I
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
,
•
'
•
.
-----·
WHEN A
•
A NOVEL
BY
HAROLD BELL WRIGHT
AUTHOR OF
•
'Tl{E EYES OF THE WORLD,'' ETC.
Illustrations and Decorations
by the Author
THE BOOK SUPPLY COMPANY
PUBLISHERS, CHICAGO
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
,
•
WHEN A MAN•s A MAN
Copypght, 1916
By HAROLD BELL WRIGHT
Copyright, 1916
By ELSBERY W. REYNOLDS
Al Rights Reserved
'
Published August, 1916
Printed in the Unit-ed States of America
•
•
•
•
•
•
TO MY SONS
GILBERT AND PAUL AND No1t:viAN
THIS STORY OF MANHOOD
IS A:FFECTIONATELY DEDICATtD
BY THEIR PATHE.R
•
. .
C
• •
,
.Ac lnowledgment
IT is fitti1ng that I should here expres my indebtedness
to those Williamson Valley friends wh0 in
the kindness of their hea,rts made this story possible.
• To Mr., George A. Carter, who so generously
introduced me to the scenes -d,escribed in these pages,
and who, on the Pot-Hook-S ranch, gave to my
family one of the most delightful summers we have
ever enjoyed; to Mr. J. H. Stephens and his family,
who so cordially welcomed me at rodeo time; to
Mr. and Mrs. Joe Contreras, for their kindly hospitality;
to Mr. and Mrs. J. W. Stewart, who, while
this story was first in the. making, made me so much
at home ia the Cross-Triangle home-ranch; to Mt.
J. W! Cook, my constant compaflion, helpful guide,
patient teacher and tactful sponsor, wh0, with his
ch.arming wife, made his h,ome mine ; to Mt. and
Mrs. Herbert N. Cook, and to the many other cattlemen
and cowboys, with whom, on, the range, in the
rodeosr in the wild horse chase about· To@hey, after
outlaw cattle in Granite Basin, in the corrals and
pastures, I rode and worked and lived, my gratitude
is more than I· can put in words. Truer friends
or better companions than these great-hearted, outspoken,
hardy riders, no man could have. If my
story in any degree wins the approval of these, my
comrades of ranch and range, I shall be proud and
happy. H. B. W.
"CAMP HOLE-IN-THE-MOUNTAIN"
NEAR TUCSON, ARIZONA
APRIL 29, 1916
'
I '
CHAPTER PAGE
I. AFTER THE CELEBRATION • • • • . • . •• 11
II. ON THE DIVIDE . . • • • . • • • . . . . . • . . 23
III. IN THE BIG PASTURE . . . . . • . . . . . . • 3 5
IV. AT 'THE CORRAL................. 47
V. ABIT OF THEPAST ..••......•... 81
VI. TnE DRIFT FENCE. . • • . . . . . . • . . . • 91
VII.
VIII.
IX.
X.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.
xv.
THINGS THAT ENDURE ....•...... 115
CONCERNING BRANDS ......•..... 133
THE TAILHOLT MOUNTAIN OUTFIT. . 159
THE RoDEO . • • • • • . • . • . . . • • • • . . • • 181
AFTER THE RODEO .............•• 197
FRONTIER DAY. . • . • . . . • • • . . . • • . . 239
IN GRANITE BASIN . . • . . . . . • . . . . . . 261
AT MINT SPRING. • . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 281
ON OED.AR RIDGE. • . • . . . . . . . . . . . . 297
XVI. THE SKY LINE. • • • . . . . • . . . . . . . . . 323
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
• •
• •
• •
'
•
NHEN
11
-
.
' ..
.. . !
•
.
•
•
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
In this land every man is-by divine right.-his own
king; he is his own jury, his own counsel, his own judge, and
-if it must be his own executioner. And in this land where
a man, to live,. must be a man, a woman, i£ she be not a
woman, must s-urely perish.
This is the st0ry of a man wh0 regained that which in his
youth had been lost to him; and of how, even when he had
recovered that which had been taken from him, he still paid
•
the p1·ice of his loss. It is the story of a woman who was 1
saved from herself; and of how she was led to h@ld fast to
those things, the loss of which c: ost the man so gpeat a price.
The story, as I have put it down here, begins at Prescott,
Arizona, on the day following the annual Fourth-of-July celebration
in one· of those fat-western years that saw the passing
of the Indian and the coming of the aut<;>mobile.
The man wa:s walking along one of the few -roads that
lead out :from the little city, through the mo,untain gaps and
passes, to the. wide, unfenced ranges, and t@ the lonely scattered
ranches on the creeks and flats and valleys of the great
;
open country that lies beyond.
From the fact that he was walking in that land whe1·e the
distances are ·such that men most commonly ride, and from
the many marks that environment and training leave upon us
all, it was evident that the pedestrian was a stra.nger. He
was a man in the prime of young manhood-'tall and exceedingly
well proportioneda.nd as he went :forward along the
12
•
••
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
dusty road he bore himself with the unconscious air of one
more accuston1ed to crowded streets than to that rude and
unpaved highway. His clothing bore the unmistakable stamp
of a tailor of rank. His person was groomed with that nicety
of detail that is permitted only to those who possess both
means and leisure, as well as taste. It was evident, too, from
his movement and bearing, that he had not sought the milehigh
atmosphere of PTescott with the hope that it holds out
to those in need of health. But, still, the1·e was a something
about him that st1ggested a lack of the manly vigor and
strength that should ha,,e been his.
A stud.ent 0£ men would have said that Nature made this
man to be in physical strength and spiritual pr0wess, a comrade
and leader of men-a man's man-a man among men.
The S'ame student, looking more closely, might ha,e added
that in some way-through some cruel t1·ick of for-tune this
man had been cheated of his birthright.
The day was still young when the stl·anger gained the top
of the first hill where the road turns to make its steep and
winding way down through scattered pines and scrub oak to
the Burnt Ranch.
Behind him the little city-so picturesque in its mountain
basin, with the ,vild, unfenced land coming down tG its ve1·y
d-0oryards.-was slowly awal(ening after the last mad night
of its celebration. The tents of the ta,vdry shows that had
tempted the crowds with vulgar indecencies, and the booths
that had sheltered the petty games of chance where loudvoiced
criers had persuaded the multitude with the hope 0£
winning a worthless bauble or a tinsel toy, were being cleared
13
•
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
away from the borders of the plaza, the beauty of which their
presence had marred. In the plaza itself-which is the heart
of the town, and is usually kept with much pride and carA-e -
the bronze statue of the vigorous Rough Rider Bucky O'Neil
. and his spirited charger seemed pathetically out of place
among the litter of colored confetti and exploded fi1·eworks,
-and the refuse from ,1arious ''treats) ' and lunches left by the
celebrating citizens and their guests. The flags and bunting
that f.rom window and roof and pole and doorway had
given the day its gay note of color hung faded and listless,
as though, spent with their gaiety, and mutely conscious that
the spirit and purpose of their gladness was past, they waited
the hand that would rem·ove them to the ash barrel and the
rubbish heap.
Pausing, the man turned to look bacl{.
For some minutes he stood as one who, while determined
upon a certain course, yet hesitates-reluctant and regretful
-at the bginning of his venture. Then he went on; walking
with a certain :reckless swing, as though, in ignorance oi
tnat land toward which he had set his face, he still resolutely
turned his back upon that which lay behind. It was as though,
£or this man, too, the gala day, with its tinseled bravery and
its confetti spirit, was of th6 past.
A short way do,vn the hill the man stopped again. This
time to stand half turned, with his head in a listening atti .
tude. The sound of a vehicle approaching from the way
whence he had come had reached his ear.
As the noise of wheels and hoofs g-rew lo11der a strange
expression of mingled unaertainty, determination, and some-
14
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
thing very like fear came over his face. He sta1-ted forward,
hesitated, looked back, then tt1rned doubtft1lly toward the
thinly wooded mountain side. Then, with tardy decision he
1eft the road a.nd disappeared behind a clump of oak bushes,
a11 instant before a tea.m and buclcboard roia.nded the turn and
appeared in full view.
An unmistal{able cattleman-grizzly-haired, squareshol1ldered
and substantial-was driving the wild looking
team. Beside him sat a motherly woman and a little boy.
As they passed the cl11mp of bushes the near horse 0£· the
half-broken pair gave a catlike bound to the right against his
tracemate. A second jump followed the first with flash-like
quicl{ness ; and this time the frightened animal was accoml)
anicd by his companion, who, not knowing what it was all
about, jumped on general principles. But, quick as they
were, the strength of the driver's skillful arms met their
weight on the 1·eins and forced them to keep the road.
''You blan1ed fools''-the driver chided good-naturedly,
as they plunged ahead-''been raised on a cow ranch to get
scared at a calf in the brush!''
,r ery slowly the strange1· came from behind the bushes.
Cautiously he returned to the road. His fine lips cl1rled in a
curious mocking smile. But it was himself that he mocked, £or
there was a look in his dark eyea that gave to his naturally
strong face an almost pathetic expression of self-depreciation
and shame.
As the pedestrian crossed the creek at the.Burnt Ranch,
J: oe Conley, leading a horse by a riata which was looped as
it had fallen about the animal's neck, came through the big
15
•
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
corral gate across the road from the house. At the barn J qe
disappeared through the small door of the saddle room, the
coil of the riata still in his hand, thus compelling bis mount
to await his return.
At sight of the cowboy the tranger again paused and
stood hesitating in indecision. But as Joe reappea1·ed from
the barn with bridle, saddle blanket and saddle in hand, the
man went reluctantly £ orward as though prompted by some
• necessity.
''Good morning!'' said the stranger, courteously, and his
voice was the voice that fitted his dress and bearing, while his
face was now the carefully schooled cotmtenance of a man
world-trained and well-poised.
With a quick estimating glance Joe returned the stranger's
greeting and, dr0pping the saddle and blanket on the
ground,, app1·oahed his horse's ead. IncStantly the animal
sprang back, with head high and eyes defiant; but there was
no escape, f0r the 1·awhide riata was still securely held by his
master. There w·as a short, sharp scufie that sent the gravel
by the roadside .flying-the controlling bit was between the
reluctant teeth-and the cowboy, w·ho had silently taken the
horse's objection as a matter of course, adjusted the blanket,
and with the easy skill of lQng practice swung the heavy
saddle to its place.
As the cowboy caught the dangling cinch, and with a deft
hand tucked the latigo strap through the ring and drew it
tight, there was a look of almost pathetic wistfulness on the
watching strange1·'s face,-:a· look of wistfulness and admira-tion
and envy. ,
16
• •
•
•
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
Dropping the stirrup, Joe again faced the stranger, this
time inquiringly, with that bold, straightforward look so ·
characteristic of his kind.
And now, when the man spoke, his voice had a curious
note, as if the speaker had lost a Ii ttle of his poise. It was
almost a note of apology, and again in his eyes there was that
pitiful look of self-depreciation and shame.
''Pard0n me,'' he said, ''but will you tell me,, please, am
I right that this is the road to the Williamson Valley?''
The stranger's manner and voice were in such contrast to
his general appearance that the cowboy £rankly l©oke.d his
wonder as he answered courteously, ''Yes, sir.''
''And it will take me direct to the 01·oss-Triangle Ranch?''
''If you keep st1aight ahead across the valley, it will. If
you take the right-hand fork on the ridge above the goat
ranch, it will take you to Simmons. There's a road from
Simmons to the Cross-Triangle on the far side of the valley,
thot1gh. You can see the valley and the Cross-Triangle home
1·anch f1·om the top of the Divide.''
''Thank you.''
The strange1· was turning to go when the man in the blue
jl1mper and fringed leather chaps spoke again, curiou$ly.
''The Dean with Stella and Little Billy passed in the
buckboard less than an hour a:
go, on their way home from the
celebration. Funny they didn't pick you up, if you're goin'
there!''
The other paused questioningly. ''The Dean?''
The cowboy smiled. ''Mr. Baldwin, the owner of the
Oross-Trangle, you know.''
17
•
•
•
,
WREN A MAN'S A MAN
''Oh!'' The s,tranger was clearly etnbarrassed. Perhaps
he was thinking of that clump of bushes on the mountain side.
Joe, loosing his riata from the horse's neck, and coiling it
carefully, co,nsidered a moment. Then: ''You ain't g0in' to
walk to the CrossTriangle, be you i''
That self-moeking smile touched the man's lips; but there
was a hint of deeisive purpose in his voice as he arswered,
''Oh, yes.''
.Again the cowboy frankly measured the stranger. Then
he moved toward the corral gate, the coiled riata in one hand,
the btidle rein in the other. ''I'll catch up a horse for you,''
he said in a matter-of-fact tone, as if reaching a decision.
The other spoke hastily. ''No, no, please don't trouble.''
Joe paused curiously. ''Any friend of Mr. Baldwin's is
welcome to anything on the Burnt Ranch, Stran.ger.''
''But I-ah-I-have never met Mr. Baldwin,'' ex-.
plained the other lamely.
''Oh, that's all right,'' returned the cowboy hea1'tily.
''You're a-goin' to, an' that's the same thing.'' Again he
· started toward the gate.
''But !-'pardon me you are very kind-but I-I prefer
to walk.''
Once more Joe halted, a puzzled expression on his tanned
and weather-beaten face. ''I suppose you know it's some
walk,'' he suggested doubtfully, as if the man's ignorance
were the only possible solution of his 11nheard-of assertion.
''So I understand. But it will be good for me. Really,
I prefer to walk.''
Without a word the cowboy turned back to his horse, and
18
•
•
•
WIIEN A MAN'S A 11:AN
proceeded methodically to tie the coiled riata in its place on.
the saddle. Then, without a glance toward the stranger who
stood watching him in embarrassed silence, he threw the
bridle reins over his horse's head, grip.ped the saddle horn
and swung to his seat, reining his horse away from the man
beside the 1·oad.
The stranger, thus abruptly dismissed, moved hurriedly
away.
Half way to the creek the cowboy checked his horse and
looked back at the pedest1·ian as the latter was making his
way under the pines and up the hill. When the man had
disappeared over the crest of the hill, the cowboy muttered
a bewildered something, and, t@uching his horse with the
spurs, loped away, as if dismissing a problem too complex for
his simple mind.
All that day the stranger folloed the dusty, unfenced
road. ov·er his head the wide, bright sky was without a cl0ud
to break its vast expanse. On the great, open range of mountain,
flat and valley the cattle lay quietly in the shade of oak
or walnut or cedar, or, with slow, listless movement, sought
the watering places to slake their thirst. The wild things re-
treated to their secret hiding places in rocky den and leafy
thicket to await the cool of the evening hunting hour. The
very 'air was motionless, as if the never-tired wind itself
drowsed indolently.
And alone in the hushed bigness of that land the man
walked with his thoughts-brooding, perhaps, over whatever
it was that had so strangely placed him there dreaming, it
may be, over that which might have been, or that whieh yet
19
'
•
•
•
•
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
might be viewing with que$tioning, wondering, half-fearful
eyes the mighty, untamed scenes that met. his eye on every
hand. Nor did anyone see him, for at every s0.und of air
proaching horse or vehicle, he, went aside from the highway
to hide in tJie bushesi or behind convenient ro6ks. And always
when h_
e came from. his hiding plaee to resume his journey
that odd smile o:f seJf-mockery was on his face.
