The Flockmaster of Poison Creek Read online

  CHAPTER XXV

  ONE MAN'S JOKE

  Mackenzie went across the hills next morning to relieve Reid of hiswatch over the sheep, feeling almost as simple as Dad and the rest ofthem believed him to be. He was too easy, he had been too easy allalong. If he had beaten Hector Hall into a blue lump that day he senthim home without his guns; if he had pulled his weapon at SwanCarlson's first appearance when the giant Swede drove his flock aroundthe hill that day, and put a bullet between his eyes, Tim Sullivan andthe rest of them would have held him in higher esteem.

  Reid would have held him in greater respect for it, also, and it mightnot have turned out so badly for Joan. He wondered how Reid wouldreceive him, and whether they would part in no greater unfriendlinessthan at present.

  Reid was not with the sheep when Mackenzie arrived where they fed. Theflock was widely scattered, as if the shepherd had been gone a longtime, the dogs seemingly indifferent to what befell, showing a spiritof insubordination and laziness when Mackenzie set them about theirwork. Mackenzie spent the morning getting the flock together, notingits diminished numbers with quickly calculating eye.

  Reid must have been leaving the sheep pretty much to themselves forthe wolves to take that heavy toll. Strange that Sullivan had notnoticed it and put a trustworthy herder in charge. But Sullivan wasmore than a little afraid to show himself for long on that part of hislease, and perhaps had not taken the time to run his eye over thesheep. It was a matter to be laid before his attention at once.Mackenzie did not want this loss charged against him as anotherexample of his unfitness to become a master over sheep on theprofit-sharing plan.

  It was past noon when Reid returned, coming riding from Swan Carlson'srange. He came only near enough to Mackenzie to see who it was,galloping on to the wagon. There he unsaddled his horse and turned itto graze, setting about immediately to get his dinner. Mackenziewaited for a summons when the meal was ready, but received none.Presently he saw that Reid had no intention of calling him in, for hewas sitting down selfishly alone.

  Mackenzie determined there was not going to be any avoidance on hispart. If unpleasantness must rise between them Reid would be the oneto set it stewing, and it looked from a distance as if this were hisintention. Mackenzie went to camp, his coat on his arm.

  Reid had finished his dinner when Mackenzie arrived. He was sitting inthe shade of some low bushes, his hat on the ground, smoking acigarette. He looked up at the sound of Mackenzie's approach, smilinga little, waving his cigarette in greeting.

  "Hello, Jacob," he said.

  Mackenzie felt the hot blood rush to his face, but choked downwhatever hot words rose with it. But he could not suppress theindignation, the surprise, that came with the derisive hail. It seemedthat the range, vast, silent, selfish, melancholy as it was, could notkeep a secret. What did Reid know about any Jacob and Rachel romance?How had he learned of that?

  "How're you makin' it, Earl?" Mackenzie returned, pleasantly enough.And to himself: "He listened, the scoundrel--sneaked up on us andheard it all!"

  "Oh, well enough," said Reid, coughing huskily.

  If well enough, a little more of it would do for him, Mackenziethought, noting with surprise the change that had come over Reid sincethey last met. The improvement that had begun in him during his firstweeks on the range had not continued. Opposed to it, a declineappeared to have fastened upon him, making his flaccid cheeks thinner,his weary eyes more tired, his slight frame lighter by many pounds.Only his voice was unchanged. That was hearty and quick, resonant ofenjoyment in life and a keenness in the pursuits of its pleasures.Reid's voice was his most valuable possession, Mackenzie knew; it wasthe vehicle that had carried him into the graces of many transitoryfriends.

  "I thought Tim had sent some old taller-heel over to let me off--Ididn't know it was you," said Reid, lying with perfect ease.

  "Taller-heel enough, I guess," Mackenzie returned, detached andinattentive as it seemed, his mind fixed on dinner.

  "I didn't think you'd be able to get out so soon from what Dad toldme. Been havin' some trouble with your hand?"

  "It's all right now." Mackenzie was making use of it to shake thecoffeepot, only to find that Reid had drained it to the grounds.

  "If I'd recognized you, Jacob, I'd made a double allowance," Reidsaid, lifting the corner of his big, unfeeling mouth in a twitchinggrin.

  "You might cut out that Jacob stuff, wherever you got it," Mackenzietold him, not much interested in it, apparently.

  "Can't you take a joke, Mackenzie?" Reid made the inquiry in surprisedvoice, with a well-simulated inflection of injury.

  "But I don't want it rubbed in, Reid."

  Reid grunted, expressive of derision and contempt, smoking on insilence while Mackenzie threw himself together a hasty meal.Frequently Reid coughed, always cupping his hand before his mouth asif to conceal from himself as well as others the portentous harshnessof the sound.

  "Did Sullivan send you over?" Reid inquired at last.

  "He said for me to come when I was able, but he didn't set any time. Iconcluded I was all right, and came."

  "Well, you can go back; I don't need you."

  "That's for Sullivan to say."

  "On the dead, Mackenzie, I don't see how it's going to be comfortablewith me and you in camp together."

  "The road's open, Earl."

