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He noticed the slickers on the saddles and the carbines under the stirrup leathers. It was evident that the riders were not entirely on pleasure bent. He crossed the street, wakened the stableman, paid the bill, and saddled Joshua. Then he took the tie-rope off Filaree, as Cheyenne had directed.
Little Jim gazed hopefully at his father. "Why, I was chousin' around up there," he explained, "and I seen dad's hosses, and and I started 'em down the trail and the whole blame bunch followed 'em. They was travelin' so fast I couldn't cut 'em out, so I just let 'em drift. Filaree and Josh just nacherally headed for the corral and the rest followed 'em in." Uncle Frank gazed sternly at Jimmy.
Uncle Frank, who took everything seriously, asked Little Jim if he had told his father where the horses were. "Sure I told him. Wouldn't you? They're dad's hosses, Filaree and Josh. I guess he'll make ole Clubfoot Sneed give 'em back!" "You want to be careful what you say about Mr. Sneed, Jimmy. And don't you go to ridin' over that way again. We aim to keep out of trouble."
I reckon that's where I got the idea of makin' up po'try, later." "I really beg your pardon," said Bartley. "The mescal must of told you." "I don't quite get that," said Bartley. "No? Well, you ain't the first. Josh and Filaree is the only ones that sabes me. Let's sit in this corner and watch the mescal work for a livin'." It was a hot night. Sweat prickled on Bartley's forehead. His nose itched.
With the rashness of boyhood he had sneaked up to the corral, dropped the bars, and had then flung pine cones at the horses, starting them to milling and finally to a dash through the gateway and out into the meadow. Cheyenne brushed his arm across his face. "Come on you, Filaree!" he chanted. Somebody would be mightily surprised when the ownership of Filaree and Joshua was finally decided.
An hour later Bartley and Cheyenne were at the Lawrence ranch, where they changed packs, saddled Filaree and Joshua, and turned the horses borrowed from Steve Brown into Uncle Frank's back pasture. Little Jim watched these operations with keen interest. He wanted to help, but refrained for fear that he would muss up his hair and he wanted Uncle Frank to notice his hair as it was.
"He thought more of those horses, Filaree and Joshua, than he did of anything on earth. I'll send one of the boys back to the water-hole to-morrow, for your saddles and outfit. But now you're here, how do you like the country?" "Almost as much as I like some of the people living in it," stated Bartley. "Not including Panhandle Sears, eh?" "I'm pretty well fed up on walking," and Bartley smiled.
Little Jim knew that something strange had happened, because Big Jim, his father, had sold their few head of cattle, the work team, and the farm implements, keeping only the two saddle-horses and the pack-horse, Filaree. When Little Jim asked where his mother had gone, Big Jim told him that she had gone on a visit, and would be away a long time.
"And as for me," he added, aloud: Seems like I don't git anywhere, Git along, cayuse, git along; But we're leavin' here and we're goin' there: Git along, cayuse, git along! With little ole Josh that steps right free, And my ole gray pack-hoss, Filaree, The world ain't got no rope on me: Git along, cayuse, git along!
Incidentally he had a notebook and pencil. What more did a man need to make life worth while? And then, somewhere along the southern highway Cheyenne was jogging with Filaree and Joshua: Seems like I don't git anywhere: Git along, cayuse, git along. Bartley rose and stepped to the window. San Andreas drowsed in the noon sun.
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