At noon he rested for a little beside the road while he. ate .
a meager sandwich that he took from the pocket of his coat.
Then he pushed on again, with grim determination, deeper
and dooper into the heart and life of that world which was,
to him, so evidently new and strange,. The afternoon was
well spent when he made his way wearily now, with droop,
ing shoulders and dragging stepup the ·long slope of the
Divide that marks the eastern boundary of the range about
Williamson Valley.
At the summit) where the road turns sharply around a
shoulder of the mountain and begins the steep descent bn the
other side of the ridge, he stopped. His tired form sraightened.
His :face lighted with a look of wondering awe, and an
involuntary ex:clamation came from his lips as his unaccustomed
ey·es swept the wide view that lay from his feet un-rolled
before him. 1
Under that sky,, so un·matched in its clearness and depth
of color, the land lay in all its variety o:f valley and forest
and mesa and mountain-a scene Uhrivaled in the magnifi-cence
aud grandeur· of its beauty. Miles upon miles in the
distance, across thos.e primeval reaches, the fain:t blue peaks
and domes and ridges of the mountains ranked-an un-
20
'
•
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
counted sentinel host. The darker masses of the timbered
hillsides, with the var:Y"ing shacles of pine and ceda1·, the
lighter tints of oak brush and chaparral, the dun tones of the
open gi·ass lands, and the brighter note o:f the valley meadows'
green were defined, blended and harmonized by the overlying
haze with a delicacy exquisite beyond all human power to
picture. And in the nearer distances, chief of that army of
mountain peaks, and mastet of the many miles that lie within
their circle, Granite Mountain, gray and grim, reared its
mighty bulk of clif and crag as if in supreme defiance of the
changing years or the hand of hu1n ankind.
I n the heart of that beautiful land 1,1pon which, from the
summit of the Divide, the stranger looked with such rapt
appreciation, lies Williamson Valley, a natural meadow of
lush, dark green, native grass. And, had the man's eyes been
trained to such distances, he might have distinguished in the
blue haze the red roofs of the buildings of the Cross-Triangle
Ranch.
For some time the ID'.3-n stood thre, a lonely fig1re against
the sky, peculiarly out Qf place in his careful garb of the
cities. The ,schooled indiference of his face was broken. His
self-depreciation and mockery were forgotten. His dark eyes
glowed with the fire of excited anticipation-with nope and
determined pur:i:;ose. Then, with a quick move1nent, as
though some ghost of the past had touched him on the shoulder,
he looked back on the way he had conie. And the light
in his eyes went out in the gloom of painful memories. His
countenance, unguarded because of his day o-f loneliness, grew
dark with sadness and shame. It was a.s though he looked
21
•
•
•
•
I
WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN
beyond the tow11 he had left that morning, with its litte.r and
retuse of yest:erday's plea&ure, tQ a life and a world of tawdry
sham.s, wherein men give themselvEts to win by means fair or
foul the tinsl hauole,s that are ofered in the world's petty
games 01 chance ..
And yet, even as he looked back, there was in the man's
·face. as much of longing as of regret. He seemed as one who,
realizing that he had reached a point i:n his life journey-a
divi<le, as it were from whi0h he could see two ways, was
resolved to tum from the path he longed to follow and to
tak!e the road tha,t appealed to him the least. As one enlisting
to fight in a just and worthy cal!lse might pause a mo-
1Uent, befo;re takin,g the oath of .ervice, to regret the ease and
free.dom he was about to sur1·nder, so this man paused on the
summit of the Divide.
Slowly, at la$t,. in wearines$ of body and spirit, he
stumbled ,a few feet a.side from the roag.,. and, sinking down
upon a convenient r-0ck, gave himself again to the contemplation
of that scene. which lay before him. And. there was that
in his movement now that seemed to tell of one who, i:n the
grip of so.me bitter and disappointing e:&:petience, was yet
being forced. Hy something deep in his being to reach out in
the strength of his manhood to take that which he had been
denied.
Again the man's u.ntra:ined ewes had failed to note that
whieh would have firs.t attracd the attention of one schooled
in the land that lay about him. He had not een a tiny moving
speck on the road ever which he had passed. A horseman
was riding toward him.
22 •
I
•
•
,- -... . .!-:- - . -
-·" - -,. --;y,_..
• ,. •
'--...,,.
-
- ,.,,, - -.: _.(_ ... • :;;.,-" r-:c---. u;. • - ·"' • •---' • -,' 0 ,.. •
-,
• ,._ -- - . ,..<·.. ... -· - . - - - . .,,. •• J . - . - '• -- _., . f - • - • ..• • •." ......- --: ., . .- ...": -- - - < _...... ·-_ ... --.; ,. .-- - !-Pr-:: , . --- - .:- . - ' . - . ' r'" • .. ------- "-<-> "' • . -,,.. ,,,.t;",,.;.-- - ,--- .. .
-
... "l'i.;;,.:;-:- .. ... ,. . . -- . .,._ -·. . -; -. - . . - ---. . , , . - ,. · .: ,'(;',2 .·: -:: .....: .,. . ;,-::. : ,- --= ..-: _ ·: ___, -"..: 'OJ- ·.:. -: .
.: . . . •:" . 1// "T.i . :.,.-: .,, • ., • ........ . - - . . . Ji?./ . . ' ? . . .. l"' •
..,,.;.';:-,-.>--?"'>/;::::--•. -: -; ..... -- . . - , ' . -
.,,-- ... ,, (; ·.tilt .;Jl&iTi<'f>,, ,';-r ... , •• , - •
-
- ;.r-./ . I . ,. -;, ..
•
• --_ • ·.:_ . ,;
• , A ·11 "': ; 'qjfr-" . , •. ,... . !''fl,/ .I [ , • j ,; , • •" • · I • •• C• l..-.i\
••_ ·.-,; _ . .:.- · - . . • '.*.,. 1,:-.:: .(,, .
,-.1;;,.-.. . · .. .
•
v -- , . -. "r.\ . -- • -., , I ,1,.'}ftJ1.,J, • . •· . • _ J , ,- . ..1, I d' '(/,/11 , ... .
( _, .; Y.,c. ,.,. "I .,_ r· · , , ,.,, ,., ·.r"1· ·. , .. ,- • ,. ' ;\ • \. ' , \• ' I , . , . ,. -::.. ,-:·i:t:;;.;" . 'r .--C/ HAPTE0 _, . J,/ ·11-0:· wti' \; _:, ·: .·.;.. c,·, . .,. . fll • --- . ,. .
V.' I"'.') \,, .. ,,. 1· ' 1\1 . . ·- . I',\/ ,1 · .• , . ..... ,, ./ ., t/.\li.\(;/Ji I',...... ,-v- • ,_ ! • I •
•
- -. . . '':,: _,,,,"·· ON THE DIVIDE. .. :: "(,-. ,&'
- 1 AD the man on the Divide noticed the approaching;:-,
horseman it would have been evident, even to 0ne
so unacquainted with the country as the stranger,
e:= that the rider belonged to that la.nd of riders. While
still at a distance too great for the eye to distinguish
the details of fringed leather chaps, s0ft shirt, short jumper,
somb.rero, spurs and riata, no one could ha,ve mistaken the
ea:se and grace of the cowboy who seemed so lirally a part
of his horse. His seat in the s·addle was so secure, so easy,
and his bearing so unafected and natural, that every movement
of the. powerful animal he rode expressed itself rhythmically
in his ow{i lithe and sinewy body.
While the stranger sat wrapped in meditative thought,
unheeding the approach 0£ the rider, the horseman, coming
on with a long, swinging lope, wai;Ghed the motionless figure
on the summit of the Divide with careful interest. Ai:i he
drew nearer the cowboy pulled his horse down to a walk, and
froID. under his broad hat brim regarded the stranger intently.
He was within a few yards of the point where the man sat
23
•
•
•
.•
,
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
when the latter caught the sound of the horse's feet, and,
with a quiGk, startled look over his shoulder, sprang up and
started as if to escap,e. But-it was too late, and, as though on
seGohd thought, he whirled about with a halt denant air to
face the intruder.
The horseman stopped. He had not missed the significance,
of that. hurried movement, and his right hand rested
carelessly on his leathr clad thigh, while his grey eyes were
fued boldly, inquiringly, almost challengingly, on the man
he hatl so unintentionally surprised.
As he sat there on his horse7 so alert, so ready, in his cowboy
garb and ttappings, against the back.ground of Granite
1Yiountain, with all its rugged, primeval strength, the rider
made a striking picture of virile manhood. Of some years
less than thirty, he was, perhaps, neither as ta,11 nor as heavy
as the. S'.tranger; but in spite of a certain boyish look o.n his
smooth-shaven, 1eply-bronzed face, he bore himself with
the unmistakable air of a matured and self-reliant man.
Every nerve and fiber of him see.med alive with that vital
energJ which is the ·ttue beauty and the glory of life.
The two men presented a striking contrast. Without
question one was the proud and '.finished product of our tnost
advanced civiliz-ation. It was as evident that the splendid
manhood of the other had never been dwarfed by the weakening
atmosphere of an over-cultured, too conventional and too
complex environment. The stranger with his caref:tilly tailored
clothing and his man-of-the-world :£ace and bearing was
as unlike this rider of the unfenced lands as a daintily
•
24
• I
WHEN A }.fAN'S A MAN
groomed thoroughbred from the sheltered and guarded stables
of fashion is unlike a wild, untamed stallion from the hills
and ra.nges abot1t Granite Mol1ntain. Yet, unlike as they
we1·e, there was a something that marked them as kin. The
man of the ranges and the man of the cities were, deep beneath
the surface of their beings, as like as the spirited. thoroughbred
and the unbroken wild horse. The cowboy wa$ all
that the stranger might have been. The stranger was all that
the cowboy, under like conditions, would have been.
As they silently faced each oth.e1· it semed for a moment
that each instinctively recognized this kinship. Then into
the dark eyes Qf the stranger-as when he had watched the
cowboy at the Burnt Ranch-there came that I@ok of wistful
admiration and envy.
And at this,, as if the man had somehow made himself
known, the hor$eman relaxed his attitude of tense readiness.
The hand that had held the bridle rein to command inst;ant
action of his horse, and the hand that had rested so near
the rider's hip, came together on the saddle horn in careless
ease, while a boyish smile of amusement broke over
the young man's face .
That smile brought a flash of resentment into the eyes
of the other and a fluh of red darkened his untanned cheeks.
A moment he stood; then with an air of haughty rebuke he
deliberately turned his back, and, seating himself again,
looked away over the landscape.
But the smiling cowboy did not move. For a moment as
he regarded the st1·anger his shoulde1·s sh·ook with silent, con-
25
•
•
•
tetnptuous laughter; then his face became grave, and he
looked a little ashamed. The minutes passed, and still he sat
there, quietly waitihg.
Presently, as if yielding to the persistent, silent presence
of the horseman, and submitting reluctantly to the intrusion,
the othe;- t1,1rned, and again the two who were so like and
yet so unlike faced each other.
Jt was the stranger now who smiled. But it was a smile
that caused the cowboy to beGome on the in$tant kindly considerate.
Perhaps he remembered one of the Dean's favorite
sayings: ''Keep your eye on the man who laughs when he's
hurt.''
''Good evening!'' said the stranger doubtfully, but with
a hint 0£ concio1.1s superiority in his manner .
''Howdy!'' returned the cowboy heartily, and in his deep
voice was the kindliness that made him so loved bv all who -
- "
knew him. ''Been having some trouble''
'If I have, it is my own, sir,'' retorted the other coldly.
''Sure,'' returned the hoseman gently, ''and youre welcome
to it. Every man has all he nds of his own, I reckon.
But I didn't mean it that way; I meant your horse.''
The stranger looked at him questioningly. ''Beg pardon?''
he said.
''What?'' •
''I do not understand.'''
''Your horse where is your horse ?''
''Oh, yes! Certainly-of course my horso how stupid
of me J? ' The tone of the man's answer w,as one of half
apology, and he was smiling whimsically now as if at his own
26
vVHEN A MAN'S .t \. fAN
predicament, as he continued. ,<r have no horse. Really,.
you know, I wouldn't know what to do with one if I had it.''
''You don't mean to say that you drifted all the way out
here from Prescott on foot!'' exclaimed the astonished cowboy.
The ma;n. on the ground looked up at the horseman, and
in a droll tone that made the rider his friend, said, whiJe he
stretched his long legs painfully: ''I like to walk. You see
I-ah-fancied it would be good for me, don't you know.''
The cowboy laughingly considered-·trying, as he said
afterward, to figure it out. It was clear that this tall stranger
was not in search of health, nor did he show any of the
distinguishing marks of the tourist. He certainly appeared
to be a man of means. He could not be looking for work.
He did not seem a suspicious character·-quite the contraryand
yet-. there was that significant hurried movement as if
to escape when the hor$eman had surprise.d him. The
etiquette of the country forbade a direct question, but-
''Y es,'' he agreed thoughtfully, ''walking comes in handy
sometimes. I don't take to it much myself, though.'' Then
he added shrewdly, ''You were at the celebration, I reekon.''
The stranger's voice bet1·ayed quick enthusiasm, but that
odd wistfulness crept into his eyes again and he seemed to
lose a little of his poise.
''Indeed I was,'' he said. ''I never saw anything to com-pare
with it. I've seen all kinds of athletic sports and con-tests
an.d exhibitions, with circus performances and riding,
and that s0rt of thing, yoll know, and I've read about such
things, of course, but''-and his voice grew thoughtful-
27
•
\
•
,
C
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
''that men ever aetually did them-and all in the day's work,
as you may say I-I never dreamed that there were men
like that in these days.''
The cowboy shifted his weight uneasily in the saddle,
while he regarded the man on the grouncl. curiusly. ''She
was sure a humdinger @f a celebratien,." he admitted, ''but
as. for the show part I've seen things happen when nobody
was thinking anything about it that would make those stunts
at Prescott look funny. The horse racing was pretty good,
though,'' he finished, with suggestive emphasis.
The other did not miss the point of the suggestion. ''I
didn't bet on anything,'' he lal1ghed.
''It's funny nobody picked you up on the road out here,''
the cowboy next ofered pointedly. ''The folks started home
early this morning·-and Jim Reid and his family passed me
about an h0ur ago-they were in an automobile. The Simmons
stage must hav·e caught up with you somevvhere.''
The stranger's face flushed, and he seemed trying to find
some answer.
The cowboy watched him QUrious1y; then in a musing .
tone added the suggestion, ''Some lonesome up here on foot.''
''But there are ·times, you know,'' returned the other
desperately, ''when a man prefers to be alone.''
The cowboy straightened in his s-adclle and lifted his reins.
''Thanks,'' he said dryly, ''I reckon I'd better be moving.''
But the other spoke quickly. ''I beg your pardon, Mr.
