The Texican

"Sixty!" pleaded Crit.

"I want my money in my hand at the end of every month," added Pecos, and then there was a silence.

"All right," grumbled the cowman, at last, "but you understand I expect something to show for all that money. Now I want you to go around the corner thar like you was mad, 'n' saddle up and ride on, like you was goin' to Upton's. Then when it comes night I want you to ride back and camp out there by that big ironwood over against the mesa. As soon as me and the boys are out of sight in the mornin' my Mexican, Joe Garcia, will come out to you with some grub and take you over to Carrizo Springs, and I want you to stay there as long as I keep driftin' U cows in over the Peaks. Now look – here's your job – I want you to burn every one of them Upton cows over into a Wine-glass" – he made the figure in the sand – "and run it on the calves. Savvy? Well, git, then, and remember what I said about lookin' mad – I don't want my punchers to git onto this!"

CHAPTER III

THE DOUBLE CROSS

A MONTH passed, drearily; and while Ike Crittenden and his punchers gathered U cows on one side of the Four Peaks and shoved them over the summit Pecos Dalhart roped them as they came in to Carrizo Springs for water and doctored over their brands. The boys were following in the wake of Upton's round-up and the brands on the calves were freshly made and therefore easy to change, but it called for all of Pecos's professional skill to alter the cow brands to match. In order not to cause adverse comment it is necessary that the cow and calf shall show the same mark and since the mother's brand was always old and peeled Pecos called into requisition a square of wet gunny-sack or blanket to help give the antique effect. Spreading this over the old U he retraced the letter through it with a red-hot iron and then extended the brand downward until it formed a neat Wine-glass (), scalded rather than seared into the hair. Such a brand would never look fresh or peel, though it might grow dim with years, and after working the ear-marks over on cow and calf the transformation was complete. But while the results of his labor was a fine little bunch of Wine-glass cows hanging around Carrizo Springs, to Pecos himself, tying a knot in a buckskin string to count off each weary day, the month seemed interminable.

There was a sound of music in the store as he rode into Verde Crossing and he spurred forward, eager for the sight of a human face and a chance to sit down and talk. But at the thud of hoofs and the chink of spurs Angevine Thorne brought his song to an untimely close and, as Pecos dismounted, Marcelina Garcia slipped out through the door and started towards home, favoring him in passing with a haughty stare.

"Good-morning, Mex!" he exclaimed, bowing and touching his heart in an excess of gallantry, "fine large day, ain't it?"

"Gringo!" shrilled Marcelina, flaunting her dark hair, "Pendejo Texano! Ahhr!" She shuddered and thrust out her tongue defiantly, but as the "fool Texan" only laughed and clattered into the store she paused and edged back towards the door for further observations.

"W'y, hello, Angy!" cried Pecos, racking jovially up to the bar, "how's the champeen? Sober as a judge, hey? Well, gimme another shot of that snake-pisen and if it don't kill me I may swear off too, jest to be sociable! Say, what does 'pendayho' mean?" He glanced roguishly back towards the door, where he knew Marcelina was listening, and laughed when he got the translation.

"Dam' fool, hey? Well, I thought it was something like that – kinder p'lite and lady-like, you know. Marcelina hung that on me as I come in, but I called her a Mex and I'll stand by it. Where's Old Crit?"

Angevine Thorne drew himself up and regarded the cowboy with grave displeasure.

"Mr. Crittenden is out riding," he said, "and I'll thank you not to refer to the nativity of my friend, Miss Garcia."

"Certainly not – to be sure!" protested Pecos Dalhart. "If you will jest kindly give me an introduction to the young lady I'll – "

"See you in hell first," broke in Angy, with asperity. "Where you been all the time?"

"Ramblin' around, ramblin' around," answered Pecos, waving his hand vaguely. "What's the chances for a little music and song to while the time away? I'm lonely as a dog."

"Joe Garcia tells me he's been packin' grub out to you at Carrizo – what you been doin' in that God-forsaken hole?"

"Yore friend Joe talks too much," observed Pecos, briefly, "and I reckon you tell everything you know, don't you? Well and good, then, I'll keep you out of trouble with the Boss by listenin' to what you know already. Can you sing the 'Ranger,' or 'California Joe'? No? Can't even sing 'Kansas,' can you? Well, it's too bad about you, but I'm going to show you that they's another canary bird on the Verde, and he can sure sing." With this declaration Pecos leaned back against the bar, squared his shoulders, and in a voice which had many a time carolled to a thousand head of cattle burst into a boastful song.

