# Patches (Hawkes)/Chapter 10

THE third invasion of the Crooked Creek ranch and the one Larry had expected least of all came like a thunder-bolt out of a clear sky. It happened one afternoon late in September just after the completion of the autumn round-up. Big Bill and Manito had gone away in the morning to look over the cattle in the very northern confines of the ranch close to the timber. There was some evidence that everything was not just as it should be with the herd.
At about five o'clock Manito came galloping back to the ranch house, riderless, and the saddle was splotched with blood. Hank Brodie ran out to catch him as he galloped into the ranch house yard and a minute later he was joined by Pony Perkins.
"My God in Heaven!" exclaimed Pony, wringing his hands and turning as pale as it was possible for him to do under his sun-burned, wind-tanned skin, "my God, Bill told the truth. I couldn't believe it, I couldn't believe it."
"What's this nonsense you are talking!" exclaimed Hank Brodie, sharply, "what do you mean?"
​"I mean jest this, Hank, a terrible thing has come to us. Bill told me about it a-fore he rode away this morning. Pony, sez he, me and you has been good pals and I want to confide in you, Pony, I want to tell you something that I wouldn't tell anybody else in the world. I have a hunch I am going to get plugged today up in Aspen Draw. Don't laugh at me, Pony, but my father came to me this morning in a dream, you know he was a sky pilot, and he laid his hand on my head jest as he use'n to do when I was a kid. Willie, sez he, you're going to get plugged up in Aspen Draw today. It will be the rustlers that will do it. So make your peace with God.
"At first I thought Bill was joking, you know what a joker he was, but the more he talked the more I see he was in earnest and believed he was going to be plugged.
"Bill, sez I, if you think you are going to get plugged up there in Aspen Draw what makes you go there? Why don't you stay at home?
"Pony, sez he, there ain't no use kicking when the the time is set. The bullet that is going to get you will find you if you are fifty feet under ground. That's what old Bonaparte told one of his soldiers once. There ain't any use kicking against fate.
"I allowed Bill must be mistaken, I didn't see how it could be true, but he told me all that and more. He ​said as how he wanted us gents to bury him under the old cottonwood on the hilltop yonder. He said it was cool there in summer and sheltered in winter and there was lots of wild flowers. He said as how he didn't want any sky pilot from Wyanne or any other place shouting over his remains. He jes wanted me to say somethin' with you gents standin' around and then for us to lay him away jest like he had gone to sleep."
"Come, boys," said Hank, "let's saddle up. Pony, you and Larry come with me."
Two minutes later the three galloped out of the yard on their way to Aspen Draw. They found Big Bill just as his father had said, lying at the head of Aspen Draw. He was lying on his face just as he had pitched from Old Manito with a bullet hole in his head and his six gun lay beside him on the greensward and not a chamber was empty. There was evidence that he had come upon the rustlers unawares as they were driving a bunch of cattle into the timber. He had surprised them and they had shot him down like a dog.
The cow-punchers made a stretcher by cutting some fifteen foot poles and stretching a blanket on them. On this improvised hammock they laid Bill and carried him gently back to the ranch house. After he had been laid out in the bunk house, one of their number started for the nearest town to buy flowers. In his pocket he carried at least a month's wages for the entire ranch for ​every cow-puncher in the Crooked Creek outfit loved Old Bill. To some he was a chum and pal, to others he was a father, and to all he was a friend in times of need.
The following morning before sunup Pony, Long Tom, and Texas Jake started out to do some trailing. They returned about noon greatly excited. They had been successful beyond their fondest hopes. They had taken up the trail of the bunch of cattle that the rustlers had driven off and had followed it for five miles through very rough country, through many draws and canyons, to the headquarters of the rustlers.
That afternoon at about four o'clock the order was given for all the cow-punchers to saddle their horses and to look to their six guns.
"I am sorry, son," said Hank to his nephew, "but I am afraid you will have to come along to hold the horses. We want every man we've got for this enterprise."
"But what is the enterprise, Uncle Hank? What are you going to do?"
"We are going after those men and we are going to get them," returned his uncle.
"What will you do with them when you get them?" inquired Larry doubtfully.
"Well," said Hank, "that's more than I know. It will depend on how well I can control the boys, we ​may turn them over to the posse or it may turn out to be another necktie party."
"That has always seemed like a relic of barbarism," returned Larry. "I never could understand it. It doesn't seem just right."
"Well, son," explained his uncle, "it is this way. This state is young, only three or four years old, and our judicial systems are not well established. Many of our sheriffs are tenderfoots while all of the rustlers are gunmen and desperate characters. If we don't get them there is a chance they will get off scot free.
"Besides, the vigilance committee was the only judiciary this territory had before we became a state. It stood us in good stead then and it will now. For my part I can't see the difference between this and the judicial way of doing things in your eastern states. For instance, when the sheriff pulls the trigger that drops the murderer into eternity he is no more guilty of the murderer's death than is every citizen who votes for him."