Acton, I did not mean that for yo;u.''
The horseman droppe.d his hands again to the saddle
horn, and resumed his lounging posture, thus tacitly accept-
2g
,
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
ing the apology. ''You have the advantage 0£ me,'' he said ..
The stranger laughed. ''Everyone. knows that 'Wild
Horse Phil' of the Cross-Triangle Ranch won the broncoriding
championship yeste1·day. I saw you ride.''
Philip Acton's face showed boyish embarrassment.
The othe1· continued, with his strange enthusiasm. ''It
was g1:eat work-wonderful! I never saw anything like it.''
There was no mistaking the genuineness of his admiration,
nor could he hide that wistful le>ok in his eyes.
''Shucks!'' said the cowboy uneasily. ''I could pick a
dozen of the boys in that outfit who can ride all around me.
It was just my luck, that's all-I happened to draw an easy
one.''
''Easy!'' ejaculated the strange1·, seeing again in his mind
the :fighting, plunging, maddened, outlawed b1·ute that this
boy-faced man had mastered. ''And I suppose catching and
throwing those steers was easy, too?''
The cowboy was plainly won.dering at the man's peculiar
enthuS'iasm £01· these most commonplace things. ''The roping
? Why, that was no more than we'1·e dbing all the time.''
''I don't mean the roping,'' returned the other, ''I mean
when you rode up beside one of those steei-s that was run-ning
at full speed, and caught him by the horns with your
bare hands, and jumped from your saddle, and threw the
beast over yo11, and then lay there with his horns pinning
you down ! You aren't doing that all the time, are you
You d@n't mean to tell me that s11ch things as that are a part
of your @veryday work!''
''Oh, the bull doggin' ! Why, no,'' admitted Phil, with
29
•
,
I ,
I
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN -
an embarrassed laugh ''that was just fun, you know:''
The strapger stared at him, speechless. Fun ! In "the
name of all that is most modern in civilization, what manner
of men were these who did such things in fun! If this was •
their recreation, what must their w@rk be!
''Do you mind my asking,'' he said wistfully, ''how you
learned to do such things?''
''Why, I don't know·-we just do them, I reekon.''
'' And c:ould anyone learn to ride as. you ride, do you
think i'' The question ca1ne with marked eagerness.
''I don't see why not,'·' answered the oowbGy honestly.
The stranger sho0k his head doubtfully and looked away
over the wild land where the. shadows of the. late afternoon
' were lengthening.
''Where are you going to stop to-night?'' Phil Acton asked
suddenly.
The stranger did not take his eyes from the view that
seemed to hold for him such peculiar inte1·est. ''Really,'' he
nswered indiferently, ''I had not thought of that.''
''I should think yo1'd be thinking of it along about supper
time, if you've walked frQm t0wn since morning.''
The stranger looked up with sudden interest; but the
cowboy fancied that theTe was a touch of bitterness under
the dr@ll tone of his reply. 'Do you know, Mr. Acton, I have
never been really hungr in my life. It might be interesting
to try it once, don't you think i''
Phil Aoton laughed, as he returned, ''It might be interesting,
all :right, but I think I better tell you, just the same,
30
•
•
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
that there's a ranch down yonder in the timber. It·'s nothing
but a goat ranch, but I reckon they would take you in. It's
too far to the Cross-Triangle for me to ask you there. You
can see the buildings, though, £rom here.''
The stranger sprang up _in quick interest. ''You can?
The Cross-Triangle Ranch?''
''Sure,'' the Gowboy smiled and pointed into the distance.
''Those red spots oYer there are the ro0fs. Jim Reid's place
-the Pot-Hook-S-is just this siae 0£ the meadows, and a
little to the south. The old Acton homestead-where I was
born-is in that bunch of cottonwoods, across the, wash from
the Cross-Triangle.''
I3ut strive as he might the stranger's eyes could disce1'Il
no sign of h11man habitation in those vast reaches that lay
before him.
''If you are ever over that way, drop in,'' said Phil
cordially. ''Mr. Baldwin will be glad to meet you.''
''Do you really mean that l'' questioned the other doubtfully.
''We don't say such things in this coillitry if we don't
mean them, Stranger,'' was the cool retort.
''Of course, I beg your pardon, Mr. Acton,'' came the
confused reply. ''I should like to see the ranch. I may·-
I will- That is, if I-'' He stopped as if not knowing
how to :finish, and with a gesture of hopelessness turned away
to stand silently looking back toward the town, while his face
was dark with painful memories, and his lips curved in that
mirthless, self-mocking smile.
31
-
•
I
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
And Philip Acton, seeing felt suddenly that he had
rudely intruded upon the privacy oi one who had sought the
solitude ·of that lonely place to hide the hurt of some bitter
experience. A certain native gentleness made the man of the
ranges understand that this stranger was face to face with
some crisis in his life that he was passing through one of
those trials through which a man must pass alone. Had it
been possible the cowboy would have apologized. But that
would have been an added unkindness. Lifting the reins·
and sitting er<eet in the sad file, he said indiferently, ''Well,
I must be moving. I take a sh@rt cut here. So long! Better
make it on down to the goat ranh-it's not far.''
He touched his horse with the spur an"d the animal sprang
away.
''Good-bye!'' called the stranger, ·and that. wistful look
was in his eyes as the rider swung his ho1·se aside from the
road, plunged clown the m0untain side, and dashed away
through the brush and ov:er the :rocks with reckless speed.
With a low exclamation of wondering ad.mi.ration, the man
climbed hastily to a highe.r p0int, and from there v;atched
until horse and iider, taking a st.eep.er declivity without cheqking
their breakneck course, dropped from sight in a cloud of
dust. The faint sound of the sliding rocks and gravel dislodgoo
by the flying feet died away; the cloud of dust dis .
solved in the thin air. The stranger looked away into the blue
distance in another vain attempt to see the red spots that
marked the Cross-Triangle Ranch..
Slowly the m3:n retu-rned to his seat on the rok. The
•
•
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
long shadows o.f Ganite }i;Iol1ntain crept out from the base
of the clifs farther and farther over the country below. The
blue of the distant hills changed to mauve with deeper masses
of purple in the shadows where the canyons are. The lonely
figure on the s11mmit o:f the Divide did not move.
The sun hid itself behind the line of mountains, and the
blue of the sl{y in the west changed slowly to gold against
which the peaks and domes and points were silhouetted as
if cut by a g-raver's tool, and the bold clifs and battlements
o:f old Granite grew colctly gTay in the gloom. As the night
came on and the details o.f its structure were lost, the mountain,
to the watching man on the Divide, assumed the appearanoe
of a mighty fort;res.s a :rortre$s,. he thought, to which a
generati0n of men might retreat from a civilization that
threatened them with destruction; and once more the man
faced back the way he had come.
The far-away cities were alre,ady in the blaz.e of their
own artificial lights:-lights valued not for t,hir power to
make eri. se0, but for their power to dazzle, attract and
intoxicate ligh·ts that permitted no kindly d1,1sk at eventide·
wherein a man might r€st from his day's work-a quiet hour;
lights that revealed squali·d shame and tinsel show-lights.
that hid the stars. The man on the Divide liftBd his face,
to the stars that now in the wide-arched sky were gathering
in such tmnurnbered multitudes to keep their sentinel watch
over the wo1·ld below. I
The cool evening wind came whispe1·ing over the 1on1y
land, and all the furred and winged creatl1res of the night
• 33
•
I
•
•
.
,
:
,
•.
•
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
stole £rom their dark hiding places into the gloom which is
the beginnig 0£ their day. A coyote crept stealthily past in
the dark and from the _mountain side below came the weird,
ghostly call of its mate. An owl drifted by on silent ·wings.
Night birds chirped ip. the chaparral. 'A. fox barked on. the
ridge. above. The shadowy form 0£ a bat flitted here and
there. From somewhere in the distance a. bull bellowed his
deep-v0iced challenge.
Suddenly the man on the s11mmit 0£ the Divide sprang
to i-: __ -:;et and, with a gesture that had he not been so alone
might have seemed afectedly dramatic, stretched out his
arms in an attitude of wistfl1l longing while his lips moved
as if, again and again, he whispered a. name .
.. ,
. -
34
•
•
-
•
f
-
IN THE BIG PASTURE.
Williamson Valley country the spring
round-up, or ''1·odeq,'' as i t is called in Arizona,
a1:1d the shi pp.ing are well over by the las·t of June.
1!:=:= During the long summer weeks, until the begin-ning
of the :tall rG>deo in September, the1e is little for
the riders to <lo. The cattle roam :fre on the open ranges,
while ealves g·0w into yearlings, yearlings become two-yea1·"'
olds, and tw0-year-olds mature for the market. 01:1 the
Gross-Triangle and similar ran0hes, three or four 0£ the
stealier yea1·-roun<il hands only are held. The·se repair and
build fences, visit the wate,Ting places, brand an occasional
calf that somehow has, managed to escape the drag"Ilet bf the
rodeo, and with ''dope bottle'' eve1· at hand doctor such animals
as a'l.'e aflicted with screwworms. It is during these
week1s, to@, tht the horses are broken; :for, with the hard
and dang·erous work 0£ the fall and spring months, there is
always need :for fresh mounts.
The horses of the Cross-T1·iangle were never permitted to
· run on the open range. Because the leaders of the numerous
35
•
,
••
•
• I
I
:WA E;N A J\{AN'S A MAN
bands of wild horses that roamed 9ver the country about
Granite Mountain were always ambjtious to gain recruits
· for their harems from their civilized neighbors, the freedom
of the ranch horses was limited by the fenoos of a :fourthousand-
ac;re pasture. But within these miles 0£ barbed
wire bcrundaries the brood mares with their growing progeny
lived as free and untamed as their wild cousins on the
unfenced lands about them. The colts, except for one painful
experience, when they were roped and branded, from the day
of their birth until they were ready to be broken wel'e never
handled.
On the morning following his meting with the stranger
on the Divide Phil Act0n, with two oi his cowboy helpers,
rode out to the big pasture t6. bring in the band.
The owner of the Cross-Triangle always declared that I
Phil was intimately acquainted with every individual horse
and head o:f stock between the Divide and Camp Wood Moun-tain,
and :from Sl.'7lli Valley to the Big Chino. In moments
of e.nthusiasm the Dean even maintaineu stoutly that his
yonng f61eman knew as well every coyote:, :fox, badger, der,
antelope, mountain lion, bobcat and. wild horse that had home
or hunting ground in the country over which the lad had . .
ridden since his babyhood. Certain it is that ''Wild Horse
Phil,'' as he was called by admiring friends for reasons
which you shall hear-loved this work and life to which he
was born. Every feature of that wild land, :from lonely
mountain peak to hidden canyon spring, was as familiar to
hjm the streets and buildings of a ·man's home city re
well known to the one reared among them. and as he rode
. - '
36
•
that morning with his comrades to the day's work the young
man felt keenly the call of the primitive, unspoiled life that
throbbed with such vital strength about him. He could not
have put that which he felt into words; he was not e"en
conscious of the foroos that so moved him; he only knew that
he was glad.
The days of the celebration at Prescott had ben enjoyable
days. To meet old friends and comrades; to ride with
them in the contest.s that all true men of his kind love; to
compare experiences and exchange news and gos,sip with
widely separated neighbors-had ben a pleasure. But the
curious crowds of strangers; the throngs of sightseers from
the, to him, unknown world 0£ cities, who had regarde.d · him
as they might have viewed some rare and little-known creature
in a menagerie, and the brazen presence of those unclean
parasites and harpies that prey always upon such occasions
had oppressed and disgusted him until he was glad to eseape
again to the clean freedom, the pure vitality anp. the unspoiled
spirit of his everyday life and environment. In an overflow
of sheer physical and spiritual energy h lifted his horse into
a run and with a shrill cowboy yll challenged his companions
to a wild race t.o the pasture gte.
It was some time after noon when Phil checked his horse
near the ruinr; of an old Indian lookout on the top 0£ Black
Hill. Blow, in the open land above Deep Wash, he could
see his cowboy companions wo-rking the band of horsss that
had been gathered slowly toward the narrow pass t.hat at the
eastern end of Black Hill leads through to the flats at the
upper end of the big meado,vs, and so to the gate and to the
37
•
'
•
;/. -
j
I
WREN A MAN'S A. MAN
way they would :follow to the corral. It was Phil's purpose
to ride across Black Hill down the western and northern
slope, through the cedar timber, and, picking up any horses
that might be ranging, there, j oi:n the others at the g:;i,te. In
the meanwhile there wais time £or a few minutes rest. Dismounting,
he loosed the girt and lifted saddle and blanket
:&om Hobson' ste3:ming back. Then, while the good horse,
wea1·ie.d with the hard riding and the steep climb up the
mountain side, stood quietly in the shade 0£ a cedar his
master, st;rtohed on th grouncl near by, idly scanned the
- ·
world that lay below and about them.
Very clearly in that light atmosphere Phil could see the
tr.ees and buildings of the home ranch, and, just across the
sandy wash :f1·om the Cross-Triangle, the grove of cottonw0ods
and walnuts that hid the little old house where he was born .
A mile away, on the. e.astern side.. of the great valley meadows,
he could see the home bl!ild.ings of· the Reid ranch-the P0tHook-
S, whre Ki.tty R(gid h·ad lived all the clays 0f her life
except those three years whi0h she had spent at sohqol in the
Et.
The young man on the top at Black Hill looked long at
the Reid home. In his mind . he could see Kitty dressed in
some cool, simple gown, f1&sh and dainty after the morning's
housework, sitting with bot>k or 'sewing on the front p9rch.
The porch was on the otner side of the ho·use, it is true, and
the distatc-e was too great :for him to distinguish a person
in :my case, b,ut all that made no diference to Phil's vision
-he could see her just the sam.
Kitty had bee.n ,:,rery kind ,\p Phil at the celebration.
,38
•
WHEN A MANZS A MAN
But Kitty was lways kind-nearly always. But in spite ,of
her kindness the cowboy felt that she had not, somehow,
seemed to place a very high val11ation upon the medal he had
won in the b,ronco.:riding contest. Phil himself did not greatly
value the medal; but he had wanted greatly to win that
championship because of the very substantial money prize
that went with it. That money, in Phil's mind, was to play
a very important part in a long cherished dream that was • one of the things that Phil Acton did not talk ab<:>ut. He
had not, in fact, 1·idden £or the championship at all, but for
his dream, and that was why it mattered so much when Kitty
seemed so to lack interest in his succes.s .
As though his, s·ubconscious mind directed the :fiOVement,
the young man looked away from Kitty's home to the distant '
mountain ridge wher the night be£01·e on the summit of the
Divide he haq-Amet the stranger. All the way home the cowboy
had wondered about the man; evolving many theories,
inventing many things to account for his presence, alone and
on foo;t, so far from the surroundings t0 which he was so
clearly accustomed. Of onE> thing Phil was s:1:1re-the man
was in trouble deep trouble. The more that the clean.minded,
gentle-hearted lad 0£ the great out-oi-doors thougJ:it
abgut it, the more strongly he :felt that he had unwittingly
intruded at a moment that was sacred to the stranger·-sacred
because the man was £.ghting one of those battles that every
man must :fight. and fight alone. It was this feeling that
had kept the young man from spea.king of the incident to
anyone even to the Dean, or to ''-Mother,'' as he called Mrs.
