who discovered horse tracks along the line, and he showed them to Jim, no doubt in the interest of himself and companions.
"Fresh tracks, an' unshod horses at thet." he said. "Reckon we can lay it to some of the Cibeque outfit."
"I'm sorry I accused you fellows." he replied, regretfully. No matter what he did or said now, it was wrong.
Friday, at the lunch hour, Bud Chalfack approached Jim. "Boss, I'm talkin' fer the outfit," he announced. "We figger thet we're aboot up on this week's work, an' we want this afternoon an' tomorrow off."
"What for?" queried Jim, in surprise.
"We want to ride in today. There's a fair on in Flag, an' tomorrow's rodeo day. Most of us are entered."
"But we can't stop our fence-building to go to rodeos," protested Jim.
"Shore we can. We-all cain't see any hurry aboot the fence. An' when the Fourth comes we'll be 'way down too far to ride in. So we want to have a chanct at this rodeo."
Jim actually could not decide whether this was insubordination or the legitimate claim of a cowboy. He felt helpless. If he refused they would go, anyhow. If he gave his consent it might well be that they had him "buffaloed," as Curly had been overheard to say.
"Very well, you go on your own hook," he said to Bud.
They rode off, a gay and superb group of young riders who made his heart swell with pride and vet saddened it with the thought that he never could be received by them. Why had they not asked him to go with them? He would have been delighted. He had never seen a rodeo. But they did not want him; they were ashamed of their tenderfoot foreman.
After they had gone, Jim strode off toward the woods. He was astounded to hear Jeff Davis call.
"Boss, you oughtn't go out alone. But if you must go, take a rifle."
Jim did not answer, though he was grateful to Jeff. The cook, then, had perpetrated a hoax on the Diamond. He was not dumb. And it was a sure bet that neither was he slightly deaf, as he had claimed. He would be one on the cowboys, presently. Jim assured himself that he would not betray Jeff. He did not, however, take the latter's advice, but went on into the forest alone and unarmed.
He was beginning to feel a strange solace or help or something in the deep solitude of the woodland. It was early summer now. The ferns and wild flowers were springing up along the brown aisles. His step made not the slightest noise. He saw squirrels and birds, and, once, gray vanishing forms that might have been deer. Huge cliffs festooned with moss and vines, from which dripped water, arrested him in his walk. There was a pleasant, low sough of wind in the tree-tops, if anything could have spurred his flagging spirits, the sweetness and loneliness of this forest would have done so. But he guessed he was about beaten. And that confession, gaining audible admission into his consciousness, could not be dislodged.
The afternoon passed, and he returned to camp, there to cat supper in silence, without appearing to remember that the cook bad spoken to him.
He slept well, but in the morning the old bitterness and hopelessness assailed him again. An impulse to ride to town seized him, and straightway he acted upon it. He did not quite acknowledge to himself that this was a signal of defeat, but it would probably come out when he faced his uncle. He reached home about noon, to ascertain that his uncle was at the fair. Jim rode out there, and walked his horse. What a vacillating jackass he was! It would hurt Uncle Jim to find him a quitter. Ought he not to try again? Weary and distressed, he entered the fairground; and espying a gaily decorated booth advertising lunch, he dismounted and approached the counter. He gave an order to a girl behind.
When he was about through he happened to look up to see a pair of gold-brown eyes upon him.
And they wrenched out of him the query, "What would you do if you were about licked?"
It was when the girl had finally said, "I'd get up an' fight some more!" that Jim really looked at her
"Fresh tracks, an' unshod horses at thet." he said. "Reckon we can lay it to some of the Cibeque outfit."
"I'm sorry I accused you fellows." he replied, regretfully. No matter what he did or said now, it was wrong.
Friday, at the lunch hour, Bud Chalfack approached Jim. "Boss, I'm talkin' fer the outfit," he announced. "We figger thet we're aboot up on this week's work, an' we want this afternoon an' tomorrow off."
"What for?" queried Jim, in surprise.
"We want to ride in today. There's a fair on in Flag, an' tomorrow's rodeo day. Most of us are entered."
"But we can't stop our fence-building to go to rodeos," protested Jim.
"Shore we can. We-all cain't see any hurry aboot the fence. An' when the Fourth comes we'll be 'way down too far to ride in. So we want to have a chanct at this rodeo."
Jim actually could not decide whether this was insubordination or the legitimate claim of a cowboy. He felt helpless. If he refused they would go, anyhow. If he gave his consent it might well be that they had him "buffaloed," as Curly had been overheard to say.
"Very well, you go on your own hook," he said to Bud.
They rode off, a gay and superb group of young riders who made his heart swell with pride and vet saddened it with the thought that he never could be received by them. Why had they not asked him to go with them? He would have been delighted. He had never seen a rodeo. But they did not want him; they were ashamed of their tenderfoot foreman.
After they had gone, Jim strode off toward the woods. He was astounded to hear Jeff Davis call.
"Boss, you oughtn't go out alone. But if you must go, take a rifle."
Jim did not answer, though he was grateful to Jeff. The cook, then, had perpetrated a hoax on the Diamond. He was not dumb. And it was a sure bet that neither was he slightly deaf, as he had claimed. He would be one on the cowboys, presently. Jim assured himself that he would not betray Jeff. He did not, however, take the latter's advice, but went on into the forest alone and unarmed.
He was beginning to feel a strange solace or help or something in the deep solitude of the woodland. It was early summer now. The ferns and wild flowers were springing up along the brown aisles. His step made not the slightest noise. He saw squirrels and birds, and, once, gray vanishing forms that might have been deer. Huge cliffs festooned with moss and vines, from which dripped water, arrested him in his walk. There was a pleasant, low sough of wind in the tree-tops, if anything could have spurred his flagging spirits, the sweetness and loneliness of this forest would have done so. But he guessed he was about beaten. And that confession, gaining audible admission into his consciousness, could not be dislodged.
The afternoon passed, and he returned to camp, there to cat supper in silence, without appearing to remember that the cook bad spoken to him.
He slept well, but in the morning the old bitterness and hopelessness assailed him again. An impulse to ride to town seized him, and straightway he acted upon it. He did not quite acknowledge to himself that this was a signal of defeat, but it would probably come out when he faced his uncle. He reached home about noon, to ascertain that his uncle was at the fair. Jim rode out there, and walked his horse. What a vacillating jackass he was! It would hurt Uncle Jim to find him a quitter. Ought he not to try again? Weary and distressed, he entered the fairground; and espying a gaily decorated booth advertising lunch, he dismounted and approached the counter. He gave an order to a girl behind.
When he was about through he happened to look up to see a pair of gold-brown eyes upon him.
And they wrenched out of him the query, "What would you do if you were about licked?"
It was when the girl had finally said, "I'd get up an' fight some more!" that Jim really looked at her
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