eat during the day.
The stranger, however, ignored the insinuation in Bob's tone, and proceeded to talk with him.
"Going far?" he asked.
"Yes, to Chicago."
"That's good. So am I. I'm glad to have some one to talk to. It makes the time pass quicker. Been visiting in the East?"
"No. I've always lived in New York."
"Going to Chicago on a visit?"
"Not exactly. I'm going to call on some friends, and then go on to Oklahoma."
The mention of Oklahoma roused the stranger to immediate interest.
"You don't say! To what part?"
"I don't know exactly."
"Going to Oklahoma, and you don't know to what part?" repeated the man in surprise.
"I'm going on a ranch somewhere. I was thinking I'd get a map when I got to Chicago, and decide just where."
"Well, if that don't beat anything I ever heard!"
The intonation which the man gave to his words was such that Bob felt that he must give some explanation of his indecision, and he returned:
"You see, I'm going to be a cowboy first, and then a ranch owner, and I didn't want to decide where to go until I could find out where I would have the best chance."
"Well, it certainly is fortunate that fate led me to get into this car of all on the train. I can tell you just the place for you to go."
"Have you ever been to Oklahoma?" inquired Bob.
"Have I ever been there? Well, son, I was there off and on for about ten years, when the government first opened up the land, and you could travel for miles without seeing anything but Injuns."
The knowledge that his companion was familiar with Oklahoma set Bob's heart bearing rapidly, and the thought that he could gather much useful information from this peculiar man caused him to forget all annoyance over the loss of his lunch.
"Then you've really seen a live Indian?" asked Bob, his eyes big with excitement.
"I seen too many of the critters. See that scar?"
And he tapped his forehead with one of his long fingers.
"Yes," said Bob eagerly.
"Well, it was an Injun gave me that; Flying Horse, they called him."
At the memory of what had evidently been an exciting adventure, the man lapsed into silence, as though he were re-enacting the events in his mind.
To Bob his silence was tantalizing. He longed to hear of the experience, and yet he hesitated to ask point-blank. His interest was so keen, however, that he could not restrain himself entirely, and he squirmed restively in his chair.
The movement had the effect of recalling the man from his memories, and gazing at the lad's eager face, his own broke into a smile, as he said:
"I suppose you'd like to know how it happened?"
"Indeed I should."
"I was punching cows for an old fellow called Sam Ford; a man so mean you could pull the pith out of a horse-hair and then put his soul inside, and it would rattle.
"But this story don't concern old Sam, except in so far as I was working for him. He'd got together a fine bunch of cattle. Where he got 'em, no one ever knew exactly, and in them days it wasn't what you'd call healthy to ask questions. Indeed, I've seen many a perfectly healthy man took off sudden, just because he got inquisitive about su'thin', that wasn't none of his business in the first place. But that's neither here nor there. Sam had the cattle, and I was punchin' for him.
"One day Sam come to me and said he wanted me to ride over to a creek near what is now the town of Fairfax, and watch a bunch of about thirty head he told me he just bought. There was a pack of Crow Injuns that we knew was somewhere around there. But in them days it was the same with working for a man as it was about asking questions. If he told you to do anything, it was up to you to do it, or stand the consequences. So I saddled a flee-bitten pinto and set out, though I must say I wasn't particularly keen on going. It had been rumored that Sam had got some of his cattle from the Injuns, and we'd always expected that if Sam ever did die—of which we had our doubts, because he was so mean—that it would be at the hand of a redskin.
"After riding about thirty mile, I come to the cattle all right, and they was sure a fine bunch. The place where Sam had left them was filled with fine grazing grass, and there was a 'drink' near-by, so's I got to feeling a little better, for I'd been afraid I was going to have some trouble in locating water. Sam had said he'd come up in three or four days, and we'd drive 'em back to where we had the main herd.
"The grass was so rich that a baby could have looked after them cattle; they stayed so close, and I was taking things easy most of the time, lying on my back and smoking.
"On the second night it was cloudy, and I had built a little fire, before which I curled up and went to sleep.
"How long I'd been asleep, I don't know. But I do know that I was suddenly wakened by feeling something sharp drawn across my forehead.
"Opening my eyes, I saw a face, hideous in white and yellow paint, peering into mine.
"Fortunately, I still had my six-shooters on me, and being pretty handy with them, it didn't take me long to put an end to Mr. Injun.
"Whether there was more than one buck 'round, I didn't know. But I'd no sooner got to my feet than I found out, for on all sides of me the air was split with their awful yells.
"Dropping to my knees, I crawled into the long grass as fast as I could, and the only thing that saved me was because they had been busy with the cattle, and didn't know where I was.
"After they'd hunted for me a while, they rounded up the critters, gathered in my pinto, and moved away.
"Just as soon as I heard 'em going I lit out in the opposite direction, and hoofed it back to Sam's."