Chapter V

Ed McLean had his own horse and buggy. They tossed the valise into the back of the vehicle and headed for the Lazy H. Jim told the lawyer what Hank Voigt had said, but McLean only laughed.

“Hank is quite a joker,” he said.

“I _hope_ he was joking, McLean.”

“Of course he was. We’re all set now. Estabrook might have made trouble for us, but it is clear sailing from now on.”

“I hope you are right, but something tells me that everything is not right. These people, as I understand it, do not always depend on the law to settle their troubles. The court might accept me as the legal and lawful heir to the Lazy H, but some of these cowpokes, as they are called, might not.”

“Forget that part of it. They’re law-abiding people. Just because they carry guns and talk a queer lingo they are not necessarily killers.”

“Maybe not. I was thinking about that new man at the Lazy H. Skeeter Smith, I believe. He intimated that they hang a man for a doublecross in this country.”

Ed McLean shot a side glance at Jim Bailey.

“O-o-oh!” he exclaimed. “Just why did he say that?”

“Oh, we were talking about my claims. I intimated that perhaps the court might not accept my credentials. He said that if the court decided that I was a fraud the people would probably hang me.”

“Bosh!” snorted the lawyer. “My friend, you talk too blasted much! Let others do the talking, you listen.”

“Of course,” remarked Jim, “my life doesn’t mean anything to you, McLean. All you are interested in is using me for a cat’s-paw. You want the Lazy H. If this deal works out, very likely you will get it. We are a fine pair of crooks.”

“And we can’t afford to fall out, remember that, Jim.”

“Remember that yourself, McLean. I will not be bossed. You may suggest something, but don’t order. I’ve taken orders all my grown-up life and I don’t like it.”

“I’ll remember that, Jim. Sometimes you rub me the wrong way.”

“Sorry. I am going to need some overalls and boots. And if you know where I can get a gun--”

“What in the world would you do with a gun?”

“That,” replied Jim soberly, “is something that no man knoweth, until the experiment has been made. I want to be a man among men.”

“I see,” replied Ed McLean. “Well, I’d offer good odds that the first time you pull that gun, you’ll be the only horizontal one among the men.”

Mary Deal was the only one to greet Jim Bailey with a smile. Tex Parker turned and walked away, and Tellurium backed into the kitchen. There was an extra room in the ranch-house, which was turned over to Jim. Ed McLean talked quite a while with the foreman, and then came up to have a few words with Tellurium, out at the wood-pile.

“Listen t’ me, McLean!” Tellurium griped. “Do you think I’m going to cook good food for that anteloper?”

“The word is interloper,” corrected McLean.

“The word,” declared the cook, “is no!”

“You need a job, don’t you, Tellurium? Well, just remember that this young man is the heir to the Lazy H.”

“You don’t need t’ rub it in. As far as a job is concerned I can stretch m’ apron at any spread west of the Mississippi. Don’t tell me what I’ve got to do. You keep up this yappin’, and you won’t be hired to misquote law to a strange dog in this man’s country.”

“Look at it this way,” suggested McLean. “The young man can’t help that he was Clint Haverty’s nephew.”

Tellurium thought about that.

“All right. In mem’ry of Clint Haverty, I’ll feed him. But I ain’t goin’ to nurse him along. The boys won’t like it. He won’t be welcome, but if he can stand it we’ll try.

“That’s fine, Tellurium. You’re sensible.”

“You git out of here, before I split yuh with the axe. Sensible! Huh!”

* * * * *

McLean went back to Pinnacle City in a happy frame of mind. At least the expense problem was settled. He even decided to get Jim Bailey some boots and overalls. As far as the gun was concerned, he felt that Jim was a little too new for things like six-shooters.

Jim soon found that he was a pariah at the Lazy H. He ate with the cowboys and they snubbed him completely. The food was plentiful and very good. Archibald Haas was still sporting a discolored eye, and he looked daggers at Jim Bailey, remembering that Jim had helped Tellurium and Cactus drag him down the hotel stairs. Mary ate alone, and after supper that night, Jim went out on the porch, where Mary was sitting.

“Did you enjoy your supper?” she asked pleasantly.

“I enjoyed the food,” he replied, “but the company was entirely anti-me.”

Mary nodded sadly. “I’m sorry, Jim,” she said. “It isn’t a thing that I can help. I have talked with the boys, but they all have minds of their own.”

“I understand,” he said quietly. “They treated me the same way in town. Mary, let me ask you a question. If I left this country, gave up this inheritance, would you get the Lazy H?”

Mary shook her head. “No, I am not--was not, I mean--related to Clint Haverty. It would go to Ace and Dick Haverty because they are the next of kin--all his remaining relatives, as far as anyone knows.”

“I have seen them both,” said Jim. “I think I’ll stay.”

“I believe you are sensible, Jim. Your going away would not help me in the least.”

“Mary, tell me something about Clint Haverty. Didn’t he ever tell you that you might share in the estate?”

