The Frontier, May 1926 — page 61: what you’re looking at

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

THE WATERS OF BOWLEGS CREEK a in’ Creek, in *72 I reck’n it was, ~ quaintance, Clell stayed an hour, and and——” “Father, did you know the alfalfa was ready to cut again,” interrupted Jenny. “Reck’n it is. Now, there’s some- thing that'll show you what good dirt and water will do in this country, Mr. Berry. Four year ago we built this cabin here at the Basin Spring. Noth- ing would do Jenny but we must have a garden patch. It raises all the fruit and vegetables we want, and enough alfalfa to feed my saddle mule, Jenny’s pony, and two burros. Why, back in ’72, or maybe it was the next year, I struck a little ‘pocket over Sees “Maybe Mr. Berry would like to see the garden, father,” interrupted Jenny, again. “Yes, | expect he would,” and reach- ing for his cane, Ranse Tatum rose and hobbled to the door. “I limp pretty bad yet,” the old fel- low said, as they went toward the miniature farm, “but I’m getting bet- ter all the time. Pretty soon I will be able to make another round, I was up the range a ways last year, or maybe it was the year before, and fell and busted my leg. Minded me of the time I struck that little pocket, back nh “Father, tell Mr. Berry how many times we cut this alfalfa in a year.” — Diverted from his “little pocket’ again, Tatum told Clell about the hay, and the fruit and vegetables that Jenny grew on the little plot of ground, “Yes, sit, it is wonderful what will grow on land in this country if you give it water, but Jenny’s the farmer,” he concluded. “I’m a_ prospector. Back in °73, or maybe it was ’74, I struck a little pock £ “There’s at least another acre of good land here, Mr. Berry,” said Jenny, again preventing her father from explaining about that little pocket, “but I can’t get the water on it. It looks lower than the other, but the water won’t run that way.” “Well, now I haven’t figured, but if I had my instrument here I could fix it for you,” Clell said. “Oh, could you?” “Yes'm. <All you have to do is find out which way is down-hill, and let the water run that way. If you want, [ll bring up my instrument and figure it for you.” “I'd be so glad! - That would make me quite a farm.” That was the beginning of their ac- at Jenny’s invitation promised to come the next day and show her which way was down-hill, Old Ranse Tatum had tried a dozen times to tell about that little pocket on the west prong of Hell Roarin’ Creek, but every time Jenny would interrupt him. The facts were that old Ranse had been out on a prospecting trip three years before. Jenny had been with him. The old fellow had fallen off a bluff and had broken about everything that was breakable, knock- ing a dent in his head for good meas- ure. Throughout his fight back to life, he muttered about that little pocket on west prong. He got up again, but was crippled for life, and now he only sat by the window looking at his pieces of quartz and muttering to himself about this pocket. Perfectly rational when roused out of his reverie, but when he had talked a few moments intelli- gently he would slip a cog and go back to that pocket. Clell looked again at the mammoth spring and speculated on how much, or rather how little, labor would be required to turn a sufficient amount of that great volume of water into his valley, to irrigate all the farm land he and his partner had. It was the heart of a primitive wilderness. Doubtless this was the first time a trained eye ever had studied the possibilities of the spring as an irrigation project. Reaching the bed of the gorge by a perilous climb, Clell gave one hurried glance at the beautiful silver rope, which he meant to enlarge until he could climb by it to fortune, and, sub- consciously he was thinking of a won- derful woman. “Clell Berry,” he muttered to him- self, “you’re just about the luckiest man in the world. Lucky in coming to Arizona, in the first place; lucky in meeting up with John Marshall; lucky that Buck Spradley beat you to the claim on Little Bowlegs; lucky that you bought out both of Riley’s claims, and—just luck every way, that’s all,” and he whistled a merry tune as he hurried on down the gorge. “] T WAS almost sun- set when he got in sight of the cabin. He could see only one of the horses and Marshall was not in sight. He sensed something wrong and quickened his pace. He ‘ POS MANORS MU A ol found his partner bound and gagged, on the dirt floor of the cabin. There was a frightful lump on his head, where he had been struck a heavy blow, and he was groaning with pain. “Who did this!” demanded Clell. “I don’t know,” replied Marshall weakly. “After you left, I lay down to take a little nap. When I woke, or rather when I came to, I was bound and gagged and my head was burst- ing.” Clell forgot the wonderful story of luck that he was going to tell his part- ner. The first thought that came to his mind, as he removed the gag and unbound Marshall’s hands even be- fore Marshall had spoken, was that Buck Spradley was at the bottom of this outrage. Clell, like most good- natured, fair-minded men, was a ter- ror when he was mad, and he was good and mad now. There was plenty of room in that country for the few people in it, without crowding, and he didn’t mean to be crowded. Buck opradley had found out, in some way, and had come into the Bowlegs coun- try to beat him out of a claim. He had succeeded and ought to be satis- fied, As soon as Marshall was a little better, Clell dug into a pack and got out an old Colt’s .45. He buckled it on, grimly. “Seems like you have to fight for what you get in this country, same as anywhere else,” he said. “I didn’t want to fight, but if nothing else will do, I’m in.” Marshall tottered over to a battered old grip, and hauled out an old hog- leg. He buckled it on, dragged it from the holster, and spun the cylin- der awkwardly. It was a piece of comedy to watch him, and Clell laughed outright. “Oh, I know it’s a joke, Clell, but —but—I’ll do my best to shoot the next fellow that—oh, hell! I’m not fit for the frontier. Let’s hitch up and get out of here.” “Hitch up what? Didn’t you know one of the horses was gone?” "ON sn “Well, it’s true, and I’ve been won- dering why they didn’t take both. Looks like——” “I know why. Nobody on earth but me can catch Old Seelum, when he’s turned loose, I turned them loose to graze.” “Well, here we are. I might put the saddle on Seelum, and try to track the thief down, but it would be foolish. I don’t know the country. _ The thief EORNICO©OKS. COMM