Part 1

THE MISDEAL

W. C. Tuttle

Author of “Tramps of the Range,” “Sticky Ropes,” etc.

“I tell yuh he did make out a will! You’re danged right he did! That day he had Williams, the lawyer, from Broken Butte he made out that will. Aw-w-w, ----, you make me tired!”

“Wheezer” Bell spat angrily and hammered his boot-heel against the wall of the NR bunk-house. Wheezer was half-inclined to be mad at “Leather” Kleig, who was humped up in the shade, his thin, impassive face hidden under the brim of his wide sombrero.

“Chet” Wells, a broken-nosed, scar-faced cowboy, was stretched out, half in shade, half in sun, chewing a big portion of tobacco; while just beyond him sat “Wooden-shoe” Van Dorn, a fat, stolid-faced, pig-eyed cowboy.

“You engineered this deal, Leather--” Wheezer stopped hammering the bunk-house wall and glared down at the top of Leather’s hat--“and you sure raised ---- and put a block under it, if anybody rises from the dead to inquire.”

Leather did not look up, but said slowly--

“Wheezer, you’re talkin’ too ---- much!”

“Well, there ain’t no use of talkin’--much,” observed Wooden-shoe slowly, “and we don’t want to make trouble among us, do we, Wheezer?”

“Aw, I ain’t huntin’ trouble,” Wheezer assured him, “but we ain’t got a ---- thing t’ show that the NR owes us a danged thing.”

“True as gospel preachin’,” agreed Chet warmly. “If Leather’d only said like this to the old man: You write----”

“Now, you’re gettin’ the tongue-trouble, too, eh?” interrupted Leather ominously, but did not look up.

Wheezer shoved away from the wall and stepped around in front of Leather Kleig, his thumbs hooked over the top of his cartridge-belt.

“Kleig, if you think for a minute that you can stop me from talkin’--cut yore wolf loose.” Wheezer’s voice was pitched low, but was full of meaning. “You’ve bossed this outfit too ---- much; _sabe?_ We’ve been gypped out of everythin’. Now, put up or shut up.”

Kleig did not move, but his eyes flashed to Wheezer for a second.

“Like I said before,” stated Wooden-shoe impassively, “we shouldn’t quarrel among us. Whatcha say, Wheezer? Let’s all be good little friends together.”

“Thassall right,” nodded Leather. “I ain’t sayin’ that I didn’t make a mistake, but yuh gotta agree that I lose as much as you fellers do.”

“Sure, sure,” agreed Chet indifferently. “I heard the old man tell yuh that he was goin’ to sell the NR and split the pot. Yuh can’t blame Leather ’cause the old man decides to die off, can yuh, Wheezer?”

“’S far as that’s concerned--no,” admitted Wheezer. “But it sure leaves us high and dry, Chet.”

Wooden-shoe suddenly burst into a dry chuckle.

“Now, what in ---- are you laughin’ at?” demanded Chet.

“Just laughin’,” replied Wooden-shoe. “Here we’ve been stealin’ stock for over a year for old Nick Ralls, and ain’t got nothin’ for ourselves.”

“Except experience,” said Wheezer gloomily.

All of which was both sad and true. Many years previous to this time, Nick Ralls, an old gun-man of the Southwest, had migrated to the Broken Butte ranges and taken up the NR ranch. Nick Ralls was a bitter old codger, quick of temper, and very flexible of conscience.

He did not prosper, but made a living. There were few NR cows on the Broken Buttes when Leather Kleig, Wheezer Bell, Wooden-shoe Van Dorn and Chet Wells rode into the yard of the tumble-down ranch-house and informed old Nick that they were both hungry and tired.

The sheriff of the adjoining county lost them in the breaks and went home disgusted; but they did not know this. They needed sanctuary, and old Nick Ralls gave it to them, because he recognized them as kindred spirits.

Old Nick was growing old--raspingly old. The Broken Butte range was a fertile field for those who carried a running-iron and little regard for the law. And when the adjoining county had practically forgotten the four men who attempted to rob the bank at Dry Wells, the four men made an oral contract with old Nick Ralls.

Leather Kleig was a brand counterfeiter. His skill with a running-iron or razor was uncanny. Combination brands were an open book to him. Every animal that fell within their loop or corral was quickly made over into an NR, which would pass muster even on close examination, and old Nick Ralls chuckled evilly, while his herd grew until the hills of Broken Butte range were dotted with his possessions.