Baldwin. Perhaps, too, thfs feeling was the 1·eal reason for
39
'
\,
.
• WEEN A MAN'S A MAN
'
Phil's s.ense 0£· kinship with the stranger, for the cowboy
himself had moments in his life that he could permit no. man
t<:> look up0n. But in his thinking of the man whose persona.ltty
had so impressed him o· ne thing stood out ,,above all
the te,st---'the stranger elearly belonged to that world of which,
from e:xperienc, the· young foreman o:f the Cross-Triangle
knew nothing. Phil Acton had no desi1•e for the wetrld to
which the s;tranget belonged, but in his heart there was a
.
. tro1-bl€sOine question. If-if he himself WE.}1e more- like the
man whom he had met on the Divide; 1f·-if he knew more
of that other world; if he, in some degree, belonged to that
Gtner world, as Kitty, because of her three years in ·school
oelon:ged; would it make any diference
From the distant mountain ridge that marks the eastern
limits of the Williamson Valley country, and thus, in a
degree, marked the limit of Phil's world, the lad's gaze turned
again to the scene inime.a.iately before him.
The b·and of horses, followed by the cowboys, were trotting
from the narrow pass out into the open flats. Some of
th@- band-the mothers,-went quietly, knowing fr.om past
e;q>erience that they w0uld i:n a few hours be returned to
their :freedom. Others'-the colts and v7'earlings1-bewildered,
eurious and £-earful, :£0llowed their mothers without protest.
But thG>se wh0 in many a friendly race or primitive battle.
had pr0ved their growing iears seemed t sense a coming
crisis in their lives hitherto peaee:ful. Ano these, as though
warned by that strange instinct· which guards all wild things,
and realizmg that the open ground btwen the pass and the
gate presented their last opportunity, made final desperate
40
'
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
efforts to escape. With sudden dashes, dodging and doubling,
they tried again and again for f1·eeclom. Bl1t always between
them and the haunts they loved there was a persistent horseman.
R1rnning leaping:, whirling, in their eforts to be everywhe1
·e at once, the riders worked their charg·es toward the
gate.
The man on 'the hilltop sprang to his fet. Hobson threw
up his head, and. with sharp ea:rs fo,rward eagerly watched
the game he knew so well. With a quiekness incredi-ble to
the ,uninitiated, Phil threw blanket and saddle to place. · As
he drew the cinch tight, a shrill cowboy yell came up f1·om the
flat below.
One of the band, a powerful bay, had broken past the
guarding horsemen, and was running with every ounce of his
strength for the timber 0n the western slope of Black Hill.
For a hundred yards one of the riders had tried to overtake
and turn the fugitive; but as he saw how the stride of the
free horse was widening the distance between them, the cowboy
turnecl. back lest .0thers follow the successful runaway's
example. The yell was to inform Phil of the situation.
Before the ehoes of the signal could die away Phil was
in the saddle, and with an answering shout sent H@bson down
the rough mountain sicl.e in a wild, reckless, plunging run to
head the, for the moment, victorio11s bay. An hour later the
:foreman rejoined his companions who were h0lding the band.
of horses -at the gate. The big bay, reluctant, protesting,
twisting and tunring in vain attempts to outmaneuver Ho_ bson,
was a captive in the loop of ''Wild H01·se Phil's'' riata.
In the big corral that afternoon Phil and. his helpers,.
41
•
WHEN A MAN'S A liIAN
with the Dean and Little Billy looking on, cut out irom the
herd the h9rses selected to be, broken. These, one by one,
were £0rced th1yo-qg]l the gate into the adjoining corral, from
which they watched with· uneasy wonder and many e:¥:cited
and inefectual attempts to follQw, when thej:r more fortunate
companions were driven again to the 'big pasture. Then Phil
opened another gate, and the little band dashed wildly
through, to find themselves in the small meadow pasture
where they would pass the last night before the one great
battle of their 'lives-a battle that would be for them a
dividing· point between those years of ease and .freedom which '
had been theirs f rQm birth and the years of hard and usef11l
service that we1·e to come.
Phil sat on his hor-se at the gate watching with critical
eye as the unh>roken animals raee.d away. ''Some good ones
in the bunch this year, Uncle Will,'' he commented to· his
employ·er, who, standing 0n the w·atering trough in the @ther
corral, was looking over the fence.
t'There's bound. to be some good ones in. every bunch,''
t d M B Id . ''And - t to '' re urn©· 1·. a : w:in. some no accoun ones, - o,
he added, as his foreman dismounted beside him.
Then, while the young man slipped the bridl@ from his
ho.rse and stood waiting for the animal to drink, the older •
•
man rega1·ded him silsntly, as though in his own mind the
Dean's observation bore somewhat upon Phil hims:elf. That
was always the way with the Dean. As Sherif Fellows once
remarked to J utlge Powell in the old days of the cattle rustlers'
glory, ''Whatever Eill Baldwin. says is mighty nigh
always double-bar1·eled.''
•
• 42
•
•
WHEN A MAN''S A MAN
There are also two sides to the Dean. Or, rather, to be
accurate, there is a front and a back. The back-flat and ·
straight and broad-indicates one side 0£ his character·-the
side that belongs with the s·quare chin and the blue eyes th.at
'
always look at yell with such frank directness. It was this
side of the man that brought him b,aref@0ted and penniless
to Arizona in those days long gone when he was only a boy
and A1·izona a strong man's country. It was this side of
him that brought him triumpha·ntly through those. ha1·d years
of the Indian trdubles, and. in those wild and lawless times
made him respected and feared by the evildoers and trusted
and followed by those of his kind. who, out of the hardshiyc1s
and dang'ers of those tu1·bulent days, made the Arizona 0f
to-day. It was this side, too, that finally made the barefoot,
penniless boy the owner of the Gross-Triangle Ranch.
I do not know the exact number of the De,an's yearsI
only lrnow that his hair is grey, and that he does not ride
as mu0h as he once did. I have heard him say, though, that
for thirty-five years he lived. in the saddle, and that the
Cr·oss-Triangle brand is one of the oldest ir0ns in the State.
And I know, too, tl;iat his back is still flat and broad and
straight.
The Dean's- front,_ so well-rounded and hearty, indicates
as clearly the other side of his eharacter. And it is this side
that belongs to the full 1·ed cheeks, the eve1·-ready chuckle or
laugh; that puts the twinkle in the blue eyes, and the kindly
tones in his deep voice. It is this side of the Dean's character
that adds so large a mtasure of love to the respect and con,
fidence accorded him by neighbors and :friends, business asso-
43
,
•
•
'
\
'
•
WREN A MAN?S A MAN
I
ciates and employees. It is this side 0£ the Dean, too, that,
in these days, sits in the shade o:f the big w-alnnt trees-pl
ntea by his own hand-and talks. to the youngsters o:f the
days that ar gone, and that makes the yo®g riders of this
· genertion seek hitn out £or co1.1nsel and sympathy and help.
Thre things the Dean knows- aattle and horses and men.
One thing the Dean will not, cannot tolerate weakness in
one who should be strong.· Even bad men he admires, if they
are str@ng-not £or their badness, but for their strength.
Mis. taken men h loves in spite o:f their mistakes-if only
they be not wealrlings. There is no place anywhere in the
Dean's philosophy of life for a weakling. I heard him tell
a man once nor shall I ever :forget it.-''You had better die
like a man,_si:r, than live like a sneaking eoyote.''
The Deans sons, men grown, were gone from the home
raneh to the nel<il.s and work o:f their choosing. Little Billy,
a nephew 0£ seven years, was-as Mr. and Mrs. Ba1dwin
said laughingly-their second crop.
When Phil"s horse, satisrred lifted his dripping muzzle
from the wate.Fi1g t:uough, the Dean wlke<l. with his young
foreman t0 the saddle shed. Neither @f the men sr,0ke, for
between them tbel'e was that eQmpanionship which d<1es not
require a c@nstant flow of tti.lk to keep it alive. Not until
the cowboy had turned his horse loose, and was hanging
saidle and bridle on their accustomed peg did the older man
speak.
t'Jim Reid's goin' to begin breakin' horses next week"
''So I heard,'' :ret.urne.d Phil, carefully sp1,e,ading his saddle
blanket to dry.
44
'
.WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
•
The Dean spoke again in a tone of indi:f erence. '''Re .
wants you 'to help him.''
''Me·! :What's the matter with Jack?''
''He's goin' :to the D.1 to-morrow.''
Phil was examining the wrapping on his saddle horn with
-the Dean noted-,quite 11n11ecessary care.
'<Kitty was over this tn:01-nin','' said the Dean gently.
The young man turned, and, taking of his spurs,, hung
them on the saddle horn. Then as he kicked of his leather
chaps he said shortly, ''I'm not looking for a job as a profes-sional
bronco-buster.'' ,.;, , -
. .
The Dean's eyes twinkled. ''Thought you might like to
help a neighbor out; j11st to be neighborly, you know.''
''Do you want me to ride for Reid?'' demanded Phil.
''Well, I suppose as lon,g as there's broncs to bust some-
body's got to bust 'em,'' the De.an returned, without committing
hjmself. And then, when Phil made no reply, he added
laughing, ''I told Kitty to tell him, though, that I reckoned
you had as big a string as you could handle here.''
As they moved away toward the hou.se, Phil returned
with significant emphasis, ''When I have to ride for anybody
besides you it won't be Kitty Reid's father.''
d the Dean commented in his reflective tone, ''It does
sometimes sem to make fl. diference who a man Fides £or,
don't it''
In the pasture by the corrals, the horses that awaited the
approaching trial that would mark for them the beginning
of a new life pa$sed a restless night. Some in meekness of
spirit or, perhap_s, with deeper wisdom fed quietly. Others
45
•
•
•
I
•
'
•
'
•
WHEN A MAN'S .A MAN
wandered about aimlessly, snatching an occasional uneasy
mouthful of gTass, and 100lfing ab0ut often in troubled doubt.
The more rebelli0us ones :followed the fence, searching for
'Some place 0f weakness in the barbed bar.1·ier that imprisoned
them. And one, wh©, had he not been by circumstance robbd
of his birthright, would have be'en the strong leader of a wild
band, sto0d often with wide nostrils and challenging eye,
gzing· ·toward the corrals and builings as :!questioning the
right of thqse who had brol1ght hrm there :from the haunts
he lt>ved.
And S'omewhere in the night of that land which was as
11nknown to him as the meadow pasture was strange to the
unbroken horses, a man awaited the ·day which, £01· him too,
was to st.and through aJl his rem.aining years as a mark . \ between the old life and the new. ' ' .
As Phil Acton lay in his bed, with doors and windows
open wide t,o welcome the cool night ai1·, he heard the restless
hors®S in the near-by pastur, and smiled as he thought 0£.
the big bay and·the morrow smiled with the smile of a man
who lo@. ks forward t>e a battle worthy of h:is best strength
and skill . •
And then, strangely enough, as he was slipping into that
dreamless· sleep· of those who live as he lived, his mind we:nt
back again te> the ,stranger whom he had met on the summit
of the Divide. If he were more like that man, w@uld it make
any diference the cowboy wonct.er-ed.
•c _ I ,
t!i •'(A ,., .j 46
'
,, I
•
•
/ t l
' SelI I I
AT THE CORRAL.
. Il '
f 1
1 (:.l. ; i . ·u ' .
\ : I ' , •( Ii ·I '() r •I ' t
l'V.\ 1·/1 \ ' ! . ;
N tha beginning of the morning, when Granite ;_ 1
Mountain's fortress-like battlements and towers }
loomed gray and bold and grim, the big bay horse
l===:.J trumpeted a w·arn1ng to his less watchful mate.
Instantly, with heads high and eyes wide, the band •
stood in frightened indecision. Two horsemen-shadowy
and mysterious forms- in the misty light.-were riding from
the corral into the pasture.
As the riders api!roached, individuals in the band moved
uneasily, starting as if to run, hesitating, turning for another
look, maneuvering to put thei1· mates between them and the
enemy. But the bay went boldly a short distance toward the
danger and stood still .with wide nostrils and fierce eyes as
though ready £or the combat.
For a few moments, as the horsemen eeemed about to go
past, hope beat high in the hearts of the timid prisoners.
Then the riders circled to put the band betwen themselves
and the co1·ral gate, and the frightened animals knew. But
always as they whirled and dodged in their attempts to avoid
47
\
•
\
'
I
•
'
WHEN A M-AN'S.- A MAN
that big gate toward which they were forced to mo.ve, there
was a silent, >persistent horse. m ·barring the wa· y. The big
bay alone, as tho11gh r,ealizi,ng the futility of such efforts and
so conserving his strength £0r whatever was to follow, trotted
pr0udly, boldly into the corrsal, where he stood, his eyes never
leavin.g t1ie riders, as his mates crowded and j0stled about
h. im.
''The.re's one in that bunch that's sure ainaj.n' to make
you ride some,'' said Curly Elsgn: with' a grin, ·to Phil, as.
the family s:at at breakfast.
·On the Cross-Triangle the men who were held through
the summer and wmter seasons between the months of the
rodeos were @onside-red members of the family. Chosen £or
their haracte1r, as well a,s for their knowledge of the country
and their skill i1 their work the Dean and ''Stella,'' as M1·s.
Bcaldwin is ealle.d thr0ug}iout all that country, always spoke
of them a.fectionately as 'our boys.-,
And this, better than
anything that conld be _said, is an introduction to the mistress
of the C10ss-Triangle household.
At the challenging latigh which followed Ou:tly's obaervation,
Phil returne,d quietly with his sunny smile, ''Maybe I'll
quit him bef.ore he gets good and started.''
''He''s s1;1re fixin' to malfe you Back the deoision of them
G,ontest judges,'' ofe:red Bob Colton.
And l'Irs. Baldwin, yp\J,ng in spirit as any oi her boys,
added, ''Better not wea1 your medl, son. It might excite
him to kriow that you are the champion busier o·£ Arizona.''
''Shl1cks !'' piped up Little Billy excitedly, ''Phil can ride
anything what weats hair, ean't you, Phil?''
I 4S
I
I
WHEN A UN'S A MAN ·
Phil, emba1·rassed at the laughter which followed, said, .
with tactful seri0usness, to his little champion, ''That's right,
kid. You stand up for your pardne1· every time, don't you ?
You'll· be ricl.ing them yo1.,1rself before long. There's a little
sorrel in that bunch that I've picked out to gentle fo.r you.''
He glanced at his employer meaningly, and the Dean's face
glowed with appreciation of the young man's thoughtfulness.
''That old horse, Sheep, 0£ yours,'' continued Phil to Little
Billy, ''is getting too old and stif £01· your work. I've noticed
him stumbling a lot lately.'' Again he glanced inquiringly
•
at the Dean, wh.o answered the look with a slight nod of
approv·al.