"Well," said Larry, "if you look at it in that way perhaps there isn't so much difference."
It was a silent and determined little company of cow-punchers that rode away to get the men who had got their pal. There was very little talking among them and what there was, was carried on in low tones. As Larry looked from one to the other of his friends he was ​shocked by the stern look on the face of each. Their lips were set tight. In the eyes of each was a glint like steel. They certainly looked like men who had nerved themselves for a desperate enterprise.
After about two hours and a half of riding, just before sundown, they reached the point where Hank Brodie said they would leave their horses and go on foot. The bridle rein of each horse was attached to the one next him just as cavalry horses are held by one of their members when the rest go into battle. Only this time Larry held ten horses counting Patches.
As Hank Brodie and the little company filed away through the aisles of the forest, Larry looked after them with a strange tugging at his heart. Would they all be there when he next saw them? What would be the outcome of this desperate adventure? What a terrible life this frontier existence was when good citizens had to protect themselves against these rustlers with the might of their .45's. Hank had told Larry that it was a quarter of a mile to the rendezvous of the rustlers and it would take them at least half an hour to reach it. During this half hour Larry looked at his watch at least twenty times. Seconds were like minutes and minutes were like hours and as they dragged slowly by, Larry's nerves became keyed to a terrific pitch. He jumped with each snapping of a twig and the slightest sound set his heart to pounding. He ​was waiting and waiting and waiting for he knew not what.
Presently it came, a desultory shot from a .45 and then an agonized cry. Then more shots in quick succession like the setting off of a bunch of firecrackers. Larry thought there must have been about thirty shots, then all was still, a strange unearthly silence. Even the trees and the bushes seemed to stand at attention waiting, waiting for they knew not what.
If the half hour until the encounter had been long, the next half hour was still longer. Who would be missing when they came in sight? What had been the outcome of the fight?
Presently he heard the sound of a footstep and his uncle appeared in sight.
"It's all right, son," shouted Hank Brodie, "don't worry, we are all here and not a man hurt."
Then his old friends, Long Tom, Pony Perkins, and Texas Jake and all the rest came filing into view. It was just as Hank Brodie had said, they were all there.
"How in the world did you all escape in such a fusillade as that?" asked Larry as soon as his uncle was in speaking range.
"Simple enough," returned the head cow-puncher. "We didn't have to fire a shot."
​"What!" exclaimed Larry in surprise, "you didn't fire a shot. Why, I heard at least thirty."
"Well, son, I am happy to inform you that they were not from our guns. The posse beat us to it by about five minutes. When we arrived on the scene they had gotten the entire rustler band. One was dead, and one was dying, though two will live to die on the gibbet."
The following afternoon six stalwart cow-punchers shouldered the casket which held the remains of their old pal, Bill, and marched up to the great cottonwood on the hilltop nearby. Then they set the casket upon the greensward close to the newly dug grave. No outsiders had been invited for this funeral, for, as Long Tom and Pony said, Bill would rather it would be just a home party without any fuss and feathers.
Finally after a long silence Pony rose and opened the Bible.
"Gents," he said, "I am going to read the twenty-third Psalm, but I want to explain to you cattle men, before I read it that this here David wan't no sech sheep man as we have today. He wan't no low-down miserable sort, but an honest-to-goodness, fair and square shepherd. I guess the cattle business hadn't got to going much in those days. Cattle ain't mentioned much in the Bible.
"'The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.' You ​all know how careful we be in the springtime of the little new calves and colts, how we watch them and tend them and if they are sick we drive them to a sheltered spot and look after them. Think what it would be, gents, to have the Lord for our shepherd.
"'He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.' You folks all know how green the grass is on the upper mesa in June and you all remember bow peaceful and clear the large pools are in Crooked Creek. They are so transparent you can see the clouds in the heavens above reflected in their depths jest like they was a looking-glass. It is jest that sort of grass, gents, and jest sech pools of water as them we will set beside on the heavenly range, 'cept it will be the water of the stream of life. Don't you see, gents, how all that peaceful scene would restore your soul?
"'He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake.' We all know on this earthly way how easy it is to get in the paths of sin and what good traveling it is on the broad and smooth highway to perdition. But up there the Lord hisself is goin' to keep our feet in the paths of righteousness, not because we are good ourselves, because we are all miserable sinners, but because He is good.
"'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art ​with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.' Don't you remember, gents, away up in the big canyon where the cliffs are three hundred feet high and straight as a string, how dark it is and skeery? The sun shines down there so little that there won't nothing grow, but if you only knew the Lord was there, don't you see how that would change things and a chap would forget all about being lonesome? Well, that is the way with the Lord when we go down in the valley of the shadder. He is right there with us a-looking out for us so we can't fear no evil because God is with us. If we go to slip He reaches out his rod and staff and holds us up.
