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Presently Shoop's voice broke the indolent silence of noon: "Just why did you chuck that bottle over there?" "I don't know. Horse might step on it and cut himself." "Yes. But you chucked it like you was mad at somethin'. Would you thrun it away if it was full?" "I don' know. I might 'a' smelt of it to see if it was whiskey or kerosene some herder forgot."
Shoop's bullet had nipped the cigar in two before they had realized that he intended to shoot. "You're havin' the luck," said High. "You're right," said Shoop. "And luck, if she keeps steady gait, is just as good a hoss to ride as they is." Still, there were those who maintained that Shoop had made a chance hit. But High Chin knew that this was not so. He had met his master at the six-gun game.
But if some clever politician happens to get hold of Shoop, there isn't a man in this mesa country that could win against him. He's just the type that the mesa people like. He is all human. Dear Senator Collins " The stenographer bent over his book. Later, as Torrance closed his desk, he thought of an incident in Shoop's life with which he had long been familiar.
He turned the page, and glanced at the livestock reports, the copper market, railroad stocks, and passed on to an article having to do with local politics. Bondsman, who constituted himself the guard of Shoop's leisure, rapped the floor with his tail. Shoop glanced over the top of his paper as light footsteps sounded in the outer office. Dorothy tapped on the lintel and stepped in.
Don't a mornin' like this make you feel like jumpin' clean out of your boots and over the fence?" "Not until I have made the flapcake, Señor Lorry." "Well, go the limit. Guess I'll roust out dad." Bud Shoop scowled, perspired, and swore. Bondsman, close to Shoop's chair, blinked and lay very still. His master was evidently beyond any proffer of sympathy or advice.
"I'm from Missouri," said Shoop, with a hard laugh. "You got to show me that he's like you say, or " Sundown leveled his gun at Shoop. "I ain't lyin' to you, Bud. Sinker was me friend. And I ain't lyin' when I says that the fust fella that tries to tech him crosses over afore he does." Some one laughed. Corliss touched Shoop's arm and whispered to him.
He trotted to Shoop's cabin, and stood looking up at the door. "Would you be playin' 'Annie Laurie' for us?" queried Shoop. Dorothy played for them, unaccompanied by Bondsman. Shoop shook his head. Either the tune had lost its charm for the Airedale or else Dorothy's interpretation differed from Bud's own. "Thanks, missy," said Shoop when she had finished playing. "Guess I'll be movin' along."
He made Shoop's cabin his headquarters, and spent his spare time cording wood. He liked his occupation, and felt rather independent with the comfortable cabin, a good supply of food, a corral and pasture for the ponies, plenty of clear, cold water, and a hundred trails to ride each day from dawn to dark as he should choose.
Bud Shoop's easy manner had vanished. As solid as a rock, his lips in a straight line, he waited for the next test while High Chin talked and joked with the bystanders. "You'll shoot when you see something to shoot at," was the sheepman's word. The crowd laughed. He stood behind the marksmen, a tin can in each hand.
As Bronson stepped from his cabin the following morning he was startled to see the big Airedale leap from the veranda of Shoop's cabin and bound toward him. Then he understood. The camp had been Bondsman's home. The supervisor had gone to Criswell. Evidently the dog preferred the lonely freedom of the Blue Mesa to the monotonous confines of town. Bronson called to his daughter.
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