The Ridin' Kid from Powder River

Henry Herbert Knibbs, Stanley L. Wood, R. M. [Illustrator] Brinkerhoff

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• Publié par: meshing
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 8
• Langue: English

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Project Gutenberg's The Ridin' Kid from Powder River, by Henry Herbert Knibbs This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: The Ridin' Kid from Powder River Author: Henry Herbert Knibbs Illustrator: Stanley L. Wood and R. M. Brinkerhoff Release Date: August 14, 2005 [EBook #16530] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RIDIN' KID FROM POWDER RIVER *** Produced by Al Haines [Frontispiece: The Ridin' Kid] THE RIDIN' KID FROM POWDER RIVER By HENRY HERBERT KNIBBS WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BOSTON AND NEW YORK. HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 1919 COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY HENRY HERBERT KNIBBS ALL RIGHTS RESERVED CONTENTS I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. YOUNG PETE FIREARMS AND NEW FORTUNES A WARNING JUSTICE A CHANGE OF BASE NEW VISTAS PLANS SOME BOOKKEEPING ROWDY—AND BLUE SMOKE "TURN HIM LOOSE!" POP ANNERSLEY'S BOY IN THE PIT GAME THE KITTY-CAT FOUR MEN THE OPEN HOLSTER A FALSE TRAIL THE BLACK SOMBRERO XIX. XX. XXI. XXII. XXIII. XXIV. XXV. XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. XXIX. XXX. XXXI. XXXII. XXXIII. XXXIV. XXXV. XXXVI. XXXVII. XXXVIII. XXXIX. XL. XLI. XLII. XLIII. XLIV. XLV. XLVI. THE SPIDER BULL MALVEY BOCA DULZURA "A DRESS—OR A RING—PERHAPS" THE DEVIL-WIND "A RIDER STOOD AT THE LAMPLIT BAR" "PLANTED—OUT THERE" THE OLLA OVER THE LINE A GAMBLE QUERY BRENT'S MISTAKE FUGITIVE EL PASO THE SPIDER'S ACCOUNT DORIS "CAUGHT IT JUST IN TIME" WHITE-EYE "CLOSE THE CASES" GETTING ACQUAINTED A PUZZLE GAME THE MAN DOWNSTAIRS "A LAND FAMILIAR" "OH, SAY TWO THOUSAND" A NEW HAT—A NEW TRAIL THE OLD TRAIL HOME FOLKS THE RIDIN' KID FROM POWDER RIVER ILLUSTRATIONS THE RIDIN' KID . . . . Colored Frontispiece Drawn by Stanley L. Wood "SAY, AIN'T WE PARDNERS?" PETE COTTON HEARD PETE'S HAND STRIKE THE BUTT OF HIS GUN AS THE HOLSTER TILTED UP "OF A TRUTH, NO!" SAID BOCA, AND SHE SWUNG THE BOTTLE Drawn by R. M. Brinkerhoff The Ridin' Kid from Powder River CHAPTER I YOUNG PETE With the inevitable pinto or calico horse in his string the horse-trader drifted toward the distant town of Concho, accompanied by a lazy cloud of dust, a slat-ribbed dog, and a knock-kneed foal that insisted on getting in the way of the wagon team. Strung out behind this indolently moving aggregation of desert adventurers plodded an indifferent lot of cayuses, their heads lowered and their eyes filled with dust. Young Pete, perched on a saddle much too large for him, hazed the tired horses with a professional "Hi! Yah! Git in there, you doggone, onnery, three-legged pole-cat you!" A gratuitous command, for the three-legged pole-cat referred to had no other ambition than to shuffle wearily along behind the wagon in the hope that somewhere ahead was good grazing, water, and chance shade. The trader was lean, rat-eyed, and of a vicious temper. Comparatively, the worst horse in his string was a gentleman. Horse-trading and whiskey go arm-in-arm, accompanied by their copartners, profanity and tobacco-chewing. In the right hand of the horse-trader is guile and in his left hand is trickery. And this squalid, slovenlybooted, and sombrero'd gentleman of the outlands lived down to and even beneath all the vicarious traditions of his kind, a pariah of the waste places, tolerated in the environs of this or that desert town chiefly because of Young Pete, who was popular, despite the fact that he bartered profanely for chuck at the stores, picketed the horses in pasturage already preempted by the natives, watered the horses where water was scarce and for local consumption only, and lied eloquently as to the qualities of his master's caviayard when a trade was in progress. For these manful services Young Pete received scant rations and much abuse. Pete had been picked up in the town of Enright, where no one seemed to have a definite record of his immediate ancestry. He was quite willing to go with the trader, his only stipulation being that he be allowed to bring along his dog, another denizen of Enright whose ancestry was as vague as were his chances of getting a square meal a day. Yet the dog, despite lean rations, suffered less than Young Pete, for the dog trusted no man. Consequently he was just out of reach when the trader wanted to kick something. Young Pete was not always so fortunate. But he was not altogether unhappy. He had responsibilities, especially when the trader was drunk and the horses needed attention. Pete learned much profanity without realizing its significance. He also learned to chew tobacco and realized its immediate significance. He mastered the art, however, and became in his own estimation a man grown—a twelve-year-old man who could swear, chew, and show horses to advantage