“He told me that I would have nothing to worry about.”

“I see. Was he all right physically and mentally?”

“The only thing on earth wrong with Clint Haverty, as far as anyone knew, was bad eyesight. He didn’t want anyone to know his eyes were bad; and he wouldn’t wear glasses. I read most of his letters to him.”

“He died a natural death, I suppose?” Jim asked.

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” asked Mary.

“Only that he died, Mary.”

“He was thrown from his horse, coming back from Pinnacle City, and had a skull fracture. He usually rode a bad horse, and the doctor says this one threw him and then kicked him in the head.”

“I didn’t know that,” sighed Jim. “I am afraid of horses.”

“You’ll get over that,” laughed Mary. “In a few months you’ll be wearing chaps and riding the hills with the rest of the boys.”

“It sounds very romantic, but I still don’t believe I will.”

Skeeter Smith finished supper and came around to the porch to enjoy a cigaret. After the customary greetings, he said to Jim:

“If yo’re goin’ to own and operate the Lazy H, here’s somethin’ you ought to know, Meade. The Lazy H is bein’ robbed. At least, this is the opinion of Tex Parker and the boys.”

“Tex has said that several times, Skeeter,” said Mary.

“I know. He says it shows up in the count. Tex has gone to town to talk with the sheriff. This is serious, Mary.”

“How does one steal a cow?” asked Jim.

Skeeter’s brows lifted slightly, and he glanced at Mary, who was smothering a smile.

“The methods,” replied Skeeter, “vary.”

“I see,” remarked Jim vaguely. “I really didn’t know.”

There was no conversation for a while. Then Skeeter said:

“How do you like the cattle country, Mr. Meade?”

“I am afraid of it,” replied Jim honestly.

* * * * *

Skeeter smiled. “The thing for you to do is to get on a bronc and learn it first-hand.”

“A bronc is a horse, isn’t it, Mr. Smith?”

“It is--and call me Skeeter.”

“Thank you. I have never ridden a horse, but I suppose I must learn. First I must get some overalls and boots, I suppose. Then I can get a gun and--”

“Wait!” Skeeter laughed. “Have you ever fired a six-shooter?”

“Never. But I supposed--”

“You won’t need a gun. The longer yuh can get along without a gun, the better off you’ll be. Take my advice, Jim, learn to ride and rope, brand, judge beef and all that. That six-shooter don’t brand yuh as a cowpoke--it brands yuh as a man, who, for some reason or another, expects trouble to cut his trail some day.”

“Thank you, Skeeter--you have been very kind to me.”

Skeeter laughed and got to his feet.

“My friend,” he said, “somewhere in the Bible, I believe it says somethin’ about being cautious about them who come bearin’ gifts.”

“But you haven’t brought me any gifts, Skeeter.”

“Friendship is a gift.”

“You mean that I should beware friendship?”

“Until it has been tried and proved--yeah.”

Skeeter went back to the bunk-house. Jim said:

“Mary, he is a queer sort of cowboy, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” replied the girl. “He is different. I believe he would make a wonderful friend, and I would hate to be his enemy.”

“I don’t believe I have ever had a real friend, Mary.”

“Few people ever do, Jim. Uncle Clint used to say that a friend was someone who knew all about you, but liked you in spite of it.”

“In my case,” said Jim slowly, “I could hardly expect it.”

“In the morning,” said Mary, “I’ll ask Archibald to saddle a horse for you, Jim. You might as well learn to ride as soon as you can.”

“You are too kind to me, Mary,” he said earnestly.

“Say that tomorrow evening and I’ll believe you,” she said dryly....

It was midafternoon next day at the Lazy H. Archibald Haas sat on the corral fence in the shade of a sycamore and looked at Jim Bailey, astride an ancient charger called Peter the Hermit, so named from his habit of staying alone as much as possible.

“That there lump on the front end of the saddle,” explained Archibald, “is the horn. It’s used to dally a rope around, not to be hugged. If yuh cain’t think of anythin’ to do with yore extra hands, let ’em dangle, they won’t fall off.”

“_I_ might,” suggested Jim Bailey wearily.

“Uh-huh--yuh might. Now, the thing t’ do,” suggested Archibald, “when the horse starts lopin’, you try and lope with him. You and Pete ort to git together. And when he trots, brace yore legs. No use of him goin’ one way and you the other. And another thing; that horse is rein-broke. Yuh don’t have to take holt of one rein with both hands and yank his jaw loose. Try it again.”

At supper time Jim Bailey staggered to the house. Peter the Hermit didn’t stagger at all, he lay down where he was. This was almost too much for his ancient bones. Archibald Haas said to Mary:

“All he needs is the finishin’ touches.”

“What do you mean, Archie?” she asked.

“Jist shoot him and put him out of his misery.”

“You’ll not shoot Peter the Hermit!”

“’Course not. I didn’t mean him.”