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The saloon was deserted and a crowd of angry cowboys surrounded their chum-aboy. Buck had seen Shorty enter the door of the Houston House and he swore. "Chase them C 80 and Arrow cayuses behind the saloon, Pete, an' git under cover." Jimmy was choking and he coughed up blood. "He's shore got me. My gun stuck," he added apologetically. He tried to sit up, but was not able and he looked surprised.
"Upon my word, Pap," said Si, as he helped him self liberally, "you do beat us cookin' all holler. Your beans taste almost as good as mother's. We must git you to give us some lessons." "Yes; you're a boss cook," said Shorty, with his mouth full. "Better not let Gen. Rosecrans find out how well you kin bile beans, or he'll have you drafted, and keep you with him till the end o' the war."
The man had murdered them just as surely as though he had shot them down with a rifle. For weeks Shorty had been getting his affairs in order to leave the country, but before he went he intended to have an accounting with one man. Dillon came up to Sanders and spoke in an awed voice. "What do you aim to do with ... these, Sanders?" His hand indicated the bodies lying near.
He's settled down with a squaw. Got two kids already, but he'll skin out if ever the chance opens up. See that low fire over there to the right? That's his camp." Apparently this was Smoke's appointed domicile, for his captors left him and his dogs, and went on deeper into the big camp. While he attended to his foot-gear and devoured strips of hot meat, Shorty cooked and talked.
It is usually conceded that there are three things which every man alive believes he can do better than the one who is engaged at it. These are: 1. Telling a story; Poking a fire; Managing a woman. Cooking a meal should be made the fourth of this category. One day Si and Shorty went with the rest of Co.
A man came to the back door of the cabin and stretched in a long and luxuriant yawn. Carelessly and casually his eyes wandered over the aspens and into the corral. For a moment he stood frozen, his arms still flung wide. From the aspens came down Crawford's voice, cool and ironic. "Much obliged, Shorty. Leave 'em right up and save trouble."
When Smoke entered the little cabin on the hillside back of Dawson, he heard a heavy familiar breathing. "Aw, go to bed," Shorty mumbled, as Smoke shook his shoulder. "I'm not on the night shift," was his next remark, as the rousing hand became more vigorous. "Tell your troubles to the bar-keeper." "Kick into your clothes," Smoke said. "We've got to stake a couple of claims."
"Don't talk so loud. Come, let's walk on toward your home. We kin talk on the way." The proposition appeared reasonable. She took the bridle of her horse in her arm, and together they walked out through the guard-line. The sentries gave Shorty a deep, knowing wink as he passed.
The Mono trail ran along the level creek-bed, and, less than two feet in width, was like a groove, walled on either side by the snow- fall of months. The problem of how forty-odd sleds and three hundred dogs were to start in so narrow a course was in everybody's mind. "Huh!" said Shorty. "It's goin' to be the gosh-dangdest mix-up that ever was.
He kept circling through the woods, in sight or hearing of the others, expecting every minute to come upon some animal that would fill his youthful sanguine hopes. Shorty at last found a poor little cabin such as he had been looking for. It was hidden away in a little cove, and had never been visited by the men of either army.
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