when the trader could not, because the horses were not afraid of Young Pete. When Pete got kicked or cuffed he cursed the trader heartily. Once, after a brutal beating, Young Pete backed to the wagon, pulled the rifle from beneath the seat, and threatened to kill the trader. After that the rifle was never left loaded. In his tough little heart Pete hated his master, but he liked the life, which offered much variety and promised no little romance of a kind. Pete had barely existed for twelve years. When the trader came along with his wagon and ponies and cajoled Pete into going with him, Pete gladly turned his face toward wider horizons and the great adventure. Yet for him the great adventure was not to end in the trading of horses and drifting from town to town all his life. Old man Annersley held down a quarter-section on the Blue Mesa chiefly because he liked the country. Incidently he gleaned a living by hard work and thrift. His homestead embraced the only water for miles in any direction, water that the upland cattlemen had used from time immemorial. When Annersley fenced this water he did a most natural and necessary thing. He had gathered together a few head of cattle, some chickens, two fairly respectable horses, and enough timber to build a comfortable cabin. He lived alone, a gentle old hermit whose hand was clean to every man, and whose heart was tender to all living things despite many hard years in desert and range among men who dispensed such law as there was with a quick forefinger and an uncompromising eye. His gray hairs were honorable in that he had known no wastrel years. Nature had shaped him to a great, rugged being fitted for the simplicity of mountain life and toil. He had no argument with God and no petty dispute with man. What he found to do he did heartily. The horse-trader, camped near Concho, came to realize this. Old man Annersley was in need of a horse. One of his team had died that winter. So he unhooked the pole from the buckboard, rigged a pair of shafts, and drove to Concho, where he heard of the trader and finally located that worthy drinking at Tony's Place. Young Pete, as usual, was in camp looking after the stock. The trader accompanied Annersley to the camp. Young Pete, sniffing a customer, was immediately up and doing. Annersley inspected the horses and finally chose a horse which Young Pete roped with much swagger and unnecessary language, for the horse was gentle, and quite familiar with Young Pete's professional vocabulary. "This here animal is sound, safe, and a child could ride him," asserted Young Pete as he led the languid and underfed pony to the wagon. "He's got good action." Pete climbed to the wagon-wheel and mounted bareback. "He don't pitch, bite, kick, or balk." The horse, used to being shown, loped a few yards, turned and trotted back. "He neckreins like a cow-hoss," said Pete, "and he can turn in a ten-cent piece. You can rope from him and he'll hold anything you git your rope on." "Reckon he would," said Annersley, and his eyes twinkled. "'Specially a hitchin'rail. Git your rope on a hitchin'-rail and I reckon that hitchin'-rail would never git away from him." "He's broke right," reasserted Young Pete. "He's none of your ornery, half-broke cayuses. You ought to seen him when he was a colt! Say, 't wa'n't no time afore he could outwork and outrun any hoss in our bunch." "How old be you?" queried Annersley. "Twelve, goin' on thirteen." "Uh-huh. And the hoss?" "Oh, he's got a little age on him, but that don't hurt him none." Annersley's beard twitched. "He must 'a' been a colt for quite a spell. But I ain't lookin' for a cow-hoss. What I want is a hoss that I can work. How does he go in harness?" "Harness! Say, mister, this here hoss can pull the kingpin out of a wagon without sweatin' a hair. Hook him onto a plough and he sure can make the ole plough smoke." Annersley shook his head. "That's a mite too fast for me, son. I'd hate to have to stop at the end of every furrow and pour water on that there plough-point to keep her cool." "'Course if you're lookin' for a cheap hoss," said Young Pete, nothing abashed, "why, we got 'em. But I was showin' you the best in the string." "Don't know that I want him. What you say he was worth?" "He's worth a hundred, to any man. But we're sellin' him cheap, for cash—forty dollars." "Fifty," said the trader, "and if he ain't worth fifty, he ain't worth puttin' a halter on. Fifty is givin' him to you." "So? Then I reckon I don't want him. I wa'n't lookin' for a present. I was lookin' to buy a hoss." The trader saw a real customer slipping through his fingers. "You can put a halter on him for forty—cash." "Nope. Your pardner here said forty,"—and Annersley smiled at Young Pete. "I'll look him over ag'in for thirty." Young Pete knew that they needed money badly, a fact that the trader was apt to ignore when he was drinking. "You said I could sell him for forty, or mebby less, for cash," complained Young Pete, slipping from the pony and tying him to the wagonwheel. "You go lay down!" growled t