INSTALLMENT 1
CHAPTER I
Tins was the crisis? the climax of
oil that long war. Here they sat,
these men who had fought a common
enemy for so long: Dusty King, who.
with the hoofs of countless cattle,
had carved many a Great Plains
trail deep into the short grass; young
Bill Hoper, who had begun follow
ing those trails with Dusty King be
fore he was big enough to hold a
horse; and old I.ew Gordon, Texas
man, whose wild marketless herds
had been the roots of fortune.
Dusty King and Lew Gordon con
stituted King-Gordon, the famous
partnership that had developed with
the great cattle trails; until now
their many brands marked far-scat
tered herds beyond estimate. They
were here because of tomorrow's
auction of land leases. Under the
hammer would go the grazing rights
on the Crying Wolf Indian lands ?
those miles and miles of stirrup
deep grass that King-Gordon want
ed. and that Ben Thorpe had to have.
It was curious that their long war
with Ben Thorpe should have met its
true climax here. The three in this
room understood that the outcome
would rest upon what the two older
men decided here. Possession of the
Crying Wolf meant dominance in
the north to King-Gordon, or to Ben
Th.orpe; there was no longer going
to be room for both.
"This is an old fight, Lew," Dusty
King said. "It goes back as far as |
that first time you backed me with a
little herd, to see if I could make it j
through to Abilene. Don't hardly '
seem like we better draw back i
now."
Lew Gordon stirred, swaying his
shoulders imperceptibly, like a stub
born bear. "Credit's going to be
terrible hard, this coming year," he
said at last.
Dusty King seemed to sprawl a
little more loosely; he was playing
poker in a way of his own. Swag
gering, easy-going, spendthrift ? he
still was a man who believed in
vincibly in himself.
"I passed Ben Thorpe in the road,
tcday," he said. "He was looking
mighty prosperous. I bet he weighs
two hundred and twenty-five pounds
now, with his stomach pulled in."
"His backing is terrible strong,"
Lew Gordon said, his eyes on the
floor.
No one knew better than Lew Gor
don that Dusty King, in tackling the
impossible a hundred times, had a
hundred times shown the way for
the rest. But Gordon remembered
too the poverty of the cattle-pcor
days before any outlet was found for
Texas beef. To risk all they had
won, in a single slashing stroke at
an old enemy, was almost more than
Gordon could bear.
"You know why Ben Thorpe's
strong," Dusty King said. "And you
know how he got his start. We know
why it is that so many Texas out
fits stand in Ben Thorpe's name;
and how many different ways he's
found to jump down on little lonely
Texan cowmen and leave them
broke or dead. And we know what's
happened to many a little outfit that
started north, but never brought
their cattle through, nor got home."
"Every year," Dusty King said,
"since we began driving up the big i
trails, we've locked horns in one
way or another with this one gang.
I'm not forgetting who started the
Red Crick stampede where Dave
and Bob Henry died under piled up
cattle; nor the Tularosa shootings,
with four more of my boys dead.
There's some good cowboys under
the prairie. Lew."
Gordon said almost inaudibly,
"Never could prove anything."
"His herds have grown faster than
ours have grown," Dusty King's ex
pressionless voice droned on. "He's ;
as big as we are; he'll be bigger I
soon. From the Big Bend to the
Tetons, he owns more outfits than
he knows the names of. He's never
run an honest deal where he could I
run a crooked one, nor a square J
trick where he could play a mean
one; it's a long time since he rode
all night with his rifle in his hands,
but Lew, if he isn't stopped ? there's
plenty he can hire to do his dark
of-the-moon stuff now."
"Dusty." Lew Gordon said, "we've
blocked him every way v;e could."
"That's why he'll get you, and
me too, in the end."
Again the silence closed, with be
hind it the perpetual bawling of the
cattle, far off in the spring night.
Dusty King said casually, "Cleve
Tanner s here."
Bill Roper saw Lew Gordon's eyes
flick up to look at Dusty King.
"Cleve Tanner?"
"Here in Ogallala."
"What the devil's the meaning of
that?"
