FARMER BROOM
We must now return to Captain Broom and his escort, whom we left sitting on a hill covered with trees near the Sebastian rancho. Old Pete's story had been interrupted by the skipper's warning,—"Somebody is coming our way."
There was no question about that, they could hear the someone coming towards the hill whistling cheerfully. Then the form of a man could be seen, coming up the slope of the elevation.
"I wonder where those altogether blessed cows are," he was heard saying in Spanish, but of course, this is a free and not a literal translation.
"They are generally hiding under these trees," he continued. The sailors kept absolutely still and old Pete covered the bowl of his pipe with his hand so that its light might not discover them.
"Carambe!" cried the Mexican as he stopped about three feet from the recumbent Captain, "I fear my good master's cows have been smoking, not like nice Mexican cows, a cigarette, but a pipe like a vile gringo. Come, get up, you black brute," noticing the big bulk of the Captain for the first time, and he hauled off and gave the skipper a hearty kick on the haunch.
Never was there a more surprised greaser in the whole ungainly length of California for this apparently gentle cow that he kicked, (not for the first time either) suddenly turned and grabbed him with a powerful hand before he could yell, though he was so frightened that he probably could not utter a squeak. Another hand got him by the throat.
"Take me for a cow, did you, you bespangled Manuello?" roared the Captain, and he waved the aforesaid Manuello about in his great grip as though he had been a rag.
"No use killing the beggar, Captain," said the mate. "Maybe he can tell us something." The Captain let the Mexican drop and he lay on the ground perfectly inert.
"He won't be able to say much right away," said the Skipper.
It was now getting light, the first signs of dawn showing above the mountains. As the darkness was drawn away, they could see their position more clearly and there came the sounds of the morning from the direction of the ranch houses. The barking of dogs, the crowing of roosters, and the call of human voices.
"I guess, lads, it's about time for us to have something to eat," said the Captain, "because we have got to do some tall climbing today and I want to get an early start."
An expression of disgust showed itself on old Pete's face at the idea of more walking, which the Captain was quick to note.
"How would you like to stay here, Old Bones, and look after Manuello?" said the skipper. But Pete shook his head.
"I'll stay by the ship, Cap'n," said the old fellow stoutly.
"Durn my buttons," said the Captain, whose oaths were as mild as his actions were vicious, "if you ain't a good old barnacle, Pete. I wouldn't think of leaving you in such company as this," and he gave the prostrate Mexican a shove with his foot. Manuello looked up at the Captain with an evil eye and a muttered curse.
This roused the fury of Captain Broom and he held him off from the ground as if he had been a rat, his jaws working ominously and a look in his eyes that made the Mexican shrivel.
Nothing was said, not even by the Skipper, and the others watched him fascinated as he glared at his victim, and even the iron composure of the saturnine mate seemed to be moved partially aside. The Mexican began to whimper and moan as his eyes shifted to avoid the terrible ones of the Captain. He was not suffering any special violence, but a strange tremor filled the soul of the Mexican, in the grip of the grizzled giant.
As the greaser began to cry, the Captain gave a roar of laughter and threw him aside upon the ground, about all the humanity he had shriveled out of him. He lay there absolutely without any power of motion in his body.
Just then the crew of the Sea Eagle became aware of the fact that a horned animal with big brown eyes was looking at them. All the farmer in the nature of Captain Broom came to the surface.
"By Gum," he exclaimed, "if here ain't a bovine cow looking at us. I ain't milked one for forty years, but I'm not afeard to try. 'Member, Pete, when we used to milk the cows back in old Connecticut on the farm. After working in the hay all day, I'd go down in the side hill pasture, that was so steep that you had to hold on with your toes and your teeth to keep from sliding down to the brook."
"You bring it back to me just like it was a living picture," said Pete, his hard face softening under the gentle showers of memory.
"Then I'd drive the black and white one that was breechy, and the red mooley, the yaller and white that gave the richest milk. I'd drive them into the stanchions in the old barn, with the ground floor stoned up on the side, where it was sunk into the hill."
"But it was winter, Cap'n," said Pete, "that it was interesting doing the chores," and he blew reminiscently on his fingers, "snow two feet on the level and the sun a piece of blue ice in the sky. A condemned sight better place than Californey, where you don't feel no more alive than a enbalmed corpse."
The Captain began now a series of manœuvres to get within range of one of the cows so that they might have fresh milk for breakfast. He managed it finally, and he certainly looked like a peaceful old farmer as with his gray head against a fat red cow's flank, he milked into a large tin cup. Pete selected a black mooley and soothed by the man's persuasive manner, she consented finally to give down a thin blue stream. But the saturnine mate was less successful as he knew much more about navigating a ship than he did about cows.
Finally after much awkward manœuvring, he got a cow cornered and began operations upon the left side with the result that the cow landed upon him with her hoof and sent him sprawling on his back to the great delight of the Captain.
"Hurt bad, Bill?" inquired the Skipper with mock sympathy, "I'm afeard that you will never make a farmer."
"I never calkerlated to," replied the mate. "It ain't my line of business."
"Don't tell me that," said the Captain, "I can see that for myself. Come up here and I'll give you a drink."
They had scarcely finished their simple breakfast when Jack Cales gave a sudden alarm.
"Cap'n," he cried, "I see two men legging it our way. They are making straight for the hill."
"I guess they are coming to see why Manuello doesn't show up with the cows," remarked the Captain, "we don't want to stir up this hen roost as we've got other chicken to fry. So we'll git."
"Take the greaser?" inquired Jack.
"You and the mate fetch him," said the Captain.
Just as the two men were mounting the hill, the Captain and his crew made a swift sneak down the opposite slope, and were soon making their way through the bush towards the foot-hills. In a minute they heard the cries of the two men as they drove the herd of cows towards the home ranch for the morning milking. The sun had now risen above the eastern range just in front of them and was blazing down upon the plain and the sea beyond. There was something exhilarating in the air in spite of the heat.
"We don't need the company of that greaser any further," said Captain Broom, after they had made some headway up a canyon back of the ranch buildings. So they took some rope grass, tough as manilla, and tied him firmly, and, after having gagged him, they left him to be found later by some of his countrymen.
Then they toiled steadily up the trail of the canyon, until about noon they reached a pocket in the canyon where there was a pool of clear water fed by an invisible spring. Coming to meet them were four boys riding up the trail on the other side of the range.