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Updated: May 19, 2025
Then, without taking his eyes from the Tailholt Mountain man's face, Phil called sharply: "Patches, come here!" There was a sudden movement among the riders, and a subdued murmur, as Patches rode forward. "Is that calf you told me about in the corral, Patches?" asked Phil, when the man was beside him. "Yes, sir; that's him over there by that brindle cow." Patches indicated the animal in question.
"It would be more strange if she was," retorted the cowboy shortly, and he looked from the calf to the distant Tailholt Mountain, as though he were considering some problem which he did not, for some reason, care to share with his companion. "There's not much use to look for her," he added, with grim disappointment. "That's always the way.
With his convictions so readily confirmed, Patches had good ground upon which to base his following remarks. He had made a long shot when he spoke so confidently of the brand on the calf being worked over. For, of course, the calf might not have been branded at all when the Tailholt Mountain men caught it. But Joe's manner, as well as his warning answer, told that the shot had gone home.
You can bully a weakling not half your size; you can beat a helpless incompetent like a dog; you can bluster, and threaten a tenderfoot when you think he fears you; you can attack a man with a loaded quirt when you think him unable to defend himself; show me what you can do now." The Tailholt Mountain man drew back another step. Patches continued his remarks. "You are a healthy specimen, you are.
As he looked, the Dean's kindly face grew somber and stern; his blue eyes were for the moment cold and accusing; under his grizzled mustache his mouth, usually so ready to smile or laugh, was set in lines of uncompromising firmness. In these quiet and well-earned restful years of the Dean's life the Tailholt Mountain outfit was the only disturbing element.
"Don't it jest naturally beat thunder the way he's cottoned up to that yellow dog of a Yavapai Joe?" mused another, encouraged by Curly's silence. "Three or four of the boys told how they'd seen 'em together off an' on, but I didn't think nothin' of it until I seen 'em myself when we was workin' over at Tailholt. It was one evenin' after supper.
But, in a little open space among the cedars, the cowboy saw Yavapai Joe, standing beside a calf, fresh-branded with the Four-Bar-M iron, and earmarked with the Tailholt marks. Patches knew instantly, as well as though he had witnessed the actual branding, what, had happened.
I prefer to look after my few thousands of steers, laying on four hundred pounds each per year, far from the madding crowd. You know Riley's man who said that the little town of Tailholt was good enough for him? Well, that expresses my view of the 'J-Up-and-Down' Ranch as a hermitage. It'll do quite well. But these Eastern interests of Mrs. Jim are just now menacing to life in any hermitage.
In short, Reid had been expecting some stranger to seek a job with some of the ranches that were in a position to contribute to the Tailholt Mountain outfit, and, for his part, he would await developments before becoming too enthusiastic over Honorable Patches. All of which the good Dean found very hard to answer. "But look here, Jim," he protested, "don't you go makin' it unpleasant for the boy.
Get off somewhere alone with him, after he gets acquainted a little, and he's not half such bad company as he looks. I reckon that's the main reason why Nick keeps him. You see, no decent cow-puncher would dare work at Tailholt Mountain, and a man gets mighty lonesome living so much alone.
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