''You'd better make liim gentle your horse :6.rst, Billy,''
teased Curly .. ''He might not be in the business when that
big one gets through with him.''
Little Billy's retort came in a flash. ''Huh, 'Wild Horse
Phil' will be a-ridin' 'em long after you've got your'n, Ourly
Elson.''
''Look 0ut, son,'' cautioned the Dean, when the laugh had
gone round again. "'Ou.r}y will be slippin' a bur,r 1mder your
saddle, if you don't.'; Then to the men: ''What horse is it
that yo11 boys think is goin' to be such a bad one ? That big
bay with the blazd £ace?''
The cowboys nodded.
''He's bad, all right;'' said Phil. ,
''Well,'' commented the Dean, leaning back in his (;hair
and speaking generally, ''he's sure got a license to be bad.
His mother was the wickedest piece of horse flesh I ever
knew. Remember her, Stella''
49
-
•
•
• WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
i(Indeed I do,'' returned Mrs. Baldwin. ''.She nearly
:ruined that Windy Jim who came from nobody knew where,
and bragged that he could ride anything.'·'
The Dean chuckled reminiscently. ''She sure sent Windy
back where he came from. But I tell you, boys, that kind
•
of a horse makes the best in the world once you get 'em broke
right. Horses are just like men, anyhow. If they ain't got
enough in 'em to light when they're bein' broke, theam.'t
generally worth breakin'.''
''The man that rides that bay will sm·e be a-horseback,''
said Curly.
''He's a man's horse, all right,'' agreed Bob.
Break:f.ast over, the men lft the house, not too qui@tly,
and laughing, jesting and romping like school boy·s, went out
to the corrals, with Little Billy tagging eagerly at their heels.
The Dean and Phil remained :for a few rnjnutes at the table
''You r:eally oughtn't to say such things to those boys,
:Will,'' reproved Mrs. Baldwin, as she watched them from the
window. ''It encourages them to be wild, and land knows
tliey don't need any encouragement.''
''Shucks,'' returned the Dean, with that gentle note that
was always in his voice when he spoke to her. ''If such talk
as that can hurt 'em, there ain't nothin' that could save 'em.
You're always afraid somebody's goin' to go bad. Look at
me and Phil h.ere,'' he added, as they in turn pushed their
chairs back £rom the table; .''you've fussed enough over us to
spoil a dozen men, and ain't we been a cre<lit to you all the
titne i''
50
•
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
At this they laughed. together. But as Phil was leaving .
the house Mrs. Baldwin stopped him at the door to say
earnestly, ''You will be careful to-clay, won't you, son? You
know my other Phil-'' She stopped and tur·ned away.
The young man knew that story-a sto17 comn1on to that
land where the lives of men are not infrequently ofered a
saor·ifice to the untamed strength of the life that in many
forms they re daily called upon to meet and master.
''Never mind, mother,'' he said gently. ''Ill be all 1·ight.''
Then more lightly he added, with his sunny smile, ''If that
big bay starts anything with me, I'll climb the corral fence
p1·onto.''
Quietly, as one who faces a hard day's work:, Phil went
to the saddle shed where he buckled on chaps and spurs.
Then, after looking carefully to stirrup leathe;rs, cinch and
latigos, he went on to the corrals, the heavy saddle under his
arm.
Curly and Bob, their· horses saddled and ready, wer·e,
making animated targets of themselves for Little Billy, who,
mounted on Sheep, a gentle old cow-horse, was w:hirling a
miniature riata. As the foreman appeared, the cowboys,
dr·opped their fun, and, mounting·, took the coils of their ownrawhide
1·opes in hand.
''Which one will you have first, Phil?'' asked Curly, as
he moved toward the gate between the big corr·al and the
smaller enclosure that held the band of horses.
''That black one with the white star will do,'' directed
Phil quietly. Then to Little Billy: ''You'd better get baek
51
•
.
I
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
•
there out of the way, pardner. That blae-k is liable to jump
&ear over you and Sheep.''
''You better get @utside, son,'' amended the Dean, who
had come out to watch the beginning of the work.
''No, 10-please, Unele Will,'' begged the lad. ''TMy
c;n't get me as long as I'm (i)n Sheep.''
Phil and the Dean laughed.
''I'll look out for him,"' said the young man. ''0;:μy,''--
he added to t-h© boy, ''you must keep out 0£ the way.?'
''.And se that yot1 stick to Sheep, if you expect him to
take oare of you'; :finished. the Dean, relenting.
¥eanwhile the gate he:tween the corrals had ben thrown
open, and with Bob to guard the opening Curly r-ode in
among the unbroken hoPs.es to cut out the ·animal indicated
by Phil, and from within that circular enclosure, wliere the
ea+th had been ground to fine p@wder by hundreds of thousands
of frightened feet, came the rolling thunder of quickbeating
hoofs as in a swirling cloud of yellow dust the h0rses
tushed and leaped and whirled. Again and again the frightened
animals threw thems.elves against the barrier that
hemmed them in; but that fence, built of cedar posts set close
in stockade £ashion and laced on the outside with wire, was
: made to withstand the maddened rush 0£ the heaviest steers.
And alwayg, amid the e@nfusion of the frenzied animals, the
figure of the mounted man in their midst could be sen calmly
directing their wildest movements, and soon, out from the
crowding, jostling, whirling mass oi flying feet and tossing
manes and tails, the lDlack with the white star ·shot toward
52
•
•
WHEN A MAN'S A MAL
the gate. Bob's horse leaped aside f1·om the way. Ourly's.
horse was between tl:ie black and his mates, and be£ ore the
animal could gather his confUBed senses he was in the larger
corral. The day's work had begun.
The black dodged skillfully, and the loop of Ourly's riata
missed the mark.
''You better let somebody put eyes in that rope, Curly,''
remarked Phil, laconically, as he stepped aside to avoid a
wild rush.
The chagrined cowboy said something in a low tone, so
that Little Billy could not hear.
The Dean chuckled.
Bob's riata whirled, shot out its snaky length, and his
trained horse braced himself skillfully to the black's weight
on the rope. For a few minutes the animal at the loop end
of the 1·iata struggled desperately-pl11nging, tugging, throwing
himself this way and that; but always the experienced
cow-ho1·se tu1·ned with his victim and the rope. was never
lack. When his first wild e:f orts wete over and the black
stood with his wide braced feet, breathing heavily as that
choking loop began to tell, the strain on the taut riata was
lessened, and Phil went quietly toward the frightened captive.
No one moved or spoke. This was not an exhibition the
success of which depended on the vicious wildness of the
horse t o be conquei:ed. This was work, and it was not Phil's
business to provoke the black to extremes in order to exhibit
his own prowess as a 1·ide1· for the pleasure of spectators
:who had paid to see the show. The rider was employed to
53
•
WHEN A MA.N'S A MAN
win the confidence of the unbroken horse entrusted to him;
to :force obedience, ii necessary; to gentle and train, and so
m.ake of the wild creature a useful and valuable servant for
the Dean.
There are riders whose methods demand that they throw
every unbroken horse giv@n them to handle, and who gentle
an animal by beating it about the head with loaded qui.1·ts,
ripping its flank·s open with sharp spurs and tejig its
mouth with torturing bits and ropes. These tum over to
their employers as thir finished product horses that are
broken, indeed-but b1·oken only in spirit, with no hear.t or
courage left to them, with dispositions rt1ined, and often with
physical injuries f1·om which they neve1· recover. But ride.rs
oi such methods have no place among the men employed by
owners of the Dean's type. On the Cross-Triangle, and
indeed on ·all ranches whe1·e conservative business principles
are in force, the horses are handled with all the care and
gentleness that the work and the individuality of the animal
will permit.
After a lit«tle Phil's hand gently touched the blacks head.
Instantly the struggle was resumed. The rider tlodged a
vicious blow f1·om the strong fo1·e hoofs and with a good
natured laugh softly chided the desperate animal. And so,
presently, the kind hand was again stretched forth; and then
a broad band of leather was deftly slipped over the black's
frightened ey-es. Another thicker and softer rope was knotted
so that it could not slip about the now sweating neck, and
fashioned into a hackamore or halter ab0ut the animal's nose.
54
'
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
Then the riata was loosed. Working deftly, silently, gently
ever wary of those dangerous hoofs.-Phil next placed ·
blanket and saddle on the t1·embling black and drew the cinch
tight. Then the gate leading from the corral to the open
range was swung back. Easily, but quickly and surely, the
rider swung to his seat.. He paused a moment to be sure that
all was right, and then leaning forward he reached over
and 1·aised the leathe1 blin.dfold. For an instant, the wild,
. unbroken horse stood still, then rea1·ed until it seemed he
must fall, and then, as his forefeet touched the ground again,
the spurs went home, and with a mighty leap forward the
frenzied animal dashed, b11cking, plunging, pitching,
th1·ough the gate and away toward the open .country followed
by Cu.rly and Bob, with Little Billy spurring -old Sheep, in
hot pursuit.
Fo1 a little the Dean lingered in the ·suddenly emptied
c0.rral. ·Stepping 11p on the end of the Ieng watering trough,
close to the Elividing fence, he studied with knowing eye th@
animals on the 0ther sid@. Then leisurely he made his way
01it of the co1·1·al, visited the windmill pump, looked in on
Stella :from the kitchen porch, and then saddled B1·uwny, his
own particular horse that g-razed always about the place at
privileged ease, and r0de of someYvhere on some business o:f
his own.
When the black horse had spent his strength in a vain
attempt to rid himself G>f the dreadf1l burden that had
attached itself so securely to his back, he was herded back
to the corral, where the bu1·den set him :free. D1·ipping with
55
'
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
sweat, trembling in every limb and muscle, wild,.eyed, with
distended nostrils and heaving flanks, the black crowded in
among his mates again, his first lesson over·-his years 0£
ease and £red@m past £orever.
''Aud which will it oe this !ime 1'' came Ourly's g_uestion.
''I'll have that, Buckskin this trip,'' answered Phil.
And again that swirling cloud of dust raised by those
thundering h00iB d1,ifted over the stockade enclosure, and out
of the mad aonfusion the buckskin dashed wildir{hrough
the gate to be initiated into his new li£e.
And so, hour after h0ur, the work went on, s horse aftet
horse at Phil"s word was out out of the b·:md and ridden;
.an;d every horse, acc;ording to disposition a .nd temper and
st:i:ength, wa,s diferent. While his helpers did th,eir part the
rider caught a :few moments rest. Always he was good
natured, soft spolten and gentle. When a frightened animal,
not understanding, tried to kill him, he accepted it as evi-
. -dence of a commendable spi1·it, and, with that sunny, bosh
smile, inf armed his pupil kinclly that he was a good horse
and mus.t not make a :fool of himself.
In so many ways, as the Deft.n had said at breakfast that
mor:ni;ng, horses are j1J.St like men.
It was mid-afternoon when the master of the OtossTriangle
again strolled lisurely out to the corrals. Phil
and his helpers, including Little Billy, were j1rst disappearing
over the rise o:f ground beyond the gate on the £arther side
of the hclosure as the Dean reached the gate that opens
toward the barn and ho;use. He went on through the corral,
56 '
•
WHEN A MAN'S. A MAN
and slowly, as one having nothing else to do, climbed the
little knoll from which he could watch the riders in the distance.
When tlie horsemen had disappeared among the scattered
cedars on the ridge, a mile or so tb the west, the D.ean
still stood looking in that direction. Bl1t. the owner of the
Cross-Triangle was not watching £or the return. of his men.
He was not even thinking of them. He was looking beyond
the ceda1· ridge to ,vhere, several miles away, :i. long, mesatopped
mountain showed black against the blue of the more
distant hills. The edge of this high table-lnd broke aBruptly
in a long series of vertical clifs, the formation known to A1.-izonians
as rim rocks. The deep shadows of the towe1·ing
black wall of clifs and the gloom of the pines and cedars
that hid the foot of the mountain gave the place a sinister
and tn1·eatening appearance.
As he looked, ·the Dean's kindly f ce grew somber and
stern; his blue eyes were for the moment cold and accus·ing;
unde1· his grizzled musta0he his mouth, usually so 1·eady to
smile or laugh, was set in lines of uncompromising firmness.
In these quiet and well-earned restful years of the Dean's
liie the Tailholt Mountain outfit was the only disturbing
element. But the L>ean did not permit himself to be long
annQyed by the tho11ghts provol<:ed by Tai1holt Mountain.
Philosophically he turned his br<:>ad back to the intruding
scene, and went back to the corral, and to the m:0re pleasing
occupation o.£ looking at the horses.
If the Dean had not so abruptly turne<:l his back upon the
landscape, he would have noticed the figure of a man moving
57
;
•
•
•
•
•
WHEN A MAN'S A lfAN
slowly along the toad that skirted the valley meadow leading
from Simmons to the Cross-Triangle Ranch.
Presently the riders returned, and Phil,. when he had
remov-ed saddle, blanket and hackamore from his pupil, seated
himself on the edge of the watering trough besicle the DeaJ1.
''I see you ain't tackled the big. Uay yet,'' remark&d the ·,
older man.
''Tonght if I'd let him look on £or a while, )e :1ight
fig1re 1t out that he'd better be good and not :get himself
hurt,'' smiled Phil. ''He's sure some hoi-se,'' he added
admiringly. Then to his helpers: ''I'll take that black with
the white forefoot this time, Curly.''
Just as the fresh hoi·se dashed into the larger corral a
man on foot -appeared,. coming over the ri$e of ground to
the west; ·and by the time that Curly's loop, was over the
black's head the man stood at. the gate. One glance told Phil
that it was the stranger ,vhom he had met on the Divide.
The man seemed to understand that it was no time- for
greeting and, without ofering to enter the enclosure, climbed
to the t@p of the big gate, whe,re he sat, with one leg ove1· the.
topm0st bar, an interested spectator.
The maneuvers of the black brought Phil to that side
of the corral, and, as he coolly dodged, the :fighting horse, he
glanced up with his boyish smile and a quick. nod of welcome
to the man perche.d above. him. The strs.nger smiled in return,
but did not speak. He mtiiSt have tho1.1ght, though, that
this cowboy appea1·ed quite diferent from the picturesque
rider he had seen at the ,celebration and on the summit of
•
58
•
'
•
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
the Divide. That Phil Acton had been-as the cowboy
himself would have said-''all togged out in his glad rags.''
This man wore chaps that were old ancl. patclied from hard
service; his shi1i, 1:1nbuttoned at the throat, w-as the color of
the corral di1i, and a generous tear revealed one muscular
shoulder ; his hat was gi·easy and battered ; his £ace grimed
and streaked with dust and sweat, but his sunny, boyish
smile would have identi:fied Phil in any garb.
vVhen the rider was ready to mount, and Bob went to
open the gate, the stranger climb·ed down and drew a little
aside. And when Phil, passing where he stood, looked laughingly
down at him from the back of the bucking, plunging
horse, he made as if to applaud, but checked himself and
went quickly to the top of the knoll to watch the riders until
they disappeared over the ridge.