"Cleve and Walk Lasham are the
only two of Ben Thorpe's men that
raided the cross timbers with him in
the old days; the only two he cdn
really trust, now.**
"It's natural that Walk Lasham
should be here," Lew Gordon con
ceded; "but Clove Tanner, all the
way up from the Big Bend ? "
"Shows you," Dusty King said,
"what store they set on the Crying
Wolf lands. Ben Thorpe is sold
mighty deep into next year's deliv
eries. Already he's committed for
more northern-fed cattle than he can
show ? unless he can get the Crying
Wolf."
Slowly Lew Gordon got a frayed
tally book out of his back pocket.
"The survey ? " Lew Gordon's voice
was curiously bewildered ? "it's hard
to believe there's any land as good
as this.**
Their private survey had been
made by Bill Roper; it represented
weeks of hard riding, and shrewd
calculation of the strength and depth
of the feed upon the surface of the
broken land.
"One place here reads fifty head
to the section,*' Lew said wonder
ingl>. "Fifty head of cattle grazing
W. N. U. Release
"Maybe thirty-five cents an
acre."
one section of land! It's past be
lief."
"This isn't Texas, Lew."
"I figure we might pay as high as
thirty cents to the acre," Gordon
said, "by the year's lease."
A flicker like that of heat lightning
showed for a moment behind Dusty
King's eyes: but his voice was low
and monotonous as before. "Thirty
cents be damned," he said.
Lew Gordon looked at him for a
long time. How deep you figure to
go?"
"Get the land," Dusty King said.
"Ben Thorpe is liable to go crazy
and bid his head off."
"We're looking down his throat,"
King said for the second time. "The
least the deputy commissioner can
accept is drafts on Kansas City. Ben
Thorpe hasn't realized the value of
the land. We'll catch him short and
force him off the board."
"At what cost to ourselves?" Gor
don demanded.
"At all costs."
Slowly Lew Gordon shook his
head. "Maybe thirty-five cents an
acre."
Dusty King's voice rose explosive
ly for the first time. "Thirty-five
cents," he echoed ? "or fifty cents,
or seventy-five, or a dollar! Get the
land!"
Lew Gordon sighed, and he looked
like a man who was weary and old.
"You want that land," Gordon said,
"even if ? "
"At all costs," Dusty King said
again.
Gordon looked his partner in the
eyes.
"Go in and bid!"
? ? ?
Swinging down the board walks of
Ogallala in the cool spring sunlight.
Dusty King and Bill Roper looked a
whole lot alike. The more than
twenty years difference in their ages
i had not changed Dusty King's loose
jointed swagger, the rakish cock of
his old soft hat, nor the cracking
ring of the spurs he was believed to
sleep in.
The trail years had leathered his
face, but they could not diminish his
gay exuberance: just as prosperity
was unable to take from him the look
of the trail. Whatever Dusty King
wore, he always .appeared to be
wearing disreputable saddle clothes.
1 Perhaps young Bill Roper had
picked up a lot of Dusty King's char
| acteristics in the course of an asso
ciation that had lasted almost as
long as Bill Roper's life.
Everybody who knew King-Gordon
at all knew the story of Bill Roper
and Dusty Kins. Fifteen years ago,
at the age of five. Bill Roper had
been found hiding in the brush, like a
little rabbit, beside a wrecked outfit
on the old trail to Sedalia. It was
Dusty King who had found him
there: and it was Dusty King who
had buried the bullet-shattered body
of Bill's father beside that God-for
saken trail.
In the fifteen years since then.
Bill Roper had learned guns and
horses and cattle, and the tricks of
the trail as only Dusty King knew
them. He had been able to read
prairie signs before he could read
print, and if it had not been for
tomato can labels, perhaps would
never have learned to read print
at all. Everything he knew he had
learned with Dusty King. There
was every reason that he should
have grown to look something like
the great trail driver who had
brought him up.