Then, as Wheezer described it:

“He ups and dies. And the or’nary old son-of-a-sea-cook knowed he was goin’ to die, didn’t he? Then why does he send for a lawyer to make out his will?”

All of which was not at all cheerful to the four men in the shade of the NR bunk-house.

“Yeah, it leaves us high and dry,” admitted Chet. “We ain’t got nothin’ to show for all our hard work. If yuh asks my opinion, I’d suggest that we all line up, give the word and all start shootin’. If there’s any survivor, he can take what money the other fellers has got and pull out.”

“Good idea!” exploded Wooden-shoe. “I’d like----”

“You would!” interrupted Wheezer sarcastically. “You ain’t got a danged cent to lose. Leather must have about six-bits, which is four-bits more than I’ve got. I dunno about Chet, but I reckon two-bits would about tap him.”

“Then that idea ain’t so good,” said Chet mournfully. “What’ll we do? Brand the NR cows all over and sell them to the sheriff?”

“----, the sheriff!” grunted Leather. “He’s too pious. Goes to church! ---- deliver me from a church-goin’ sheriff.”

“One thing’s a cinch,” observed Chet thoughtfully. “If them misbranded critters are ever discovered, they can’t hang the deadwood on to us. We don’t own ’em. And no sensible man ever steals cows as a pastime.”

“I’m through stealin’ cows,” declared Wooden-shoe, emphatically. “I tell yuh, I’m through.”

“Reformin’, eh?” sneered Leather Kleig.

“Yeah, I’m goin’ to rob banks or trains--and I’m goin’ to steal for me; _sabe?_”

“We’re a ---- of a fine bunch of outlaws,” declared Wheezer. “Bad men from Bitter Crick. ----! ’F we don’t look out, some old lady is goin’ to hoodle us off this range with a parasol.”

“For his heart was hard and so was his hide, And the rattlesnake crawled away and died, The da-a-a-y he bit Bill Jo-o-o-nes.”

Chet’s voice quavered lovingly on the last line, and his broken nose twitched feelingly.

“You can do a lot of things better than yuh can sing,” observed Wooden-shoe sadly. “You ought to twist yore ears a little, Chet. Yuh sound like a couple of yore strings was loose.”

“Bein’ funny ain’t gittin’ us no place--” Wheezer dug his heel into the hard dirt. “What are we goin’ to do? That’s the question. If old Ralls didn’t leave no will, I s’pose the whole works will be sold by the sheriff.”

“I’d love to set on a fence and see that ---- sheriff sell my cows!” exploded Leather.

“What ’d yuh do?” asked Wheezer. “Would yuh tell him how it comes that yuh feel bad about it, Leather?”

“Talkin’ makes me hungry,” stated Wooden-shoe. “Let’s go and see what Ma Coogan’s got for supper.”

“And that’s another thing,” said Wheezer. “What in ---- is goin’ to become of Ma Coogan?”

“Yessir, that’s another thing,” agreed Wooden-shoe.

* * * * *

Ma Coogan was the cook and housekeeper of the NR, and was as much a part of the ranch as the old ranch-house. She was about sixty years of age; thirty of which had been spent in the range country.

Ten years previous to this time, Jim Coogan and his wife had been nesters in the Broken Butte range. Nesters were not wanted, and old Jim had absorbed a bullet; which left Ma Coogan destitute.

Nick Ralls, whose heart was bitter against everything, and nesters in particular, had installed the old widow as cook and housekeeper in the NR. He swore at the time that he did not do it to be kind, but to prove that he could be contrary to his own nature.

Ma Coogan was a little woman, with a typically Irish face, a heart of gold, but with a tongue that proved to Nick Ralls the advisability of running his end of the ranch and not interfering with the household.

It was five days since the burial of Nick Ralls, and Ma Coogan was beginning to get back to normal. She had never considered what Ralls’ death might mean to her. She was sitting on the porch, as the four men came up to the ranch-house, fanning herself with a magazine.

“Ye’re all hungry, I suppose,” she remarked. “And what have ye done to make ye hungry, I’d ask? Are ye goin’ to sit in the shade all the rest of your life?”

“Looks kinda like it, Ma,” said Wheezer. “But what’s the use of workin’? There’s nobody to pay salaries.”