''Howdy! Fine wether we're havin'.'' It was the Dean's
hearty voice. I-Ie had .g0ne forward courteously to greet the
stranger while the latter W3$ watching the riders.
The man turned lmpulsively, his face lighted with enthu-siasm.
''By Jove!'' he exclaimed, ''but that man can ride!''
''Yes, Phil does pretty well,'' retl1rned the Dean indiferently.
''Won the championship at Prescott the other day.''
Then, more heartily: ''He's a mighty good boy, tootake
him any way you like.''
As he spoke the cattleman looked the stra.nger over critically,
much as he would have looked at a stee1· or horse, noting
the long limbs, the well-made body, the stre>ng face and clear,
dark eyes. The man's dress told the Dean simply that the
59
•
•
WA EN A M,AN'S A MAN
stranger was from the city. His bearing commanded the
older man's respect. The stranger's next statement, as he
looked thoughtfully over the wide land of -valley and hill
and mesa and mountain, eonvinced the Dean that he was a
man of judgment.
''Arizona is a wonderful country, sir-wonderful!''
''Finest in the world, sir,'' agreed the Dean promptly.
''There just naiurally oan't be any better. We'v.e got the
climate; wf.ve got the land; and we've got the men.''
The stranger looked at the Dean quickly when he said
''men.'' It was worth much to hear the Dean speak that
word.
•
''Indeed you have,'' he rettlrned heartily. '(I never saw
such men.''
''Of course you haven't,'' said the Dean. ''I tell you, sir,
they just don't make 'em outside of Arizona. It takes a
country like this to produce real men. A man's got to be a;
man out here. Of course though,'' he admitted kindly, '''we
don't know much e:x.cept to ride, an' throw a rope, an' shoot,
mebby, onee in a while.''
The riders were.. returning and the Dean ahd the stl'anger
walked back down the little hill to the corral.
''Y Qll have a £.ne ranch here, Mr. Baldwin,'' again
observed the stranger.
The Dean glanced at him sharply. Many men had tried
to b"'.ly the Cross-Triangle. This man certainly appeared
prosperous, even th0>ugh he was walking. But there was no
accounting for the queer things that city men would do.
60
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
''It does pretty well,'' the cattleman admitted. ''I manage
to make a livin'.''
The other smiled as though slightly embarrassed. Then:
''Do you need any help?''
''Help!'' The Dean looked at him amazed.
''I mean-I would like a position to work for you, you
know.''
The Dean was speechless. Again he surveyed the stranger
with his measuring, critical look. ''You've never done any
work,'' he said gently.
!:The man stood very straight before him and spoke almost
defiantly. ''No, I haven't, but is that any reason why I
should not?''
The Dean's eyes twinkled, as they have a way of doing
when you say something that he likes. ''I'd say it's a better
rson why you shollld,'' he returned quietly.
Then he said to Phil, who, having dismissed his fourfooted
pllpil, was coming toward them:
''Phil, thi.s man wants a job. Think we can use him?''
The young man. looked at the stranger with unfeigned
surprise and with a hint of amusement, but gave no sign·
that he had ev:er seen him before. The same natural delicacy
of feeling that had prevented the cowboy from discussing the
man upon whose privacy he felt he had intruded that evening
of their meeting on the Divide led him now to ignore the
incident-a conside1·ation which could not but command the
strange man's respect, and for which he looked his gratitude.
There was something about the stranger, to0, that to Phil
,
•
'
r
-
WHEN A :MA'N'S A MAN
segmed diferent. This tall, well-built fellow who stood beiore
them st) self-possessed, and ready for anything, was not alto
·gether like the uncertain, embarrassed, half-frightened
troubled gentleman at whom Phil hacl. first laug:hed
thinly veiled egntempt; and then had pitied. It was
though the tnan who sat that night alone on the Di1'.7ide
crut of the very bitterness. of his experience, ealled 1Grth
within himself a strength of which, until then, M had
only dimly conscious. There was n:ow, in his faae and bearing,
courage wd decision ·and purpose, and with it all
glint .of that s·ame humor than had made him so bitte1·ly
himself. · The Dean's philosophy t0uching the possibilities
the man who laughs when he is hurt seemed in this
about to be justified. Phil felt oddly, too, that the man
in: ,a way experimenting with hims.elf-esting himself as
were-and being a1togethe1 a normal human, th@ cowboy
strongly inlined to help the xperime11ter. In this spirit he
answered the Dean, while looking mischievously at
''We can use, him if he ean ride.''
The stranger smiled u.nde:rstanding1y. ''I don't sec why
I couldn't'' he returned in that dr@ll t0ne. ''I seem to have
the legs.'' He lo0ked down at his long lower limbs :re:fl.eetii"ely,
as though quaintly considering them quite apart fr,e>m
him$el:f.
Phil laughed.
'Huh,'' s·aid the Dean, slightly mystified at the appa:rent
understanding between the young men. Then to the stranger:
62
•
•
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
''What do you want to work for? You don't loG>k as though
you needed to. A sort of vacation, heh ?'l
There was spirit in the man's answer. ''I want to work
for the reason that all men want work. If you do not employ
me, I must try somewhere else.''
''Come from P1·escott to Simmons on the stage, did you?''
''No, sir, I walked.''
''Walked! Huh! Tried anywhere else for a job?''
''No, sir.''
''Who sent you out here?''
The stranger smiled. ''I saw Mr. Acton ride in the contest.
I leai·ned that he was f 01·eman of the Cross-Triangle
Ranch. I thought I would rather work where he worked, if
I could.''
The Dean looked at Phil. Phil looked at the Dean.
Together they looked at the stranger. The two cowboys who
were sitting on their horses near-by grinned at each other.
''And what is your name, sir ?J' the Dean aske:d courte
ously.
For the first time the man hesitated and seemed embarrassed.
He looked uneasily about with a helpless inq11iring
glance, as though appealing for some suggestion.
''Oh, neve1· mind your name, if you have forgotten it,''
said the Dean dryly.
The strange,r's roaming eyes fell upon Phil's old chaps,
that in every wrinkle and scar and rip and tear gave such
eloquent testimony as t0 the wearer's life, and that curious,
self-mocking smile touched his lips. Then, throwing up his
63
•
' .
I
WHEN A MAN'S A YAN
head and looking the Dea straight in the eye, he said boldly,
but with that note of droll humor in his voice, ''My name is
Patches, si1·, Hono1·able Patches.''
The Dean's eyes twinkled, but his face wa·s grav-e. Phil's
face :flushed ; he had not failed to identify the source of the
stranger's ID$piration. But before either the Dean or Phil
could speak a. shout 0£ laughter came from Curly Ison, and
the stranger had turned to face the cowboy. /
''Something seems tQ amuse you,'' he said quietly to the
man on the h:orse; and at the tone of his voice Phil and the
Dean exehanged significant glances.
The grinning cowboy looked down at the stranger in
evident contempt. ''Patches,'' he drawled. ''Honorable
Patehes ! That's a hel of a name, now, ain't it i''
The man went two long steps toward the mocking rider,
and spoke quietly, but with 11nmistakable meaning.
,,·I;ll endeavor to make it all of that for you, if you will
get 0f your horse.1
'
The grinning cowboy, with a wink at his companion,
dismounted oheerlully. Ourly Elson wa.s he-Jd to be the best
man with his hands in Yavapai County. He could not refu:se
so tempting an opportunity to add. to his well-ea;rned reputa-tion.
·
•
Five. .m inutes later Curly lifted. himself on one elbow in
the cQrral du$-t, and looked up with respectful admiration to
the quiet man who s.tood waiting for him to rise. Curly's
lip was bleedip.g generously; the side of his £ace seemed to
have slip:p_ed out cμ place, and his left eye was closing surely
and rapidly.
'
64
•
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
''Get up,'' said the tall man calmly. ''There is more·
where that came from, if y0u want it.''
The cowboy grinned painfttlly. ''I ain't hankerin' after
any more,'' he m11mbled, feeling his face tenderly.
''I said that my name was Patches,'' suggested the
stranger.
''Sure, 111·. Patches, I 1·eckon nobody'll question that.''
''Honorable Patches,'' again prompted the stranger.
''Yes, sir. You bet; Honorable Patches,'' agi·eed Curly
with emphasis. Then, as he painfully regained his feet, he
held out his hand with as n.early a smile as his batte1·ed
features would permit. ''Do you mind shaking on it, Mr.
H0n0rable Patches? Just to show that there'8 no hard
feelin's ?''
Patches responded instantly with a manner that won
Curly's heart. 'Good!'' he said. ''I knew you would do
that when you understood, 01· I wouldn't have bothe·red to
show you my c1·edentials.''
''My mistake,'' returned Curly. ''It's them there credentials
of y0urn, not your name, that's hell.''
He gingerly mounted his horse again, and Patches turned
back to the Dean as though apologizing for the inte1·ruption.
''I be,g you1· pa1·don, sir, but-abot1t work?''
The Dean never told anyone just ,yhat his thoughts were
at that particular moment; probably because they were so
many and so contradictory and confusing. Whether f1·om
this unc.;ertainty of mind; from a habit of depending upon
his young foreman, or because of that something which Phil
and the stranger seemed to have in common, he shifted the
65
•
I
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
whole matter by saying, '''It's up to Phil here. He's foreman
'of th(e Cross-Triangle. If he wants to hire you, it's all right
with me.''
At this the· two young men :f aed eaoh ether; and on the
face 0£ each was a half questioning> half challenging smile..
The stranger seemed to say, ''I know I am at your mercy;
I don't expect you to believe in me after our meeti:ng on t)le
Dividel but I dare you to put m to the test.'' 1
And :Phil, if he had spoken, might have said, ''I felt
when I met yo·u first that there was a man around somewhere.
I know you are curious to see what you would do if put to
the teiSt. I am curious, too. I'll give you a chance.'' Aloud
he reminded the stranger pointedly, ''I said we might use you
if you eocld ride.''
Patches smiled his self-mocking smile, evidently appreciatin.
g his pTedicament. ''And I said,'' he retorted, ''that I
didn't see why I couldn't.''
Phil turned to his grinning but respe.ctful helpers.
'(Bring out that bay with the blazed :face.''
''Great Snakes!'' ejaculated Curly to Bob, as they
reached the gate leading to the adjoining corral. ''His name
is Patches, all right, but he'll be pieces when that bay devil
gets through with him, if he can't ride.. Do you reckon he
can 1''
''D11nno,'' returned Bob, as he unlatched the gate without
dismounting. ''I thought he couldn't fight.''
''So did I,'-' returned Curly, grimly nursing his battered
face. ''You cut out the horse,,; I can't more'n half see.''
66
•
•
WHEN A MA N'S A MAN
It was no trouble to cut out the bay. The big horse.
seemed to understand that his time had eome. All day he
had seen his mates go forth to their testing, had watched
them as they fought with all thei1· strength the skill and
endu1·ance of that smiling, boy-faced man,. and then had seen
them as they returned, sweating, tre.mbling, c0nGruered and
subdued. As Bob rode toward him, he stood for one defiant
moment as motionless as a horse of b1·0nze; then, with a
suddenness that gave Curly at the gate barely time to dodge
his rush, he leaped forward int@ the larger arena.
Phil was watching the st1·anger as the big ho1·se came
through the gate. The man did not mov, but hts eyes were
glowing darkly, his face was flushed, and he was smiling to
himself n1ockingly·-as though amused at the thought of what
was about to happen to him. The' Dean also was watching
Patches, and again the yotmg :fe>reman and his employer
exchangea significant glances as Phil turned and went quickly
to Little Billy. Lifting the lad from his saddle and seating
him on the fen Ge above the long w · a.tering trough, he said,
''There's a grandstand seat for yo1,1., pardner; don't get down
lIDless you have to, and then get down outside. See ?''
At that moment yells of warning, with a ''Look out,
Phil!'' came :from Curly, Bob an.d the Dean.
A quick look ove1· his shoulder, and Phil saw the big
horse with ears wickedlj flat, eyes gleaming, an.d teeth bared,
making straight in his direction. The animal had apparently
singled him out as the· author of his misfortunes, and proposed
to dispose of his arch-enemy at the very outset of the
'
\
67
•
•
,
•
WHEN -A MAN'S A MAN
bttle. There W:ltS only one sane thing to do, :and Phil did it.
.A vigorous, scrambling leap placed him beside Little 'Billy
on the top of the fence· above the watering trough.
''Good thing I reserved a seat in your grandstand for
mys·lf, wasn't it, pardner ?'' he smiled down at the boy by
his side.
T·hen B0b's riata fell true, a.nd as the powerful horse
plunged and fought that strangling noose Phil cam} leisurely
, down from the fence.
t'Where was you g0in', Phil?'' chuckled the Dean.
''You sure warn't losin' any time,'' laughed Ourly.
And Bob, without taking his eyes from the vicious animal
at the end of his taut riata, and working skillfully with his
iained cow-hors<p to foil every wicke,cl. plge and wild leap,
grinned with al)preciation, as he added, ''I'll bet four bits
you can't do it again, Phil, without -a r1nnin' start.''
''I just thought I'd keep Little Billy company :for a
spell,'' smiled Phil. ''He looked so sort of lonesome up
t.here.''
The stranger, at first amazd 'that they could turn into
jest an incident which might so easily have been a tragedy,
suddenly laughe,d aloud-· .a joyous, ringing laugh that made
Phil look a;t him sharply.
''I beg your p:ardon, Mr. Acton,' said Patches meekly,
but with that droll voice which brought a .glint of laughter
into the foreman's eye;3 aIJ.d called forth another chuckle :from
the Dean. '
'
'''You can take my saddle;'' said Phil pointedly. ''Itts
•
I l
68
•
•
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
over there at the ead of the watering trough. Y o.t1'll find .
the stirrups about right, I reckon-I ride with them rather
1 '' .ong.
For a moment the stranger looked him . straight in the,
eyes, then without a word started £01· the saddle. He was
half way to the end of the watering trough when Phil overtook
him.
''I b.elieve I'd rather saddle him myself,'' the cowboy
explained quietly, with his sunny smile. ''You see, I've got
to teach theEe horses some c<:>w sense before the fall rodeo,
and I'm rather particular about the way theyJ re handled at
the start.''
''Exactly,'' returned Pata.hes,. 'I do·n't blame you.. That
fellow seems rather to demand careful treatment, doesn't he?''
Phil laughed. ''Oh, you don't need to be too p.a1·ticu1ar
about his feelings onee you're up in the middle of him,'' ·he
retorted.
The big bay, instead of acquiring sense from his observa-tions,
as Phil had expressed to the Dean a h0.pe that he
would, seemed to have gained eourage and etermination. . .
Phil's appr@aeh was the signal f0r a mad plunge in the
y@ung man's dire:etion, which was checked by the skill and
weight of Bob's trained cow-horse on the rope. Several times
Phil went toward the 1:>ay; and eve1·y time his advance was
met by one of those vicious rushes. Then Phil mounted
Ourly's. horse, and :from his hand the loop of anothe1· riata
fell ove:r the bay's head. Shortening his rope by coiling it
in his rein hand, he maneuvered the trained horse closer and
69
•
•
WHEN A MA N'S 'A MAN
eloser to his struggling captive, until, with Bob's co-operation
on the other side of the fighting animal, he could with safety
fix the leather blindfold over those wicked eyes.
