At the bunkhouse Dud’s story was a great success. He had a knack of drawling out his climaxes with humorous effect.
“An’ when I laid that red-hot skillet on the nearest area of Rumpty-Tumpty’s geography he ce’tainly went up into the roof like he’d been fired out of a rocket. When he lit—gentlemen, when he lit he was the most restless Ute in western Colorado. He milled around the corral considerable. I got a kinda notion he’d sorta soured on the funny-boy business. Anyhow, he didn’t cotton to my style o’ humor. Different with old Colorow an’ the others. They liked to ’a’ hollered their fool haids off at the gent I’d put the new Slash Lazy D brand on. Then they did one o’ them ‘Wow-wow-wow’ dances round Rumpty-Tumpty, who was still smokin’ like he’d set fire to the cabin.”
Cowpunchers are a paradox. They have the wisdom of the ages, yet they are only grown-up children. Now they filled the night with mirth. Hawks lay down on his bunk and kicked his feet into the air joyfully. Reeves fell upon Dud and beat him with profane gayety. Big Bill waltzed him over the floor, regardless of his good-humored protest.
“Tell us some more, Dud,” demanded the cook. “Did yore friend Rumpty put hisse’f out by sittin’ in a snowbank?”
“I don’t rightly recollect. Me ’n’ Bob here was elected to lead the grand march an’ we had to leave Rumpty-Tumpty be his own fire department. But I did notice how tender he lowered himself to the back of his hawse when they lit out in the mawnin’.”
Bob saw that Hollister made the whole affair one huge joke. He did not mention that there had been any chance of a tragic termination to the adventure. Nor did the other punchers refer to that, though they knew the strained relations between the whites and the Utes. Riding for a dogie outfit was a hard life, but one could always get a laugh out of it somehow. The philosophy of the range is to grin and bear it.
A few days later Bob rode into town with a pack-horse at heel. He was to bring back some supplies for the ranch. Harshaw had chosen him to go because he wanted to buy some things for himself. These would be charged against the Slash Lazy D account at Platt & Fortner’s store. Bob would settle for them with the boss when his pay-check came due.
It was a warm sunny day with a touch of summer still in the air. The blue stem and the bunch grass were dry. Sage and greasewood had taken on the bare look of winter. But the pines were still green and the birds singing.
It was an ordeal for Bob to face Bear Cat. June was better, he had heard. But it was not his fault she had not died of the experience endured. He could expect no friendliness in the town. The best he could hope for was that it would let him alone.
He went straight to the office of Blister Haines. The justice took his fat legs down from the desk and waved him to a chair.