  "I wish it was open out of this damned country!" Reid complained. Inhis voice Mackenzie read the rankling discontent of his soul, wearingitself out there in the freedom that to him was not free, chafing andlonging and fretting his heart away as though the distant hills werethe walls of a prison, the far horizon its bars.

  "Sullivan wants you over at the ranch," Mackenzie told him, moved topitying kindness for him, although he knew that it was wasted andundeserved.

  "I'd rather stay over here, I'd rather hear the coyotes howl than thatpack of Sullivan kids. That's one-hell of a family for a man to haveto marry into, Mackenzie."

  "I've seen men marry into worse," Mackenzie said.

  Reid got up in morose impatience, flinging away his cigarette, went tothe wagon, looked in, slammed the little canvas door with its micawindow shut with a bang, and turned back.

  There seemed little of the carelessness, the easy spirit that had madehim so adaptable at first to his surroundings, which Reid had broughtwith him into the sheeplands left in him now. He was sullen anddowncast, consumed by the gnawing desire to be away out of his prison.Mackenzie studied him furtively as he compounded his coffee and set itto boil on the little fire, thinking that it required more fortitude,indeed, to live out a sentence such as Reid faced in the open thanbehind a lock. Here, the call to be away was always before a man; theleagues of freedom stretched out before his eyes. It required someholding in on a man's part to restrain his feet from taking theuntrammeled way to liberty under such conditions, more than he wouldhave believed Reid capable of, more than he expected him to be equalto much longer.

  Reid came slowly over to where he had left his hat, took it up, andstood looking at it as if he had found some strange plant or unusualflower, turning it and regarding it from all sides. It was suchstrange behavior that Mackenzie kept his eye on him, believing thatthe solitude and discontent had strained his mind.

  Presently Reid put the hat on his head, came over to Mackenzie's fire,and squatted near it on his heels, although the sun was broiling hotand the flare of the ardent little blaze was scorching to his face. Sohe sat, silent as an Indian, looking with fixed eyes at the fire,while Mackenzie fried his bacon and warmed a can of succotash in thepan. When Mackenzie began to eat, Reid drew back from the fire to makeanother cigarette.

  "But will it pay a man," he said ruminatively, as if turning again asubject long discussed with himself, "to put in three years at thisjust to get out of work all the rest of his life? That's all it comesto, even if I can keep the old man's money from sifting through myhands like dry sand on a windy day. The question is, will it pay a manto take the chance?"

  Reid did not t
urn his eyes toward Mackenzie as he argued thus withhimself, nor bring his face about to give his companion a full lookinto it. He sat staring across the mighty temptation that lay spread,league on league before him, his sharp countenance sharper for thewasting it had borne since Mackenzie saw him last, his chin up, hisneck stretched as if he leaped the barriers of his discontent and rodeaway.

  "It's a long shot, Mackenzie," he said, turning as he spoke, his faceset in a cast of suffering that brought again to Mackenzie a sweep ofpity which he knew to be a tribute undeserved. "I made a joke aboutselling out to you once, Mackenzie; but it isn't a thing a man canjoke about right along."

  "I'm glad it was only a joke, Earl."

  "Sure it was a joke."

  Reid spoke with much of his old lightness, coming out of his broodinglike a man stepping into the sun. He laughed, pulling his hat down onthe bridge of his nose in the peculiar way he had of wearing it. Alittle while he sat; then stretched himself back at ease on his elbow,drooling smoke through his nose in saturnine enjoyment.

  "Sullivan will double-cross you in the end, Jack; he'll not even giveyou Mary," Reid said, speaking lazily, neither derision nor banter inhis way.

  "Maybe," Mackenzie returned indifferently.

  "He'd double-cross me after I'd put in three years runnin' his damnedsheep if it wasn't for the old man's money. Tim Sullivan would pickdimes off a red-hot griddle in hell as long as the devil would standby and heat them. He's usin' his girls for bait to draw greenhorns andwork their fool heads off on promises. A man that would do that wouldsell his wife."

  Mackenzie made no comment. He was through his dinner and was fillinghis pipe, mixing some of Dad Frazer's highly recommended twist withhis own mild leaf to give it a kick.

  "He played you into the game with Joan for a bait, and then I gotshipped out here and spoiled that," said Reid. "Now he's stringin' youon for Mary. If you're as wise a guy as I take you to be, Jack,you'll cut this dump and strike out in business for yourself. There'sa feller over east of Carlson wants to sell out--you can get him onthe run."

  "I couldn't buy one side of a sheep," Mackenzie replied, wondering whythis sudden streak of friendly chatter.

  Mackenzie ground Dad's twist in his palm, poured a charge of his palemixture into it, ground them again together under the heel of hisfist, Reid looking on with languid eyes, hat down on his nose.

  "What did you do with that roll you used to carry around out here?"Reid inquired, watching the compounding of the tobacco.

  "It was a mighty little one, Earl," Mackenzie returned, laughingpleasantly.

  _"It's big enough for me--hand it over!"_

  Reid flipped his gun from the scabbard, his elbow pressed close to hisside as he reclined in the lazy, inoffensive pose, holding the weapondown on Mackenzie with a jerk which he must have practiced long togive it the admirable finish and speed.