Historical fiction; Ranch life -- Fiction; Western stories
"Well, I'm glad to have such near neighbors," affably said the stranger,
as he dismounted before the tent. "Holding down a homestead, I suppose?"
Only Joel and Forrest were at home. "Not exactly," replied the latter;
"this is headquarters ranch of Wells Brothers; range from the trail
crossing on Beaver to the headwaters of the same. On the trail with
cattle, I reckon?"
"Just grazing along until a range can be secured," replied the man.
"I've found a splendid one only a few miles up the creek--fine grove of
timber and living springs. If the range suits my partner, we'll move in
within a few days and take possession."
"Notice any cattle as you came down the creek?" politely inquired
Forrest.
"Just a few here and there. They look like strays; must have escaped
from some trail herd. If we decide to locate above, I'll have them all
rounded up and pushed down the creek."
Joel scented danger as a cub wolf scents blood. He crossed the arbor and
took up a position behind Forrest's chair. The latter was a picture of
contentment, smiling at the assurance of his caller, and qualifying his
remarks with rare irony.
"Well, since you expect to be our neighbor, better unsaddle and stay for
dinner," urged Forrest. "Let's get acquainted--at least, come to some
friendly understanding."
"No, thank you. My partner is waiting my return to the herd, and will be
anxious for my report on the range above. If possible, we don't care to
locate any farther north."
"You ought to have secured your range before you bought your cattle. You
seem to have the cart before the horse," observed the wounded man.
"Oh," said the novice, with a sweeping gesture, "there's plenty of
unclaimed range. There's ample grass and water on this creek to graze
five thousand cattle."
"Wells Brothers estimate that the range, tributary to the Beaver, will
carry ten thousand head the year round," replied Forrest, languidly
indifferent.
"Who are Wells Brothers?" inquired the newcomer.
Forrest turned to the stranger as if informing a child. "You have the
name correct," said he. "The brothers took this range some time ago, and
those cattle that you met up the creek are theirs. Before you round up
any cattle and drive them out, you had better look into the situation
thoroughly. You surely know and respect range customs."
"Well," said the stranger explosively,--they mustn't expect to hold the
whole country with a handful of cattle."
"They only took the range recently, and are acquiring cattle as fast as
possible," politely replied Forrest.
"They can't hold any more country than they can occupy," authoritatively
asserted the novice. "All we want is a range for a thousand cows, and
I've decided on that hackberry grove as headquarters."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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