“Nobody?” Ma Coogan stopped fanning herself. “Nobody to pay--well, bless me soul!”

She stared at them and her eyes shifted to the hazy hills, as a sudden realization of things came to her.

“I never thought of that,” she said softly. “Nobody to pay salaries, nobody to run the ranch. Now, what’s to become of everybody, I’d like to know?”

Wheezer shook his head.

“I dunno, Ma. Do you remember that lawyer comin’ up here a couple of days before Nick Ralls died?”

“That fat, fish-eyed feller from Broken Butte? Aye, he was with Nick Ralls for a long time.”

“He’s a lawyer, Ma. We was wonderin’ if Nick made out a will. He knowed he was goin’ to die, I reckon.”

“He did that,” declared Ma. “Belike he heard the banshee wailin’; I dunno.”

“What’s a banshee, Ma?” asked Wooden-shoe.

“Sure, it’s an Irish ghost. When ye hear one wailin’, ye’r goin’ to die, Wooden-shoe. There’s a lot of thim that has heard the banshee.”

Leather Kleig laughed sarcastically.

“Ghosts! No ghost would wail over Nick Ralls. What I’d like to know: Did Nick Ralls make out a will?”

“There was such a thing mentioned,” said Ma slowly. “I heard thim speak of a will, and there was a paper that I had to sign me name to, but I did not read it.

“This fish-eyed feller he puts his finger on one spot, and he says for me to write me name there. Ould Nick says that I’m a witness. I dunno what it was all about, but it looked like some sort of a cer-ti-fic-it.”

“That was a will,” declared Wheezer. “Did he ever tell yuh about any of his relatives, Ma?”

“He did not, Wheezer. I misdoubt if he had any. But Nick Ralls was no man to blather about any one. Hated the world, so he did. He even swore at the lawyer. Well, the poor soul has gone to glory, and if I don’t go in and finish gittin’ supper, the rest of ye will be failin’ for want of food.”

“If Nick Ralls has gone to glory, I hope I don’t,” declared Leather Kleig. “He wasn’t entitled to it.”

“Aw, sure, now--” Ma Coogan turned at the doorway and looked down at Leather, “ye mustn’t wish ill of a dead man. He wasn’t all bad, Leather. Do ye think that God is goin’ to punish ye by sendin’ ye to a hot place? What would He gain by it, I’d ask ye? Would it be a lesson to thim that stayed behind in this life?

“We wouldn’t see it. A lovin’ God wouldn’t git no satisfaction out of it, would He? Thin where is your reasons for a place of damnation, I dunno? I tell ye, I think that Nick Ralls went to glory.”

“All right, Ma,” said Leather gloomily. “I hope, if he has, that he can look down and see what a ---- fool he was to leave the NR in this kinda shape.”

“Amen,” said Ma Coogan piously.

* * * * *

It was three days later that Eph Williams, the lawyer from Broken Butte, came again to the NR; and with him came Ben Murtch, the sheriff, and a lady.

The four cowboys looked with great disfavor upon Ben Murtch and Eph Williams, because they had little use for the law in any of its forms. But there was a certain amount of speculation regarding the lady.

Murtch was a bandy-legged person, broad-shouldered, and with a massive head. His features were of the type commonly known as bulldog, and he was reputed fast with a gun. On account of their wild doings in Broken Butte, Murtch had no use for the boys of the NR--and did not conceal his feelings.

Both Murtch and Williams attended the little church at Broken Butte, and at times Williams would pass the collection plate. The four cowboys from the NR went to church one Sunday night, more out of curiosity than from piety, and observed the actions of Williams and Murtch.

Hence Leather Kleig’s remark of--

“Lord deliver me from a church-goin’ sheriff.”

Williams, Murtch and the lady came out to the ranch in a top-buggy, and went straight to the ranch-house. The four cowboys sat at the bunk-house and speculated as to who the lady might be, until Murtch left the house and came down to see them.

“Howdy, boys,” he greeted them pleasantly, but they were not receptive to his greeting.

He stopped near them and hitched up his belt.

“Thought yuh might like to know who the lady is,” he remarked.

“Yeah?” Wheezer squinted sideways at him. “Yuh thought so, did yuh?”

“Yeah, I thought yuh would.”

“Reckon we ought to take a vote on it?” questioned Chet.

“That,” said Murtch, not a bit perturbed over their indifference, “that is Miss Jane Cleveland, who owns this ranch, lock, stock and barrel.”