Now, as they made their way
down the muddy street, before the
false-fronted wooden buildings, half
the cowmen that thronged Ogallala
hailed Dusty with comradeship and
delight; so that his progress v/as
that of a celebrated character, al
ready famous. The other half ? they
were Ben Thorpe men ? seemed not
to sec him at all. It was hard to
tell which tickled Dusty King more
? the warmth of his many friends, or
the bitterness of his innumerable
enemies.
The bidding for the Crying WoU
lands was being held in a disused
store, and here the sidewalk and
half the street were filled with knot
ted groups. Through this crowd
Dusty King and Bill Roper waded,
Dusty trying to look like something
bewildered, from the tall country.
Beside the door was posted a hand
bill in black type, giving due legal
notice of the auction of leases, and
Dusty stopped to study this with a
grave empty face, af if he had
never heard of it before.
"Mr. King," somebody said,
"they've been waiting for you, fully
an hour."
Dusty looked blai.k. Then he
clutched his hat to his head in a
startled way, and rushed inside
with a clownish representation of
haste.
Within, the crowd of plains-coun
try men ? bronzed men, saddle-faced
men, sometimes bearded men ? gave
way as King, followed by Bill Roper,
shouldered his way to the back.
"Is this the place," King asked,
"where the feller is selling the
horse?"
The deputy commissioner took his
feet off his table. "The sale was
supposed to start at two o'clock,"
he complained.
A little tribute, there. The com
missioner ? perhaps already in Ben
Thorpe's pay ? hardly dared start an
important sale, without present this
slouching, nondescript-looking repre
sentative of King-Gordon.
"No word has come from your
partner at all," the commissioner
said.
"He ain't coming."
Three men who sat in chairs
grouped around one end of the table
looked at each other. They ignored
King and Roper, as hostile dogs ig
nore an enemy of whom they are
not yet keenly aware.
The big man in the light-colored
hat was Ben Thorpe ? the Ben
Thorpe whose far-scattered hold
ings perhaps already exceeded those
of King-Gordon. Thick-shouldered
now, heavy-bodied, he was today
more than ever a power feared in
the cattle country? still unscrupu
lous, still menacing, but now of a
different sort ? a power of wealth, of
organization, and of bought-up law.
Beside him, the tall man, lean and
narrow-bodied as a slat, was Cleve
Tanner; a hawk-faced man, keen
eyed, so cleanly shaven that the
tight skin of his jaws seemed to
shine. Cleve Tanner was manager
of Ben Thorpe's Texas holdings, the
breeding grounds from which
Thorpe's whole organization drew
its strength.
The other, the man who seemed
uncommonly dark, even among
these sun-darkened men, was Walk
Lasham. He was Ben Thorpe's man
ager in the north, now; under his
poker-faced watchfulness lay Ben
Thorpe's northern holdings, the feed
ing grounds now necessary to any
wide operation in the cattle trade.
The deputy commissioner raised
his voice. "This," he said, "is a
federal auction, to place by public
bidding certain lands in the charge
of the Indian Department, by the
authority of the Secretary of the In
terior and the President of the
United States: namely certain
lands . . ."
He droned through his preamble
perfunctorily; everyone in the crowd
knew exactly what was involved.
Something more than land was here
changing hands. To hold the Crying
Wolf would all but mean supremacy
in the north. But this thing was
bigger than that. The two organiza
tions which here clashed again were
the great powers of the trails; be
hind each of them were whole coun
ties of Texas mesquite grass plaln?,
great areas of the middle short
grass country, scores of outfits. Th?
struggle between them had devel
oped with the Chisliolm trail itself
? a decade-long combat between
men of diametrically opposed prin
ciples and methods. And now ?
"This land," the deputy commis
sioner concluded, "is thrown into
blocks. I think, gentlemen, you are
already familiar with the placement
of the lands. Block 1 includes, as
previously agreed, an estimated one
hundred sections, or sixty-four thou
sand acres, known hereinafter as
'Block 1"; bounded on the north
by?"
Cleve Tanner leaned close to Ben
Thorpe, whispered, and Thorpe nod
ded.
"I shouldn't think," said the depu
ty commissioner, "we need hear any
bid of less than ten cents per year,
per acre."
