Browning chief. [volume] (Browning, Mont.) 1941-1953, 1944-06-09
CLAIMING WIRE

wouldn't need to argue with the
agent about condition. All his con-
tract stated anyway was numbers
and an average weight of five hum
dred pounds when this beef was
dressed. Even a greenhorn could
see the animals would do that.
From the flat top of mesa north
of the river, thanking the herd and
shaping it again, he looked back
and could see the far-off arrow
heads of other herds coming down
the divide. The Open A must be
among them. Let them come.
A yelling commotion turned him.
He was up high enough now to
see all the mesa toward its rim of
hills. Hundreds Of canvas tepees
dotted it. A swarm of mounted
bucks had started race toward
him, riding cream-colored ponies
and decked out in gaudy blanket
shirts for this special occasion Wom-
en- and children were running afoot
behind them, the squaws' dresses
Tapping in dangerous way for cat
tie.
He called across to Quarternight
and they ran their horses forward to
turn that danger of stampede.
The bucks veered off at his waving
signal. The women stopped. He
judged there were a thousand In
dams in this camp.
Riding back to the point again,
he was thankful he didn't have to
see this beef issued. Hunting down
wild animals was a different mat
ter, but these longhorns had become
almost as tame as pets.
He saw the stockade little later,
a huge square fenced with poles and
wire on the flat mesa top. And soon
after that an army ambulance came
up from the east in the direction of
Ogallala. The town was out of sight
below the river bluff. An escort of
yellow-legs trotted beside the slick
vanished three-seated outfit. They
swung off out of his dust, until one
of the troopers came toward him
and he recognized Captain Wing.
There was another telegram in
town for you," Wing said. Thought
you might want it,
He nodded, turned the gray enve-
lope in his hand and waited till
Wing rode off. He ripped it open.
1t was like her other. Ten words:
ARRIVING Ogallala on Cannon Ball
nine p. m. August thirty-one. Love-"
He slapped the settling dust from it
and read it again, staring at the
last. She might be only filling the
allotted space. And yet she never
did waste her words. He felt a
quick warm stir run through his
blood and tried to hold that feeling
down. But tonight she would be
here. This was August thirty-first.
There were those afternoon hours
to pass, the dusty job of parting
out the ranch stuff from the herd
and after that feeding the beef long
horns in a thin line through the
stockade gate. He sat his horse on
one side, counting, while the post
commandant and the Indian agent
watched from the other. He could
see their eyes sweat and knew they
lost their count early. In the end
they took his word.
Long before train time he was
pacing the loose cinders of the depot
yard. At last the train arrived.
This was the Cannon Ball going
through to Salt Lake City.
He had halted near the station,
back in its shadow, and even when
he saw her he didn't move. He
hardly knew her. She was stand
ing in a sleeper's vestbule behind
the conductor. Everything she had
on was new: small hat like twist
ed ropes of dark velvet wound
around her head and light brown
suit, buttoned and small at the waist
and reaching below her shoe tops.
1t turned her into woman more
than ever. He remembered they
had come through Kansas City and
Omaha. They had long stops.