"Ooh, I can take the wildest bronco
Of the wild and woolly West;
I can back him, I can ride him,
Let him do his level best.
I can handle any creature
Ever wore a coat of hair,
And I had a lively tussle
With a tarnal grizzly bear."

He glanced slyly towards the door, threw out his chest, and essayed once more to attract the attention of his girl, if she was anywhere within a mile.

"Ooh, I can rope and tie a long-horn,
Of the wildest Texas brand,
And in any disagreement,
I can play a leading hand.
I – "

A dark mass of hair shading a pair of eyes as black and inquisitive as a chipmunk's appeared suddenly in the vacant square of the doorway and instantly the bold cowboy stopped his song.

"Good-morning, Miss Garcia," he said, bowing low, "won't you come in – now, Angy, do your duty or I'll beat you to death!" At this hasty aside Angevine Thorne did the honors, though with a bad grace.

"Marcelina, this is Mr. Dalhart – you better go home now, your mother's callin' you."

"I will not shake hands with a Texano!" pronounced Marcelina, stepping into the open and folding her arms disdainfully.

"Come on in then and hear the music," suggested Pecos, peaceably.

"Pah! The Tehannos sing like coyotes!" cried Marcelina, twisting up her lips in derision. "They are bad, bad men —mi madre say so. No, I go home – and when you are gone Babe will sing sweet moosic for me." She bowed, with a little smile for Babe, and glided through the doorway; and though he lingered about until Old Crit came in, Pecos Dalhart failed to catch another glimpse of this new queen of his heart.

It was dusk when Crittenden rode into camp, and at sight of Pecos Dalhart sitting by the fire the cowman's drawn face, pinched by hunger and hard riding, puckered up into a knot.

"What you doin' down here?" he demanded, when he had beckoned him to one side.

"Come down for my pay," responded the cowboy, briefly.

"Your pay," fumed Crittenden, "your pay! What do you need with money up at Carrizo? Say, have you been gittin' many?" he whispered, eagerly. "Have they been comin' in on you?"

"Sure thing. Branded forty-two cows, thirty calves, and sixteen twos. But how about it – do I draw?"

"Only thirty calves! W'y, what in the world have you been doin'? I could pick up that many mavericks on the open range. You must've been layin' down under a tree!"

"That's right," agreed Pecos, "and talkin' to myse'f, I was that lonely. But if you'll kindly fork over that eighty that's comin' to me we'll call it square, all the same – I only branded about a thousand dollars' worth of cows for you."

"Eighty dollars!" cried Old Crit. "W'y, I never agreed to nothin' like that – I said I'd give you sixty. But I'll tell you what I'll do," he added, quickly, "I'll make it eighty if you'll go up there for another month."

"After I git my first month's pay they will be time to discuss that," replied Pecos Dalhart, and after a thousand protestations the cowman finally went down into his overalls and produced the money.

"Now what about next month?" he demanded, sharply.

"Nope," said Pecos, pocketing his eighty dollars, "too lonely – too much trouble collectin' my pay – don't like the job."

"Give you eighty dollars," urged Crit, "that's a heap o' money for one month."

"Nope, this'll last me a while – so long." He started toward the corral but Crittenden caught him by the arm instantly.

"Here, wait a minute," he rasped, "what's the matter with you anyhow? I'm ridin' early and late on my round-up and dependin' on you to finish this job up! You ain't goin' to quit me right in the middle of it, are you?"

"That's what," returned Pecos. "I ain't so particular about brandin' a maverick once in a while – every cowman does that – but this idee of stealin' from a man you never saw goes agin' me. I git to thinkin' about it, an' it ain't right!"

"Aw, sho, sho, boy," protested Crittenden, "you don't want to mind a little thing like that – I thought you was a man with nerve. Now here, I can't stop to go out there now and I want to git that work finished up – I'll give you eight-y-five dol-lars to stay another month! This man Upton is the biggest cow-thief in the country," he went on, as Pecos shook his head, "it ain't stealin' to rob a thief, is it?"

"Oh, ain't it?" inquired the cow-puncher, gravely, and he smiled grimly to himself as Crittenden endeavored to set his mind at rest. "All right then," he said, cutting short the cowman's labored justification of cattle-rustling, "I'll go you – for a hundred."

"A hundred!" repeated Crittenden, aghast. "Well, for – all right, all right," he cried, as Pecos moved impatiently away. "Now you pull out of here the way you did before and I'll have Joe pack you over some more grub. A hundred dollars," he murmured, shaking his head at the thought, "that boy will ruin me."