There was a moment's silence, and
the deputy commissioner got out
a big silk handkerchief and mopped
his head, as King now let a slow
smile come to the surface of his
impassive face. A curious rumble
ran over the room, and the crowd
seemed to sway.
"I got a proposition," Dusty King
said. "Nobody is bidding on this
land but just us two; nftbody means
to bid. Throw the whole thing in one
pot and we'll bid on the works."
"I'll agree to that," Thorpe de
cided. The black anger in his face
had submerged again, so that he|
was poker-eyed.
The deputy commissioner was be
ginning to look like a man who
wished he were some place else.
"If there are no objections ? "
"Fifty cents," said Dusty King.
Ben Thorpe's face had turned a
curious color, not gray, certainly
not bloodless; an odd congested col
or, like dark sand. "Fifty-five," he
said.
"Sixty"
"Sixty-five."
"A dollar," said Dusty King.
"A dollar, five."
"Just in confidence between you
and me," Dusty King said; "Mr.
Thorpe can't pay that."
"I think my name is good any
where in the cow country," Thorpe
said to the commissioner.
"It ain't good here," said King.
The deputy commissioner slapped
his pen down on the table. "Gentle
men," he said, "I'm sorry to do this;
but in the interests of the govern
ment, and of the Indian Department
which I represent, all further bids
in this auction will be accepted only
as representing American gold."
"Cash on the nail?" King asked,
la." There was no question now
about the sweat that stood out on
the commissioner's forehead.
"Seventy cents," said King.
"I'm already bid a dollar, five!"
"Sure; but we got different rules
now. God knows Thorpe can't back
a dollar, five in gold. What kind
of shenanigan is this, anyway?"
The eyes of the deputy commis
sioner went to Ben Thorpe's face
again, but there was nothing to be
read there. Thorpe seemed so
lumpishly still that it was not ap
parent that he breathed.
"Seventy cents," said Dusty King
again in the silence. "Whoop 'er
up. boys ? I've only begun!"
Silence again through the pack of
those saddle-faced men; perspiring
silence on the part of the deputy
commissioner, dead lumpish si
lence on the part of Pen Thorpe.
Cleve Tanner, his hands locked back
of his neck, looked at the ceiling;
Walk Lasham sat motionless, his
eyes on the face of his boss.
"You ? " the deputy commission
er wavered, "you ? you can back this
bid in gold?"
"Immediate delivery by Wells
Fargo," King said. "Right now, in
Ogallala."
"Mr. Thorpe," the commissioner
wavered, "Mr. Thorpe, will you? do
you ? "
They waited for what Ben Thorpe
would say. His face was expres
sionless still, as he got up from his
chair; but men stumbled over each
other to get out of his way, as he
walked down the length of that
packed room, and out into the street.
The deputy commissioner seemed
melted down, unrecognizable now as
the crisp little man who had opened
the bidding. His face was white
and set, and his eyes showed fear.
"Well?" said King.
"The Crying Wolf," the commis
sioner said huskily, "the Crying
Wolf lands ? if ? if there are no oth
er bids ? go to King-Gordon ..."
Something like a sigh, a general
release of tension, ran through that
jam of men.
Close to Pusty King's ear Bill Rop
er asked, out of the side of his
mouth, "How high would we ? how
high could we have gone?"
The mask of Dusty King's face
broke up; every muscle in his face
came into action, every tooth
showed as he grinned.
"Seventy cents," King answered
him.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Gems of Thought
TO JUDGE human nature
rightly, a man may some
times have a very small experi
ence. provided he h-'.s a very
large heart. ? Bulwer-Lyttun.
The greater the obstacle the
more glory in overcoming it
Moliere.
Ilut curb thou the high ipiril in ihv
breatt.
For gentle icayj arr the hr*l
? tinnier .
When people complain ot life,
it is almost always b. i ause
they have askid impossible
things from it. ? Ernest Kenan.
I am a man. and nothing in
man's lot can be inditlerent to
me. ? Terence.
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