Ben Blair Page 4

  CHAPTER IV

  BEN'S NEW HOME

  Supper was over at the Box R Ranch. From the tiny lean-to the muffledrattle of heavy table-ware proclaimed the fact that Ma Graham wasputting things in readiness for breakfast. Beside the sheet-iron heaterin the front room, her husband, carefully swaddled in a big checkedapron with the strings tied in a bow under his left ear, was busilyengaged in dressing the half-dozen prairie chickens he had trapped thatday. As fast as he removed the feathers he thrust them into the stove,and the pungent odor mingled with the suggestive tang of the bacon thathad been the foundation of the past supper, and with the odor ofcigarettes with which the other four men were permeating the place.

  Graham critically held up to the light the bird upon which he had justbeen operating, removed a few scattered feathers, and, with practisedhand, attacked its successor.

  "If I were doing this job for myself," he commented, "I'd skin thebeasts. Life is too blamed short to waste it in pulling out feathers!"

  Grannis, the new-comer from no one knew where, smiled.

  "It would look to me that you were doing it," he remarked. "I'd like toask for information, who is if you ain't?"

  The clatter of dishes suddenly ceased, and Graham's labor stopped insympathy.

  "My boy," he asked in reply, "were you ever married?"

  Beneath its coat of tan, Grannis's face flushed; but he did not answer.

  A second passed; then the plucking of feathers was continued.

  "I reckon you've never been, though," Graham went on, "else you'd neverask that question."

  During the remainder of the evening, Grannis sought no furtherinformation; and to Ma Graham's narrow life a new interest was added.

  Ordinarily the cowboys went to their bunks in an adjoining shed almostdirectly after supper, but this evening, without giving a reason, theylingered. The housekeeper finished her work, and, coming into the mainroom, took a chair and sat down, her hands folded in her lap. The grousedressed, Graham ranged them in a row upon the lean-to table, removed theapron, and lit his pipe in silence. The cowboys rolled fresh cigarettesand puffed at them steadily, the four stumps close together glowing inthe dimness of the room. As everywhere upon the prairie, the quiet wasalmost a thing to feel.

  At last, when the silence had become oppressive, the foreman took thepipe from his mouth and blew a short puff of smoke.

  "Seems like the boss ought to've got back before this," he said with asidelong glance at his wife.

  Ma Graham nodded corroboration.

  "Yes; must have found something wrong, I guess." She refolded herhands, and once more relapsed into silence.

  It was the breaking of the ice, however.

  "Where d'ye suppose the trouble could have been, Graham?" It was anotherlate-comer, Bud Buck, young and narrow of hips, who spoke.

  "At Blair's," was the answer. "The Big B is the closest."

  "Blair?" The questioner puffed at his cigarette thoughtfully. "Guess Inever heard of him."

  "Must be a stranger in these parts, then," said Marcom. "Most everybodyknows Tom Blair." He paused to give an all-including glance. "At leastwell enough to get a slice of his dough," he finished with a sarcasticlaugh.

  "Does he handle the pasteboards?" asked Buck, with interest.

  "Tries to," contemptuously.

  The curiosity of the youthful Bud was now thoroughly aroused.

  "What kind of a fellow is he, anyway?" he went on. "Does he go it aloneup at his ranch?"

  At the last question Bill Marcom, discreetly silent, shifted his eyes inthe direction of the foreman, and, following them, Bud surprised acovert glance between Graham and his wife. It was the latter who finallyanswered.

  "Not _exactly_."

  Buck was not without intuition, and he shifted to safer ground.

  "Got much of a herd, has he?"

  Marcom rolled a fresh cigarette skilfully, and drew the string of thetobacco pouch taut with his teeth.

  "He did have, one time, but I don't believe he's got many left now.There's been a bunch lost there every storm I can remember. He don'tkeep any punchers to look after 'em, and he's never on hand himself. Thewoman and the kid," with a peculiar glance at the stout housekeeper,"saved 'em part of the time, but mostly they just drifted." The speakerblew a great cloud of smoke, and the veins at his temples swelled. "It'sa shame, the way he neglects his stock and lets 'em starve and freeze!"

  The blood coursed hot in the veins of Bud Buck.

  "Why don't somebody step in?"

  There was a meaning silence, broken at last by Graham.

