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The Concho horses, worn out by the night-journey, were soon distanced. Corliss pulled up. "Catch up a fresh horse, Hi. And let Banks know how things stand. If Loring isn't all in, you might fetch the doctor back with you. We'll need him, anyway." "Sure! Wonder who that is fannin' it this way? Don't look like a puncher." Corliss turned and gazed down the road.
The turkeys made for a rim of a narrow cañon and from it sailed off into space, leaving Chance a disconsolate spectator and Sundown sitting his horse and thanking the Arizona stars that his steed was not equipped with wings. It was then that he realized that the Concho ranch might be in any one of the four directions he chose to take.
He told of his wanderings, his arrival at the Concho, of Chance his great wolf-dog, his horse "Pill," and his good friends Bud Snoop and Hi Wangle. Sundown could have easily given Othello himself "cards and spades" in this chance game of hearts and won moving metaphor! in a canter.
"But that water is goin' to be worth somethin' and right soon. Loring can't graze over this side the Concho, if he can't get to water." "That's it. If I put you on that ranch, you'd stand off Loring's outfit to the finish, I guess." "I sure would." "That's why I want Sundown to take it up. He'd let his worst enemy water sheep or cattle there.
"Say, you ain't got any of that plaster like they put on a guy's head when he gets hit with a brick?" "Nope. But I got salt." "And pepper," concluded Sundown with some sarcasm. "Mebby I do look like a barbecue." "Straight, Sun, salt and water is mighty healin'. You better ride over to the Concho and get fixed up." "Reckon that ain't no dream, Hi. Got to see the boss, anyhow."
The route was originally marked by stakes, until it became a thoroughfare, from which the whole of northwest Texas afterward took its name. There was a ninety-six mile dry drive between the headwaters of the Concho and Horsehead Crossing on the Pecos, and before attempting it we rested a few days.
He'll send your horse back to Usher and let you take a fresh horse when you start for the Concho. Take it easy, and don't talk." "All right, boss. But I was thinkin' " "What?" "Well, it's men like me and you that puts things through. It takes a man with sand to go around this country gettin' pinched and thrun and burnt up and bein' arrested every time he goes to spit.
Just tell them that you saw me and they will know the rest if anybody was to ask you, a empty saddle and a man a-foot in the desert is sure circumvential evidence ag'in the hoss. Wonder how far it is to the Concho?" With many a backward glance, inspired by fond imaginings that the pinto might have stopped to graze, Sundown stalked down the road.
The road seemed empty save for a lean brown shape that raced toward the Concho with sweeping stride. "It's the dog. Wonder what's up now?" Chance, his muzzle specked with froth and his tongue lolling, swung into the yard and trotted to Wingle. "Boss git piled ag'in?" queried the cook, patting Chance's head. "What you scratchin' about?" The dog lay panting and occasionally pawing at his collar.
We charged and drove away the remainder, after which we formed a guard of honor in escorting the commissary until its timid driver overtook the herd. The last of the buffalo passed out of sight before we reached the headwaters of the Concho. In crossing the dry drive approaching the Pecos we were unusually fortunate.
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