15 Western Short Stories — page 22: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

22 as he dug it out. He decided that what he needed was a long, stout stick, to use in shoving the rope under the cow’s body, so he worked back to dry land and cut himself one froma cedar. Before he stepped back into the bog, he threw a glance at the rest- ing catile. The bunch looked smaller, and Jeff had a momentary fright. Still, he couldn’t see any straying off, and finally he decided that it was be- cause so many of them were lying down under the trees. 6 ese STICK idea was a good one. Jeff got his rope worked down alongside the cow at last, then fished around for it until he snagged it on the other side and drew it up where he could get his hands on it. By this time Jeff was so wrapped up in the job of extricating the cow that he forgot to even look at his charges. He waded through the muck, to the bank, paying out the rope behind him. He tied the rope to the saddle horn be- cause he knew nothing about taking dallies, as a cowboy would have done. Then he forced his horse to put weight on the rope. . After a few trials he began to get the knack of it, and, looking back, he was able to see that they were making definite progress, but it was mighty slow work. Jeff lost track of the times his awkward hitch came loose, making it necessary for him to get down and wade back out to the cow, but the time came when she lay, mudcaked and inert, at the edge of the bog. He took off the rope and tried to get her to her feet, but her dead weight was more than he could handle and she was too weak to help herself. Then Jeff became aware of two things. His cattle were nowhere in sight, and Tim Black was riding over the rise toward the tank. Black rode up in a quick gallop. In silence he looked at Jeff, mud from head to foot. He looked at the prostrate cow, all ribs and horns and white eyeballs. The foreman’s face settled into harsh lines and Jeff saw that a showdown was at hand, “Cattle got away, huh?” “I saved this one.” Excuses were useless so Jeff's tone was as curt as Black's. WESTERN SHORT STORIES Tim Black’s face turned a dark, un- healthy red. He got off his horse. “Why, you poor fool! If I had a ten- year-old kid as sorry as you, I’d drowned him—you gopher around in that mud two hours, dragging out an old cow’ that’s going to die anyway— look at her. And while you’re doing it, you let fifty, sixty head get away.” A slow, suffocating pressure was building up inside Jeff. He was muddy and tired. He realized now, with a sort of shame, that he had counted on his rescuing the cow to help him out with Lawton. But the cow would die. Black’s words, and his disgusted look, showed Jeff that he had merely been an incompetent fool, as the foreman had said. Then almost as though she knew the trouble Jeff was in, and wanted to help him, the old cow put forth a mighty effort, and, at the second try, stood, weak and shaky, but undeniably on her own four legs. Suddenly Jeff felt better. He grinned at the burly foreman. “Maybe they ain't gone far. Why don’t you and me go after them, instead of chewing the rag this way?” It was as though Jeff’s words had released a spring in the other man. Black flung his reins down. ‘“Weaver—you’re fired.” Jeff said, “Lawton hired me.” “And I’m firing you. As of right now. Can you get that through your thick head, or will I have to work you over first?” A SMALL voice inside Jeff coun- -seled caution, but for once Jeff disregarded it. For once he was going to have the luxury of standing up, looking a boss in the eye and telling him how the hog ate the cabbage. He had nothing to lose now. “Black, I ain’t a man that likes to fight. I’ve tried to get along with you, and you’ve took every chance to make me look bad with Lawton. If you're thinking of working me over, don’t let anything stand in your way— personally, I don’t think you’ve got the tools.” . Then Black ran at Jeff, head down, and the air was full of hard fists. Most of them found a mark, for Jeff had no science. He fought by instinct, lashing out with his big-knuckled fists, and comicbooks Coin