Cowboys -- Fiction; Montana -- Fiction; Ranch life -- Fiction; Western stories
With his rope free and ready for action, Big Medicine shook the loop
out, glanced around, and saw that Andy, Pink and Cal Emmett were also
ready, and, with a dexterous flip, settled the noose neatly over the
iron pin that thrust up through the end of the ridge-pole in front.
Andy's loop sank neatly over it a second later, and the two wheeled and
dashed away together, with Pink and Irish duplicating their performance
at the other end of the tent. The dingy, smoke-stained canvas swayed,
toppled, as the pegs gave way, and finally lay flat upon the prairie
fifty feet from where it had stood, leaving the inmates exposed to the
cruel stare of eight unfriendly cowpunchers. Four cowering figures they
were, with guns in their hands that shook.
“Drop them guns!” thundered Big Medicine, flipping his rope loose and
recoiling it mechanically as he plunged up to the group.
One man obeyed. One gave a squawk of terror and permitted his gun to go
off at random before he fled toward the coulee. The other two crouched
behind their bed-rolls, set their jaws doggedly and glared defiance.
Pink, Andy, Irish, Big Medicine and the Native Son slid off their horses
and made a rush at them. A rifle barked viciously, and Slim, sitting
prudently on his horse well in the rear, gave a yell and started for
home at a rapid pace.
Considering the provocation the Happy Family behaved with quite
praiseworthy self-control and leniency. They did not lynch those two
herders. They did not kill them, either by bullets, knives, or beating
to death. They took away the guns, however, and they told them with
extreme bluntness what sort of men they believed them to be. They
defined accurately their position in society at large, in that
neighborhood, and stated what would be their future fate if they
persisted in acting with so little caution and common sense.
At Andy Green's earnest behest they also wound them round and round with
ropes, before they departed, and gave them some very good advice upon
the matter of range rules and the herding of sheep, particularly of Dot
sheep.
“You're playing big luck, if you only had sense enough to know it,” Andy
pointed out to the recumbent three before they rode away. “We didn't
come over here on the warpath, and, if you hadn't got in such a darned
hurry to start something, you'd be a whole lot more comfortable right
now. We rode over to tell yuh not to start them sheep across Flying U
coulee; because, if you do, you're going to have both hands and your
hats plumb full uh trouble. It has taken some little time and fussing
to get yuh gentled down so we can talk to you, and I sure do hope yuh
remember what I'm saying.”
“Oh, we'll remember it, all right!” menaced one of the men, lifting his
head turtlewise that he might glare at the group. “And our bosses'll
remember it; you needn't worry about that none. You wait till--”
The next man to him turned his head and muttered a sentence, and the
speaker dropped his head back upon the ground, silenced.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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