"'Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.' We all know how the Lord is always preparing a table before us and how He makes the bunch grass and the blue joint and pine grass all grow for the cattle and how He gives us little calves and colts in the spring and in the autumn, beef, and how when we blows in at the ranch house after a long day's work He anoints our heads with the oil of gladness and He fills our cup of joy so full that if we ain't careful we spill it.
"'Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.' Can't you see how on the heavenly ​range everything is beautiful with goodness and mercy about us all the time and the Lord there a-looking on, what a glorious thing it will be for us to dwell in his great corral forever?"
Then to the accompaniment of a cabinet organ that had been moved up under the old cottonwood and which was played by Mrs. Morgan, wife of the manager, they sang that beautiful hymn, "Nearer my God to Thee." The hymn that has comforted wounded soldiers on the battle fields and dying men in hospital tents as well as the rich in their palatial chambers, a hymn which applies equally to rich and poor.
As Pony glanced over at the faithful horse, a great lump filled his throat.
"For heaven's sake, somebody take him away," choked Pony, "I can't preach with him standing there."
There was a long silence but no one started to do Pony's bidding. Finally Long Tom spoke up and everyone echoed in his heart the cow-puncher's sentiments.
"Pony," he said, "I guess he has the best right of anybody here. You jest draw in your belt and take a grip on yourself and go ahead."
So with a great effort Pony proceeded with the services, bowing his head in prayer.
"Dear Heavenly Father," he began, "we all knows that we ain't fit to call You Father, sech sinners as we be, but somehow we expect you to make allowances for all our shortcomings and to call us Your sons. ​We all loved old Bill and want to say jest a few words for him. We are all hoping and praying, Lord that You won't be too hard on Bill for You know that we are all miserable sinners. There ain't no hiding our hearts from. Thee for any time You want, You can jest take off the civer of our lives and peek inside. But Bill was a good sort and we loved him and his heart was as big as a teakettle.
"He might be kind of rough sometimes because he was so big and strong, especially if he thought a fellow was doing him, but with children he was as gentle as a woman and he always reverenced women.
"He was so generous if a fellow was down on his luck he would stick his big hand down in his pocket and give him his last dollar. We all loved him, Lord, and we are hoping and praying that You got some peaceful place for him on the heavenly range where he'll have a good horse to ride and the easy steers to rope."
Then the little cabinet organ struck up the familiar cow-puncher hymn, Rounded Up In Glory, and the Crooked Creek cow-punchers sang it just as Larry had heard them that first night in the ranch house so many months before:
Chorus
Chorus
Then very reverently they lowered the casket covered with roses bought with the hard-earned money of Bill's chums into its last resting place. As it slowly sank from sight old Manito reached down his nose and nickered softly, not the eager whinney with which he had always greeted his master, but a wistful, pleading sound as though he were calling to him to come back.
Then they filled in the grave and covered it over ​as well as they could with the greensward and laid a great pile of roses upon it, the cow-punchers' last tribute to their comrade.
As they started back to the ranch house some one suggested that they had better put Manito back in the corral but Hank Brodie said, "Let him alone. Perhaps he had rather stay up here."
The last thing Hank did before he retired that night was to go outside to look for Manito. To his surprise he saw the faithful horse still standing under the broad-spreading cottonwood.
The following day he was still near the tree. No one saw him eat grass or go to the creek for water, instead he seemed to be looking for somebody or listening for something. The third day he was still keeping his vigil and the fourth and the fifth. The evening of the sixth day as the cow-punchers lounged before the ranch house talking of Old Bill, Hank Brodie said, "I think I will take the Winchester and walk up to the old cottonwood. This sight of Manito watching and waiting for his master is too much for me."
"It is a good idea," said Pony; "it is bad enough to see a human breaking his heart for those he loves, but to see a horse is still worse."
"Me, too," put in Long Tom, "go ahead, Hank."
A few minutes later Hank walked slowly toward ​the big cottonwood with his Winchester, Manito was standing about fifty yards from the tree and as Hank approached he raised his head to look at him. Then Hank raised the rifle and the watching cow-punchers listened for the short sharp report which they knew was coming, but it did not come.
As soon as the rifle butt touched Hank's shoulder old Manito threw up his head and broke into a wild gallop. He went straight as an arrow for the cottonwood. As he neared it all expected he would veer to one side, but instead he lowered his head and struck the butt of the tree fairly in the middle.
Hank Brodie ran to the spot where the faithful horse lay upon his master's grave. He raised the rifle but it was not needed. He let the butt fall to the ground and stood holding the barrel while he looked down at the horse.
Pony, Long Tom, and Larry and the rest of the cow-punchers lost no time in reaching the tree where Hank stood above the fallen horse.
"Well, gents," he said, "I didn't have to shoot. He broke his neck when he struck the tree. Killed him as though he had been struck by a stroke of lightning."
"Well, gents," put in Long Tom, "it is a comfort to know he has gone after Bill, If Bill needs a hoss on this here heavenly range Pony was telling us about, old Manito will be that hoss."