Browning chief. [volume] (Browning, Mont.) 1941-1953, 1944-03-03
CHAPTER v


followed the galloping animal in to
the nearest fire, where Splann
caught his forelegs in loop and
threw him expertly. This huge
bearded fellow was a COW hand all
right, Lew admitted. But there was
something else. Watching, while the
hot Cross T iron was run on the
steers shoulder, he felt again the
strain of Clay Manning's unnatural
silence, sitting his horse there close
saying nothing.
He turned his gaze up the valley
and saw Tom Arnold coming from
the creek-bottom trees and paused
then with his eyes fixed upon the
pole fences of the dipping chute,
like two wide-open arms reaching
out for an eighth of a mile.
Then Clay Manning said idly,
what took you to the rims this
morning."
1.-THE view" he said, his eyes still
specializing on the dipping chutes.
always did like it from up there"
"That all?" Clay's voice was
roughly edged. "I'd like to know"
CLAY" he said, you've got moth
ing against me. You don't like my
coming back to be trail boss for
Tom, sure. But it's only because
trailing has been my business these
years. You'll still be Toms foreman
and segundo on this trip. If the
Cross T ever gets north, Clay, we'll
have to work together. That's
fact"
He saw his plea have a strange
effect in the blue eyes, troubling
them with bounded look. And it
seemed to bring Clay out into the
open for an instant. Bitterly he said,
Lew, there's more happened here
than you know. I can't make any
promises" He closed his mouth on
that.
"All right" Lew accepted.
There's something do know. From
the rims I could see herds going
north while we're not even ready.
There's a faster way to do this
branding if you want to try. Trick
saw worked last year"
"How's that?"
use the dipping chute. Roping's
too slow. We could run this whole
bunch through by dark tonight"
Ed Splann had tipped his loop
free from the branded steer and had
turned toward them. He brought
his horse to a stop close beside
Clay's in time to hear this last talk.
He leaned forward in his saddle.
What kind of schoolboy game is
that? What's the matter, Burnet,
can't you use a rope?"
Lew looked at him steadily, say
ing nothing. Somehow in this man
he saw trouble center on the Cross
T. There was surly sureness about
him, more than the arrogance of
brute strength. He wondered again
why Clay would tolerate his sort in
the crew.
Then, as if made more bold and
sure by that silence, Splann goaded,
Leave him try his schoolboy trick!
Come on, Clay"
Suddenly this early mornings
calm decision to keep things run
ming without trouble was gone. He
understood that he was being ribbed
into fight. 1t was what Splann
wanted, a showdown 1t might as
well come now as later.
He swung his horse to get Clay
from between them. But in that
same instant, incredibly fast, a gun
was in the mans right fist. There
was no smokiness in his eyes now.
They were only a cold, hard gray,
unblinking.
Nov you," he began, but Clay's
quick warning cut him off.
Careful, Ed! Somebody's COM
ing!"
1t was Tom Arnold pounding to-
ward them, his horse flung forward
in rush that swept along a dust
cloud when he stopped. "What the
hell's going on here?" He glared at
Splann's drawn gun. With a hot
violence unlike him in a crisis he
blazed, "Clay, is this all you've got
to do?" He swung his angry stare.
Lew, what's wrong?"
Little argument, Tom. Nothing
much"
"Well! What about?"
Difference of opinion mostly.
Had an idea we could hurry up this
branding by using your dipping
chute. You build your fires along
side, push the animals through and
run the iron on them as they pass.
I've seen it work"
Arnold considered it. the anger 90.