The Frontier, May 1926 — page 58: what you’re looking at

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

48 “Hasn't the climate done you any good?” he asked, between puffs at his pipe, “As long as I could stay up in the foothills, like the Bowlegs country, I seemed to mend, but as soon as I come down where the alkali dust is, it’s all off.” “Wouldn't you like to go back up there?” “I’d rather be there than anywhere on earth, but I can’t live on climate and scenery. Buy my outfit, at your own price. Then go up there and make a fortune. I’d rather have that littie irrigated farm than to have any mining proposition in the territory. I'd like to try a lot of things on it that I learned in my four years in college. Botany, horticulture, and agriculture were hobbies of mine.” Clell smoked in silence. Buying horses from strangers in Arizona at that time was a doubtful enterprise, They might be good horses, but the buyer might also be called on by a party of enraged citizens, who knew but one remedy for horse stealing and carried it with them, coiled at a sad- dle horn. Marshall didn’t look like a thief, nor did he talk like a receiver of stolen goods; still, Clell was cau- tious. “T won’t buy your team,” he said, at last. “J——” “Oh, for pity sake, man!” cried Marshall, with almost a sob in his voice. “I'll take any price you say, I can’t work and I don’t want to starve. This West they tell about is a great place, and the people are all right. The proportion of good and bad is about the same as in other places—except in railroad camps— but the West is too busy to take care of cripples. It’s a fight, out here. A real, he-man’s job.” “Qh, I don’t know, I’ve seen some cripples make a pretty good fight, in my time. Using your head in a fight cuts a good deal of ice sometimes. I’m going to make a proposition to you, by which I can’t loose and you can eat. You'll know I’m all right, or I wouldn't make the offer, and I'll know you're game, if you take me up on it.” “Good enough! Let’s have it.” “T’ll go up to the bunk tent, get my dunnage, and put it in your wagon. Then we'll get a little sleep, About four o’clock, while it’s cool, we'll head out for Badger Hole. When we get there, 1’il draw my money, grubstake the outht against your wagon and team, and we'll prospect Little Bow- THE FRONTIER legs together, share and share alike. That’s fair.” “Moré than I ever hoped for!” cried Marshall, grasping Clell’s hand. “I didn’t want to be a quitter. With a partner like you, I’ll stick it out and get well yet.” So were friendships made in the old West, between men driven together by hard necessity. They might, appar- ently, have little in common, but such friendships often lasted until death. Many a time men have stood with a dead partner at their feet, fighting on, more to avenge the death of a friend, than to protect themselves. Such be- came the friendship between these two men, It was forty miles from the con- struction camp to the claim on Little Bowlegs, twenty-five miles from the camp to the end of the track at Badger Hole, and forty miles from Badger Hole to the Little Bowlegs éountry. Thus making an isosceles triangle, with a twenty-five mile base and the claim on Little Bowlegs at the apex, HREE days later, ‘1 the wagon, well stocked with sup- plies and grain for | the team, the part- | ners topped a rise, and Marshall, who was driving, stop- “Yonder,” said he, “is Bowlegs Creek. There are two of them, Big Bowlegs and Little Bowlegs. Big Bowlegs is dry, except when it rains, which isn’t often. Little Bowlegs has a flood of water, irom head springs, all the time. You see that the two streams head almost together, curve out like a parenthesis and come to- gether again. It looks like a bow- legged giant, lying on his back, his head in the mountains, his feet to- gether in the edge of the plain, and a ridge of foothills between his knees. That’s what the creeks took their name from. This trail crosses just below where the two creeks come to- gether. Half a mile below that point, the water sinks into the sand and dis- appears. Below that, Bowlegs is a dry gorge, except when there’s a waterspout, and then it’s a terror.” “Looks quiet and peaceful up there,” commented Clell. “Yes. Only the one squatter in all fhat country, far as I know, and he’s anxious to get away. There’s no water between here and the crossing on Bowlegs, so we've got to make it there tonight,” and Marshail urged the team on. Peaceful! Oh, yes. Bowlegs looked peaceful enough; but one old-timer said: “Yep, you kin grow crops awiul quick on this Arizony land, if you put water on it. Plumb ’stonishing, but more ’stonishinger how quick men kin raise hell on it—without no water a-tall !”’ It was quite dark when, winding through the thick timber that grew along the banks of Bowlegs Creek, the partners heard the welcome music of the gurgling, rushing stream. “Hullo!” said Marshall. “There's a camp-fire just this side of the creek, Wonder what’s up now ?” They made camp at a little distance from the other and started a fire. Pretty soon the other wayfarer came over to their camp. “Hello, Fiddler! Glad to see you!” cried the visitor, and extending his hand to Marshall. “Why, why—how are you, Mr. Mosby?” returned Marshall, grasping his hand. “Make yourself comfort- able, and we'll have some supper pretty soon. This is my partner, Mr, Berry.” Mosby acknowledged the introduc- tion. “Much obliged, but I done et,” he said. “I’d like to hear you fiddle some after supper, though.” Marshall and Clell went on with their cooking, but Clell was wondering just a little about this acquaintance of Marshall’s, in a country where there was supposed to be but one man. Marshall was doing some thinking himself, He was wondering how the owner of that coveted claim in Little Bowlegs came to be camping here be- low the forks, and presently he asked the question. “Ob,” said Mosby, as he squatted on his heels and smoked his old pipe, “I done sold out my claim on Little Bowlegs. Made the trade yesterday.” “To whom?” asked Marshall with a note of disappointment in his voice. “Fellow named Spradley. Said he’d been running some teams on the new railroad. Traded me a pretty good mule, to match the one I had, and ‘lowed I could get work down there.” “I’m sorry,” said Marshall. “We were On our way up to give you a trade for that claim.” “Shucks! You don’t want that lit- tle old place. I sting that feller Spradley good, when I traded it to him, They’s on’y a hundred acres of CONniCloOokS, Com Ss