When at last hackamo:re and saddle we1·e in place, and
the bay stoo·d trembling and sweating, Phil wiped the perspiration
from his own forehead and turned to the stranger.
''Your horse is ready, sir.''
The man's :face was perhaps a sh.a.de whiter.1 than its
usual color, but his eyes were glowing, and there was a grim
set look about his smiling lips that made the hearts of tho$e
men go out to him. He seemed to realize so that the joke
was on hlmselt., and with it all exhibited such reckless indifference
to consequences. Without an instant's hesitation he
started toward the horse.
''Great Snakes!'' muttered Cli'JY to Bob, ''talk about
nerve!''
The Dean started forward. ''Wait a minute, Mr.
Patches,'' he said.
The stranger faced him.
''Can you ride that horse?'' asked the Dean, pointedly.
''I'm going to,'' returned Patches. ''But,'' he added with
his droll humor, ''I can't say how far.''
''Don't you know that he'll kill you if he can?'' questioned
the Dean curiously, while his eyes twinkled app1·oval.
''Re does seem to have some such notion,'' admitted
Patches.
''You bettet let him alone,'' said the Dean. ''You don't
need to kill yourself to get a job with this outfit.''
70
'
•
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
''That's very kind of you, sir,'' returned the stranger_
gratefully. ''I'm rather glad you said tha:t. But I'm going
to ride him just the same.''
They looked at him in amazement, for it was clear to
them now that the man really could not ride.
•
The Dean spoke kindly. ''Why?''
''Because,'' said Patches slowly, ,-,1 am curious t0 see
what I will do under such cir·cumstances, and if I don't try
the experiment now I'll never know whether I have the
nerve to do it or not.'' As he finished he tu1ned and walked
deliberately toward the horse.
Phil ran to Cur:ly's side, and the cowboy at his :fo1·eman's
gesture leaped from his saddle. The young man mounted
his helper's horse, and with a quick movement caught the
riata from the sadclle horn and :flipped open a ready loop.
The stranger was close to the bay's 0:f, or right, side.
''The other side, Patches,'' called Phil genially. ''You
want to start in right, you know.''
Not a man laughed-except the stranger .
''Thanks,'' he said, and came around to the proper side.
''Take your time,'' called Phil again. ''Stand by his
shottlder and watch his heels. Take the stirrup with your
right hand and turn it to catch you1· foot. Stay back by his
shoulder until you are ready to swing up. Take your time.''
''I won't be long,'' returned Patches, as he awkwa1·dly
gained his seat in the saddle.
Phil moved his horse nearer the center of the corral, and
shook out his loop a little.
•
•
71
•
WREN A TufAN'S A MAN
''When you're ready, lean over and pull up the blindfold,''
he called.
The man on the horf;!e did not hesitate. With every angry
nerve and muscle strined to the utmost, the pewerful bay
leaped into the air, coming down with legs stif and head
between his knees. For an instant the man miraculously
kept his place. With another vicious plunge and a cork-screw
twist the m,addened brute went up again, and this time the
man was flung from the saddle as from a gigantic· catapult,
to fall upon his shoulders and back in the corral dust, where
he lay 'still. The horse, rid of his enemy, leaped again;
then with catlike quickne$s and devilish cunning whirled,
and with wicked teeth bared ·and vicious, blazing eyes, rushed
for the helpless man on the ground.
With a yell Bob spurred to IJUt himself between the bay
and his victim, but had there been time the move would have
been useless, for no horse could have withstood that mad
charge. The vicious brute was within a bound of his victim,
and had reared to crush him with the weight of heavy hoofs,
when a raw hide 1·ope tightened abovt those uplifted forefeet
and the bay himself crashed to earth. Leaving the oow-horse
to hold the riata tight, Phil sp1ang from his saddle and ran
to the :fallen man. The Dean came with water in his felt
hat :from the trough, and presently the stranger opened his
eyes. For a :moment he lay looking up into their :faces as
though wondering where he was, and ho>V he happened there.
''Are you hurt bad i) ' asked the Dean.
That brought him to his senses, and he got to his feet
72
•
•
WHEN A :MAN'S A MAN
somewhat unsteadily, and began brushing the dust from his
clothes. Then he looked curiously toward the horse that
Ct1rly was holding down by the simple means o:f sitting on
the animal's head. ''I certainly thought my legs were long
enough to reach arot1nd him,'' he said reflectively. ''How in
the world did he manage it? I seemed to be falling for a
week.''
Phil yelled and the Dean laughed until the tears ran
down his red cheeks, while Bob and Curly went wild.
Patches went to the horse, and gi·avely walked around
him. Then, ''Let him up,'' he said to Curly.
The eowboy looked at Phil who nodded.
As the bay regained his feet, Patches started toward him.
''Here,'' said the Dean peremptorily. ''You come away
from there.''
''I'm going to se if he can d.o it again,'' d·eclared Patches
grimly.
"'Not to-day, you ain't,'' returned the Dean. ,y ou'i·e
workin' for me now, an' you're too good a man to be killed
tryin' any i:nore crazy experiments.''
At the Dean's words the look 0£ gratitude in the man's
eyes wa almost pathetic.
''I wonder if I am,'' he said, so low that only the Dean
and Phil heard.
''If you are what?'' asked the Dean, puzzle·d by his
manner.
''Worth anything-as a man-you knew,'' came the
strange reply.
73 •
•
WR EN A MA.N'S A MAN
The Dean chuckled. · ''You'll be, all :right when you get
your growth .. Come on over here now, out of the way, while
Phil takes some of the cussedness out of that fool horse.''
Together they watched Phil ride the bay and return him
to his mates a very tired and a much wiser pupil. Then,
while Patehes remained to watch further operations in the
corral, the Dean went to the house to tell Stella all-. about it.
''An.d what do you think he really is?'' she asked, as the
last of a long list of· questions and comments. "
The Dean shbok his heael. ''There's no tellin'. A man
like that is liable to be anything.'' Then he added, with his
usual philosophy: i,He acts, though, like a genuine thoroughbred
that'·s ben badly mishandled an' has just found it
out.''
When the day':s work was finished and supper was over
Little Billy found Patches where he stood looking across the
valley toward Granite Mountain that loomed.so boldly against
the soft light of the avening sky. The man greeted the boy
awkwardly, as though un.accustomed to children. But Little
Billy, very much at ease, 'Signified his readiness t@ hel-p the
stranger to an intimate acquaintance with the world of which
he knew so much more tha.n this big man . •
He began with no waste of time on mere preliminaries.
''See that mountain over there?· That's Granite Mountain.
There's wild horses live around there, an' sometimes
we cateh-'em. Bet you don't know that Phil's name is 'Wild
Horse Phil'.''
Patches smiled. 'That's a good name for him, isn't it,,
74
•
WHEN A M1\N'S A MAN
''You bet.'' He turned and pointed eagerly to the west. .
''There's another mountain ove1· there I bet you don't knew
the name of.''
''Which one do you mean? I see several.''
''That long, black lookin' one. Do you know about it?''
''I'm really afraid that I don't.''
''Well, I'll tell you,'' said Billy, proud of· his superior
knowledge. ''That there's Tailholt Mountain.''
''Indeed!''
''Yes, and Nick Oambert and Yavapai Joe lives over
there. Do you know about them?''
The tall man shook his head. ''No, I don't believe that
I do.''
Little Billy lowered his voice to a mysterious whisper.
''Well, I'll tell you. Only you mus'n't eve1· say anything
'bout it out loud. Nick and Yavapai is cattle thieves. They
been a-brandin' our calves, an' Phil, he's goin' to catch 'em
at it some day, an' then they'll wish they hadn! t. Phil, he's
my pardner, you know.''
''And a fine pa1·dlier, too, I'll bet,'' ret11rned the st1·anger,
as if not wishing to acquire further information about the
men of Tailholt Mountain.
''You bet he is,'' came the instant response. ''Only Jim
Reid, he don't like him very well.''
''That's too bad, isn't it?''
''Yes. You see, Jim Reid is Kitty's daddy. They live
over there.'' · He pointed aeross the meadow to where, a mile
away, a light twinkled in the window of the Pot-Hook-S
75
•
•
•
••
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
ranch house. ''Kitty Reid's a mighty nice girl, I tell you,
but Jim, he says that there needn't no cow-puncher come
around tryin'- to get her, 'cause she's boon away to school,
y(i;)u know, an' I think Phil-''
''Wh ' H · Id
. · · '' . oa. . .. o on a minute, sonny, nr· ter. rup etu,J P a+w, he s·
hastily.
''What's the matter?'' questioned Little Billy.L
''Why, it strikes me that a boy with a pardn:r like 'Wild
Horse Phil' ought to be mighty careful about how he talked
over that pardner's pJ·ivate afairs with a stranger. Don't
you think so ?''
''".M:ebby so,'' agred :Billy. 'tBut you se, I know that
Phil wants Kitty 'cause ''
''Sh! What in the world is that?'' whispered Patches in
great- fea1·, catching his small companion by the· arm.
''That! Don.'"t you know an owl when you hear one?
Gee! but you're a ten,der:foot, ain't you?'' Catching sight 0£
the Dean who was. coming toward them, he shouted gleefully,
'''Uncle Will, Mr. Patches is scared of an owl. What do you
know, about that; Patches is scared of an. owl!''
. ''Your Aunt Stella wants you,'' laughed the; Dean.
And Billy ran of to the house to share his joke on. the
tendet£t:>ot with his. Aunt Stella a11d his "'pardner.,'' Phil.
''Ive got to go to town to-morrow,'' said the Dean. ''I
expect yo·u better go ,al(l)ng and get your trunk, o:r whatever
you have and some sort 0£ an outfit. You can't work in them
clothes.''
Patche-s answered hesitatingly. ''Why, I think I ean get
al0ng all right, !1:r. Baldwin.'"
76
•
•
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
''Bt1t you'll want your stuf-'your trunk or grip-or
whatever you've got,'' returned the Dean.
''But I have nothing in Prescott,'' said the stranger
slowly.
''You haven't? Well, you'll need an outfit anyway,'' persisted
the cattleman.
''Really, I think I can get along £·or a while,'' Patches
returned difidently.
The Dean considered for a little; then he said with
straightforward bluntness, but not at all 11nkindly, ''Look
here, young man, you ain't afraid to go to Prescott, are you''
The other lat1ghed. "'Not at all, sir. It's not that. I
suppose I must tell you now, though. All the clothes I have
are on my b-ack, and I haven't a cent in the world with which
to buy an outnt, as you call it.''
The Dean chuckled. ''So that's it? I thought mebby you
wa$ dodgin' tlie sherif. If it's just plain broke that's the
matter, why you'll go to town with me in the mornin', an'
we'll get what you need. I'll hold it out oi you1· wages until
it's paid.'' As though the matte1· were settled, he 'turned back
toward the house, adding, ''Phil will _show you where you1re
to sleep.''
When the foreman had shown the new man to his room,
the cowboy asked casually, ''Found the goat ranch, all right,
night before last, dia you ?''
The other hesitated; then he said gravely, ''I didn't look
for it, Mr. Acton.''
''You didn't look for it?''
''No, sir.''
-
•
•
•
'i
l
WHEN A MA.N'S A MAN
''Do you mean to say that you spent the night up there
on the Divide without blankets or anything?''
'Ye,s, sir, I did.''
''And where did you stop last night?''
'At Simmons.''
''Walked, I uppose?, ''
The stranger smiled. ''Yes.''
•
''But, look here,'' said the puzzled cowboy, ''I don't mean
to be asking questions about what is none of my business,
but I can't figure it out. If you were coming out here to
get a job on the Oross-Triingle, why didn't you go to Mr.
Baldwin in town? Anybody could have pointed him out to
you. 01·, why didn't you say something to me, when we were
talking back there on the Divide ?''
''Why, you see,'' explained the other lamely, ''I didn't
exactly want to work on the Cross-Triangle, or anywhere.''
''But you told Uncle Will that you wanted to work here,
and you. were on your way when I met you.''
''Yes, I know, but you· see oh, hang it all, 1Ir. Acton,
haven't you ever wanted to do something that you didn't
want to do? Haven't, you ever been aught in a corner that
you were simply forced io get out of when you didn't like the
only way that would get y01 out? I don't mean anything
criminal,'' he added, with a short laugh. ' .
''Yes, I have,'' returned the other seriously, ''and if you
don't mind. there'.s no handle to my name. .Around here I'm
just plain Phil, Mr. Patches.''
''Thanks. Neither does Patches need decorating.'' "'
''And n9w, one more,'' said Phil, with his winning smile.
'78 •
•
WHEN A MA.N'S A MAN
''Why in the name of all the obstinate fools that roam at large
did you walk out here when you must have had plenty 0£
ehances to ride?'
''Well, you s.ee,'' said Patches slowly, '(I £ear I can't
explain, but it was just a part of my job.'1
''Y ou1· job ! But you didn't have any job. until this afternoon.''
''Oh, yes, I did. I had the biggest kind of a job. You
see, that's what I ws doing on the Divide a11 night; trying
to find some other way to do it.''
''And do you mind telling me what that job is?'' asked
Phil curiously.
Patches la.ughed as though at himself. ''I don't know
that I can, exactly;'.' he said. ''I think, perhaps, it's just to
ride that big bay horse out there.''
Phil laughed aloud-a hea1-ty laugh of good-fellowship.
''You'll do that all rig-ht.''
''Do you think so, really,'' asked Patches, eagerly.
''Sure; I know it.''
•
''I wish I could be sure,.'' returned the strange man doubt- •,
fully·-and the cowboy, wondering, saw that wistful look in
his eyes.
''That big devil is a man's horse, all right,'' mused Phil.
''Why, oi course and that's just it-don't you see?''
cried the other impulsively. Then, as if he regretted his
words, he asked quickly, ''Do you name y0ur horses?''.
''Sure,'' answered the cowboy; ''we generally nnd some-thing
to call them.''
''And have you named the big bay yet,,.
79
•
v\THEN A MAN'S A MAN
Phil laughed. ''I named him yesterday, when he broke
away .as we we1·e bringing the bu.neh in, an.a I ·had to rope him
to get him back.''
'-'A.trd what did you name him?''
''Stranger.''
''Stranger! And why Stranger?''
''Oh, I don't know. Just. one: 0£ my fool notions, '·' returned
" Phil. ''Good-nig4t !''
--
,
80
,
-
,
-
-·
•
--.J. ''I suppose,'' said the Dean, and a slightly
ft; • l:!=:!:=-i:=;!J' curious tone colored the remark, ''that mebby you've
been used to automobiles. Buck and Prince here, an' this
old buckboard will seem sort of slow to you.''