  "We would've--with a rope--if it hadn't been for the boss. He tried tohelp the fellow; went over there lots of times himself--weather colderthan the devil, too, and with the wind and sleet so bad you couldn't seethe team ahead of you--until one time last Winter Blair came home full,and caught him there." The narrative paused, and the black pipe puffedreminiscently. "The boss never said much, but I guess they must have hadquite a session. Anyway, Rankin never went again, and from the way helooked when he got back here, half froze, and the mustangs beat out, Ireckon Blair never knew how close he come to a necktie party that day."

  Again silence fell, and remained unbroken until Graham suddenly sprangto his feet, and with "That's him now! I could tell that old buckboardif I was in my grave!" hurried on coat and hat and disappeared into thenight. A minute more and the door through which he had passed openedslowly, and the figure of a small boy, wrapped like an Indian in a bigblanket, stepped timidly inside and stood blinking in the light.

  In anticipation of a very different arrival the housekeeper had risen toher feet, and now in surprise, arms akimbo, she stood looking curiouslyat the stranger. In this land at this time the young of every otheranimal native thereto was common, but a child, a white child, was anovelty indeed. Many a cow-puncher, bachelor among bachelors, couldtestify that it had been years since he had seen the like. But Ma Grahamwas not a bachelor, and in her the maternal instinct, though repressed,was strong. It was barely an instant before she was at the little lad'sside, unwinding the blanket with deft hands.

  "Who be you, anyway, and where'd you come from?" she exclaimed.

  The child observed her gravely.

  "Benjamin Blair's my name. I came with the man."

  The husk was off the lad ere this, and the woman was rubbing his smallhands vigorously.

  "Cold, ain't you? Come right over to the fire!" herself leading the way."And hungry--I'll bet you're hungrier than a wolf!"

  The lad nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

  The woman straightened up and looked down at her charge.

  "Of course you are. All little boys are hungry." She cast a challengingglance around the group of interested spectators.

  "Fix the fire, one of you, while I get something hot for the kid," shesaid, and ambled toward the lean-to.

  If the men thought to have their curiosity concerning the youngstersatisfied by word of mouth, however, they were doomed to bedisappointed; for when Rankin himself entered it was as though nothingout of the ordinary had happened. He hung up his coat methodically, and,with the boy by his side, partook of the hastily prepared mealimpassively, as was his wont. It could not have escaped him that thesmall Benjamin ate and ate until it seemed marvellous that one stomachcould accommodate so much food; but he made no comment, and when at lastthe boy succumbed to a final plateful, he tilted back against the wallfor his last smoke for the day. This was the usual signal of dismissal,and the hands put on their hats and filed silently out.

  Without more words the foreman and his wife prepared for the night. Thedishes were cleared away and piled in the lean-to. From either end ofthe room bunks, broad as beds, were let down from the wall, and theblankets that formed their linings were carefully smoothed out. Alongthe pole extending across the middle of the room, another set was drawn,dividing the room in two. Then the two disappeared with a simple"Good-night."

  Rankin and the boy sat alone looking at each other. From across theblanket partiti
on there came the muffled sound of movement, the impactof Graham's heavy boots, as they dropped to the floor, and thensilence.

  "Better go to bed, Ben," suggested Rankin, with a nod toward the bunk.

  The boy at once went through the process of disrobing, and, crawling inbetween the blankets, pulled them up about his chin. But the blue eyesdid not close. Instead, they rested steadily upon the man's face. Rankinreturned the look, and then the stubby pipe left his mouth.

  "What is it, Ben?"

  The boy hesitated. "Am I to--to stay with you?" he asked at last.

  "Yes."

  For an instant the questioner seemed satisfied; then the peculiarinquiring look returned.

  "Anything else, son?"

  The lad hesitated longer than before. Beneath the coverings his bodymoved restlessly.

  "Yes, sir, I want to know why nobody would come to help my mamma ifshe'd sent for them. She said they wouldn't."

  The pipe left Rankin's mouth, his great jaws closing with an audibleclick.

  "You wish to know--what did you say, Ben?"

  The boy repeated the question.

  For a minute, and then another, Rankin said nothing; then he knocked theashes from the bowl of his brier and laid it upon the table.

  "Never mind now why they wouldn't, son." He arose heavily and drew offhis coat. "You'll find out for yourself quickly enough--too quickly, myboy. Now go to sleep."