The Man from Bar 20: A Story of the Cow Country

by Clarence Edward Mulford

His senses were keyed to their highest pitch of efficiency and at times he concentrated on one of them at the expense of the others. While he used his eyes constantly, it was in his ears that he placed the most confidence. The man who does the moving about is at a disadvantage, which he keenly realized.

He did not mind so much being away from the cabin if he could make it appear to be innocent; and to that end he moved steadily toward the Hastings trail. His horse was not to be seen, and that worried him. It could have strayed, for he had neither picketed nor hobbled it, but he feared that it had not strayed.

Passing his old camp site he heard a noise, and flattened himself on the ground. It came again and from the edge of the clearing where he had spent his first few nights in the valley. Anyone foolish enough to make a noise, under the circumstances, was foolish enough to be stalked by any man who had good sense; and he proceeded to do the stalking.

It took him quite a while to get around back of the place where his tent had stood, but when he finally got there he was repaid for his time and trouble. It was not the direction from which he would be expected, if the rustlers' suspicions were aroused; and there was a certain twisting path through the brush which was devoid of twigs and sticks.

Foot by foot he crept forward until he could see the big bowlder in the clearing, and then he paused as the sound was heard again, and he tried to classify it. A twig snapped, and then another sound made him nod quickly. It was a horse; that was certain; but could it be Pepper? While he pondered and listened to the slow, interrupted steps, a dark shape moved out from the deep shadows of the trees, pricked its ears, stretched out its head toward him, nickered softly and slowly advanced.

He stared in amazement, for while it was Pepper, the saddle was on her back; and when he had left the cabin the saddle was inside. But, was it, though? In a moment his mind had marshaled in review before him all his acts of the previous day; all but one. Had he unsaddled the horse when he had ridden back from the upper end of his little valley? Of course he had; why should he have neglected to do such a thing as that? But, perhaps he hadn't. He swore under his breath and backed away, for the horse was coming nearer all the time. It was his saddle; he could tell that easily. And then all of his doubts cleared in a flash. When he had ridden in from the pasture he had started to remove the saddle, but when he thought of his boiling pots he had pushed the end of the cinch strap back under the little holding strap, and he had not shoved it home. Right now that cinch end should be sticking out in a loop. Craning his neck and shifting silently he managed to see it; and a chuckle escaped from him. He whistled softly, so softly that anyone a hundred feet away could not have heard it; but the horse heard it and nickered again. What fools these men were! Did her master think that she had to hear a whistle to know that he was about, when the wind was right and he was so close?

Pepper was a well-trained, intelligent animal, and Johnny knew it better than anyone else; and Pepper had a strong aversion to strangers, which he also knew; and knowing that, he was instantly assured that there were no strangers in the immediate vicinity because Pepper was thoroughly at her ease. The black head thrust forward into his face and the bared teeth snapped at him, whereupon he playfully cuffed the velvety nozzle. Pepper forthwith swung her head suddenly and knocked off her master's hat, and pretended to be in a fine rage.

"You old coyote!" chuckled Johnny, cuffing her again. "Cussed if you ain't th' most no-account old fool I ever saw. But I ought to be kicked from here to Hastings an' back again for leavin' that saddle on you all afternoon an' night. Will some sugar square it? Hey! Get out of my pocket—it's in th' shack," he laughed. And there was a note in his laughter that a horse of Pepper's intelligence might easily understand.

Mounting, he rode across the clearing, and when he reached the water course he followed it to his cabin. Pepper had given him the card he needed now for, in the saddle and careless of being seen, which was his best play, dangerous as it might be, he was riding home from an evening spent in Hastings. As to answering any questions about the dangling rope, he either would inform the curious that it was none of their business, or lie; and whether the lie would be a humorous exaggeration which could not possibly be believed, or adroit, plausible, and convincing would be a matter of mood.

Whistling softly he rode across the little plateau, stripped the saddle from Pepper, who waited until he returned with some sugar, and lit the lantern. Pepper was not the only member of that partnership whose nose was useful; and the faint odor of a vile, frontier cigar had lingered after its possessor had departed.