Patches was stepping into the rig as the Dean spoke. As
the young man took his seat by the cattleman's side, the Dean
nodded to Phil who was holding the team. At the signal
Phil 1·eleased the. horses' heads and stepped aside, whe1eupon
Buck and Prince, of one mind, looked back over their shoulders,
made a few playful attempts to twist them.selves out of
the harness, lunged forward their length, stood straight up
on their hind feet, then sp1·ang away as if they weTe fully
determined to land that buckboard in Prescott within the
next fiften minutes
''Did you say slow?'' questioned Patches, as he clung to
his seat.
81
•
WHEN A YA.N'S A MAN
The Dean chuckled and favored his new man with a
twinkling glance o:£ approval.
A few seconds later, on the other side of the sandy wash,
the Dean skillfully checked their headlong career, with a
nar1·0w margin of safety between the team and the gate.
''I reckon we"ll get through with less fuss if you'll open
it,'' he said to Patches. The!. to Buck and Prince: ''Wh0a !
y0u blamed fools. . Can't you stand a minute.?''
''Stella's been devilin' me to get a machine ever sinae Jim
Reid got his,'' he contint1ed, while the horses weTe repeating
their preliminary contortions, and Patches was regaining
his seat. ''But I told her I'd be scared to death to ride in the
fool co.ntraption.''
At this Buck and Prince, in a wild riot of animal strength
and 5,pirit, leaped a slight depression in the road with such
vigor that the front wheels of the buckboard left the ground.
Patches glanced sidewise at his employer, with a smile of
delighted appreciation, but said nothing.
The Dean liked him. for that. The Dean always insists
that the hardest man in the world to talk to is the one who
always has something to say for himself.
''Why,'' he continued, with a burst of honest feeling, ''if
I ·was ever to bring, one of them things home to the GrossTTiangle,
I'd be ashamed to look a horse or steer in the face.''
They dashed through a patch of wild sunflowers that in
the bottom lands grow thick and rank; whirled past the
t11mbl&-down corner of an old fence that enclosed a long neglected
garden; and dashed recklessly through a des'erted and
82
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
weed-:gi·own yard. On one side of the road was the ancient
barn and stable, with sagging, w@ather-beaten roof, leaning
walls and battered doors that hung dejectedly on their rusty
and b1·oken hinges. The eorral stockade was breached in
rnany places by the yea1·s that had rotteq. the posts. The oldtime
windlass pump that, operated by a blind burro, onoo
lifted water fo1 the . long vanished hercls, was a pathetic old
WJ·eck, incapable now of ofering d1·ink to a thi1·sty sparrow.
On thei1· other hand, beneath the wide branches of giant sycamores
and walnuts, and backed by a tangled orchard wilderness,
stood an old house, empty and neglected, as if in the
shadowy gloom of the untrimmed trees it awaited., lonely an'd
forlorn, the kindly hand of oblivion.
''This is the 0ld Acton homestead,'' said the Dean quietly,
as one might speak beside an ancient grave.
Then as they we1·e driving thi·ough the na1·row lane that
crosses the gTeat meadow, he indicated with a nod of his head
a gToup of buildings on the other side of the. green fields, and
something less than a mile to the south.
''That's JiJn Reid's place. His iron is the Pot-Hook-S.
Jim's stock runs on the old Acton range, but the homestead
belongs to Phil yet. Jim Reid's a fi:ae man.'" The Dean
spoke stoutly, almost as though he were making the assertion
to co:avince himself. ''Yes, si1·, Jim's all right. Good neigh-bor;
good cowman; square as they make 'em. Some :folks
seem to think he's a mite ove1·-bearin' an' rough-spoken som
times, and he's kind of quick at suspicionin' everybody; but
Jim and me have always got along the best kind.''
• 83
•
•
•
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
Again the Dean was silent, as though he had :forgotten
the man beside him in his occupation with thoughts that he
could not share.
When they had crossed the valley meadows and, climbing
the hill on the other side, could see the road for several miles
ahead, the Dean pointed to a blaek object· an the next ridge.
''There's Jim's automobile now. They're headin' for
Prescott, too. Kitt;r.'s drivin', I 1·eckon. I tell Stella that
that machine and Kitty's learnin' to run the thing is about
all the returns that Jim can show. for the money he's spent in
educatin' her. I don't mean,'' he added, with a quick look
at Patches, as tho11gh he feared to be misunderstood, ''that
Kitty's one of them good-for-nothin' butterfly girls. She
ain't that by a good deal. Why, she was raised right here in
this neighborhood, an' w e love her the same as if sh was our
own. Slie can cobk a meal or make a dress 'bout as well as
her mother, an' does it, too; an' she can ride a horse or throw
a rope better'n some punchers I'v·e seen, but-' The Dean
stopped, seemingly for want of words to express exactly his
thought.
''It seems to me) '' ofered Patches abstractedly, ''that education,
as we call it, is a benefit only when it adds to one's
li:fe. I£ schooling or culture, or whatever you choose to term
it, is permitted to rob one 0£ the fundamental and essential
elements of life, it is most certainly an evil.''
''That's the idea,'' exclaimed the Dean, with £rank admiration
for his companion's ability to say that which he himself
thought. ''You say it like a book. But that's it. It ain't
the learnin' an' all the stuf that Kitty got while she was at
84
WHEN A 1\,fAN'S A MAN
school that's worryin' us. It's what she's likely to losethrough
gettin' 'em. This here modern, down-to-the-minute,
higher livin', loftier sphere., intelleetual supremacy idea is
all right if folks'll just keep their feet on the ground.
''You take Stella an' me now. I know we're old £ashi0ned
an' slow an' all that, an' we've seen a lot of hardships since
we was married over in Skull Valley where she was born an'
raised. She was just a girl then, an' I was only a kid,
punchin'' steers for a livin'. I suppose we've seen about as
hard times as anybody. At least that's what they would be
called now. But, hell, we didn't think nothin' of it then; we
was happy, sir, and we've been happy for over forty year.
I tell you, sir, we've lived- just lived every minute, and
that's a blamecl sight more than a le>t of these higher-cultured,
top-lofty, half-dead couples that marry and separate, and
separate and marry again now-a-days can say.
''No, sir, 'tain't what a man gets that makes him rich;
it's what he keeps. And these folks that are swoppin' the
old-fashioned sort of love that builds ho·mes and raises families
and lets man and wi:fe work together, an' meet trouble
together, an' be happy together, an' grow old bein' happy
together·-if they're swoppin' all that for these here new,
down-to-date ideas of such things, they're ma)rin' a damni:id
poor bargain, accordin' to my way of thinkin'. There is
such a thing, sir, as educatin' a man or woman pl11m b out of
reach of happiness.
''Look a.t our Phil,'' the Dean continued, £or the man.
beside him was a wonderful listener. ''There just naturally
couldn't be a better all 1·ound man than Phil Acton. He's
85
•
,
•
'
WHEN .A MAN'S A MAN
healthy; don't know what i't is to have an hour's sickness;
strong as a young bull; clean, honest, square, no bad habits;
a fine worker, an' a fin. thinke1·, too even if he ain't had
much schoblin', he's read a lot. Take him any way you like
-jus.t as a man, I mean-an' that's the way you got to take
'e.mthere ain't a better man tha_t Phil livin'. Yet a lot of
these folks would say he's nothin' but a cow-puncher. As
for that, Jim Reid ain't much more than a cow-puncher him,.
sel:f. I tell you, I've seen cow-punchers that was mighty good
men, an' I've seen graduates from them there universities
that was pltunb good for nothin'-with no more real man
about 'em than there is about one 0£ these here wax dummies
that they hang elothes on in the store windows. What any
self-respectin' woman ean see in one of them that would make
her want to marry him is more: than I've ever been able to
figger out.''
If the Dean had not been so engrossed in his own thoughts:
he would have wondered at the strange efet of his words
upon his companion. The young man's :face flushed scarle,t,
then paled as though with sudden illness, and he looked side-wise
at the older man with an expression of sha.me and humiliation,
while his eyes, wistful and pleading, were filled with
pain. Honorable Patches who had won the admir1tion of
th('.)se men in the · CToss-Triangle corrals was again the
troubled, shamefaced, half-frightened creature whom Phil
met on the Divide.
But the good Dean did not see, and so, encouraged by the
other's silence, he continued his disse.rtation. ''Of course, I
don't mean to say that education ·and that sort of thing spoils
- 86
'
•
WHEN . <1 MAN'S A MAN
every man. Now, there's young Stanford 11:anning·-''
If the Dean had suddenly £red a gun at Patches, the
young man could not have shown greater surprise and eon-sternation.
''Stanford Ma.nning !'' he gasped.
At his tone the Dean turned to look at him curiously. ''I
mean Stanford Manning, the mining engineer,'' he explained.
''Do you know him ,
,
''I have hea1·d of him,'' Patches managed to reply.
''Well,'' continued the Dean, ''he came out to this country
about three years ago-s1traight from college and he has
sure made_ good. He's got the education an' culture an'
polish an' all that, an' with it he can hold his own among any
kind or sort of men livin'. The1·e ain't a man-cow-puncher,
mine1· or anything else in Yavapai County that don't take
of his hat to Stanford Manning.''
''Is he in this country now'' asked Patches, with an
efort at self-control that the Dean did not notice.
''No, I understand his Company called him back East
about a month ago. Goin' to send him to some 0£ their properties
up in Mbntana, I heard.''-
When his companion made no comment, the Dean said
reflectively, as Buck and P1·ince climbed slowly up the g1:ade
to the summit of the Divide, ''I'll tell you, son, I've seen a
good many changes in this count1·y. I can 1·emmber when
there wasn't a fence in all Yavapai County-hardly in the
Territory. And now-why the last time I drove over to
Skull Valley I got so tangled up in 'e1n that I plumb lost
myself. When Phil's daddy an' me was youngste1's we used
to ride from Camp Verde and Flagstaf clean to Date Creek
87
.
'
\
•
,
I
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
without ever openin' a gate. But I can't see that m-en change
much, though. They're good and .bad, just like they've always
been-an' I reckon. always will he. The1·e"s. been leaders and
weaklin's and jtl:St betwixt and be.tweens in every her'd of
cattle or band of horses that gver I ©wned. You take Phil,
now. He's exactly like his daddy was before him.''
''Ris f' athe;r must have been a fine man,'' said Pa:tches,
,vith q11iet earnestness.
The Dean looked at him with an apprerving twinkle .
''Fine?'' For a few mint1tes, as they vere ro·un.ding the turn
·of the road C)n the summit of the Divide where Phil and
stranger had met, the Dean looked away toward
Mountain. Then, as i:f thinking aloud,, 1:ather than purposely
addressing his compani0n, he said, ''John AtonHonest
John, as eve.ryb@dy called him-and I came to
country together when we were boys. Walked in, sir, •
seme pi0neers from Kansas. We kpt in t0ueh with
other all the while we was g·rowin.' t@ be men ; punched
:f0r' the same 011t:fits most of the time; even did most of
c.ourtin" together, for Phil's mother an' Stella were neighbors
an' great £riends over in Skull Valley. When we'd finally
-saved enough to get started we located homesteads close
together back there in the Valley, an' as sGon as we could get
some sort 0£ shacks built we married the girls, and set up
housekepin'. Our stock r.anged together, of course, but
J 0lm sort of took care 0£ the east side of the meadows an' I
k:ept more to the west. W.hen t:he children came along'-'.J ohn
an' Mary had thre bef·0re. Phil, b1:1t oy Phil lived-an' the
s·s
•
•
WHEN A 1fAN'S A 11:AN
stock had inc·reased an' we'd bt1ilt some decent ho11ses, things ..
seemed to be aboi1t as fine as possible. Then John went on
a note for a man in Prescott. I tried my best to ke@p him
out of it, but, sht1cks ! he just laughed at me. You see, he
was one of the best hearted men that ever lived-one of th0se
men, you know, that just naturally believes in everybody.
''Well, it wo11nd up after a-while by.John losin' mighty
nigh everything. We managed to save the homestead, but
practically all the stock had to go. An' it wasn't more than
a year· after that till Mary died. We never did know just
what was the matter with her an' after that it seemed like
John never was the same. He got killed in the rodeo that
same fall just wasn't himself somehow. I was with him
when he died.
''Stella and me raised Phil-we don't know any dmerence
between him and one of 011r own boys. The old homestead
is his, of course, but Jim Reid's stock runs on the .old
range. Phil's got a few head that he works with mine,-a
pretty good bunch by now-for he's kept addin' to what his
father left, an' I've paid him wages ever since he was big
enough. Phil don;t say much, even to Stella an' me, but I
know he's figurin' on fixin' up the old home place some day.''
After a long silence the Dean said again, a$ if voicing
some conclusion of his unspoken thoughts: ''Jim Reid is
pretty well fixed, you see, an' Kitty bein' the only girl, it's
natural, I reckon, that they shottld have ideas about her
future, an' all that. I reckon it's natural, too, that the girl
sh.ould find 1·anch lμe away out here so far from anywhere, a
8.9
•
•
(
WHEN A MAN'S A MAN
little siow after her three years at school in the East. She
rrever says it, but somehow you can most always tell what
Kitty's thinkin' without her speakin' a word.''
'I have known _people like that,-'' saicl. Patches, p:robably
because there was so little that he could say .
''Yes, an' w:hen you know Kitty, youll say, like I always
have, that if there's a man in Yavapai County that wouldn't
ride the hoofs of the best horse in his outfit, night o r day, to
win a smile from her, he ought to be lynched.''
That afternoon in Presc.ott they purchas.ed an outfit for
Patches, and the, following day set 011t, for the long return
drive to the_ ranch.
· They had reached the top oi the hill at the western end
of the mead,ow lane, when they saw a you.ng wo:man, 9n a
black horse, riding away from the gate that op<71s from the
lane into the Pot:Hook-S meadow pasture, toward the ranch
buildings on the :farther side of the :field.
As they drove into the y.ard at home, it was nearly supper
time, and the men were coming from the corrals.
''Kitty's been o- ver all the afternoon,'' Little Billy informed
them promptly. ''I told her all about yo11, Patches.
Sh. . h '
. d . -,
, '' e says s e ,s Just - yin to see_ you.
Phil joined in the laugh, but Patches fancied that there
was a shadow in the cowboy1s usually sunny eyes as the young
man looked at him to ·say, ''Th-at big hol'se of yours sure made
me ridasome to-day.'
90
•
'
himelf became the stranger's teacher, and all s0rts
of odd jobs about the ranch, from cleaning the pig· pen
to weeding the garden, were the text books. The man balked
at nothing. Indeed, he seemed to find a cu1·ious, grim satisfaction
in aecomplishing the most menial and disagveeable
tasks; and when he made mistakes, as he often did, he laughed
at himself with such bitter, mocking h11mor that the Dean
wondered.
''He's got me beat,'' t.he Dean confide.d to Stella. '''fhere
ain't nothin' that he won't tackle, an' I'm satisfied that the
man never did a stroke 0£ work befo1·e in his life. But he
seems to be always tryin' experiments with himself, like he
eected himself to play the fool one way or another, an'
wanted to see if he would, an' then when he don't he1s as surprised
and tickled as a kid.''
The Dean himself was not at all abov
