We did not hear all of this speech, I am afraid, for Barney was trying to get his revolver into his pocket without attracting father's attention, and I was still struggling with a subjunctive in the speech of Ariovistus. But we were soon ready for our short walk to Otto's claim in the section adjoining ours, and slightly nearer the little town of Garfield. Otto was our nearest neighbor, an honest, hard-working German, who had given us much assistance in the difficult work of settling on our claim, and had now promised father to go with us and recover our precious but troublesome Durham bull.
It must have been ten o'clock when we clattered across the long board bridge over the Platte, and rode on through the short main street in Garfield, the newly chosen capital of Black Ash County. We reached the end of the street and were about to turn west into the wagon-trail leading to Fairlands, or Alkali, as her triumphant rival persisted in calling the town.
"What's that new shanty?" asked Barney, pointing to a small building as we rode past. It could not have been more than twelve feet wide and twenty feet long, but the gable end facing the street was masked by the hideous square front of pioneer architecture, and from the top of the unpainted pine cornice fluttered three or four cheap flags.
"T'at's t'e new court-house," explained Otto, proudly. "T'e sheriff is alreaty yesterday mit his posse to Alkali gone, und pring t'e gounty pooks pack."
"Did he bring back his posse?" asked Barney.
"Mostly," said Otto, with a grin; "some, t'ey ko on weiter."
The county-seat feud was a serious matter to the settlers in the towns concerned, but Otto, like ourselves, could see a ludicrous side to it.
"I'll wager the Alkali gang burn it down," said Barney, as we left the court-house behind us. "They're bound to do something to get even."
Otto did not reply. On we cantered over the long swells of the prairie, the night wind blowing fresh and cold in our faces, while the frost sparkled on the russet and brown grasses along the hard trail. Far off we caught the shimmer of the moonlight on a "blow-out," where the light soil showed at the crumbling edge of a bluff, and nearer at hand, on the lowlands, we could see the straggling line of telegraph poles that marked the line of the railroad.
We had ridden about half of our eight miles when Otto, who was leading, suddenly halted. Before us lay a deep draw, as the dry hollows between the ridges of the prairie are called. At the bottom of the slope, just where the trail to Hermann's ranch joined the main road, stood a group of men and horses. The latter were mostly harnessed to two elongated lumber wagons, while their drivers and one or two horsemen were gathered around a small fire of cattle chips and sage-brush. We could hear their loud talk and laughter as we stood looking down upon them. Suddenly they became silent.