“Oh, yeah!” Wheezer nodded quickly. “That’s who she is, eh?”

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“Who’s she?” Wooden-shoe hugged his knees and grinned at Murtch.

“That’s a ---- of a question,” declared Murtch.

“It’s a good question, and there ought to be an answer layin’ around somewhere.”

Eph Williams was coming down from the house, and Murtch decided to wait and let him explain things.

“Fish-eye,” chuckled Wheezer. “Shore fits him.”

The rest of the cowboys grinned, and Eph looked uncomfortable, even if he did not know what had been said.

“Did you tell ’em, Murtch?” asked Williams. His voice was rather husky, as if suffering from a heavy cold.

“I left the job to you,” said Murtch. “You sabe it better than I do.”

“I sure as ---- hope he does,” growled Leather.

“Well, it is simple,” smiled Williams. “Miss Cleveland just arrived from Helena to take charge of this ranch. Just before Nick Ralls passed on he had me make out his will. Miss Cleveland is the daughter of his only sister, and the only living relative of Nick Ralls. He had kept track of her all these years, and when he felt that his days were numbered, he sent for me, made out his will, and--” Williams spread his hands--“that is all there is to it.”

“Well, now, that’s quite a lot,” admitted Leather, and the other three cowboys knew what he meant.

“Miss Cleveland knows nothing about cattle,” stated Williams, “but she was more than willing to take charge. I do not know whether she will retain any or all of you boys. I have made no suggestions. As far as I can see there is no use of having four cowboys to handle the cattle, but I am leaving it to her to do things to suit herself.”

“That’s ---- kind of yuh, I’m sure,” applauded Chet. “What did you say your business was?”

“I am an attorney-at-law,” said Williams stiffly.

“Oh, yeah--a lawyer?”

“Don’t waste words on ’em, Eph,” advised Murtch. “They’re tryin’ to get under your hide.”

“Wouldn’t be under it for the world,” denied Chet. “I’d smother t’ death in a minute.”

Williams whirled on his heel and went back toward the horse and buggy, walking stiff-legged, like an angry bear. Murtch looked after him and turned to the grinning cowboys.

“You fellers likely don’t know that Williams will have quite a lot to say about this place, do yuh? He’s goin’ to advise Miss Cleveland on business matters.”

“Lord help her,” said Wheezer sadly.

Murtch scowled and turned away, starting back to where Williams was getting into the buggy.

“You didn’t tell us what your business is,” reminded Wooden-shoe.

Murtch grunted something unintelligible, but did not turn his head.

They drove down past the bunk-house, on their way out of the ranch, but neither of them looked at the four grinning cowboys on the steps.

“A heiress,” said Wheezer dolefully. “A blasted heiress to our cows!”

“And a fish-eyed lawyer advisin’ her what to do with them,” added Chet. “If somebody’d stick a fork into us they’d find us well done.”

Chet got to his feet and executed a double-shuffle on the steps, while he sang sadly:

“Oh, Williams, yo’re a ---- Oh, Williams, yo’re a bum; There’s nothin’ good about you, And yore breath sure smells of rum. Yo’re killin’ us by inches, I know I am yore slave But when you die, you son-of-a-gun, I’ll dance upon yore grave.”

“That record sounds scratched,” observed Wheezer dryly. “Sounds like a Injun with hay-fever, tryin’ to give a imitation of C’ruso singin’ soprano.”

“Aw, ----!” Leather Kleig snorted his disgust and got to his feet. “Let’s go and meet the new boss.”

“Mebbe she’ll appreciate my voice,” said Chet hopefully. “I’ll take a chance.”

“I’ll shoot yuh, if yuh try singin’ to her,” threatened Wheezer, as they trooped to the ranch-house.

“Aw, he won’t make no never mind,” assured Wooden-shoe. “I hope he yodels and busts his windpipe.”

“What’s a yodel?” asked Wheezer.

Wooden-shoe stopped, pointed his nose toward the sky and began:

“_Hi-i-i lee-e-e-e o la lay-ee-e-e--_ Leggo! Ouch!”

Wheezer and Chet had moved in swiftly beside him, each grabbing him by collar and boot and dumped him unceremoniously on top of his head. Then they let go at the same time and his heels hit the ground with a thud.

For a moment, Wooden-shoe’s breath was jarred from his body, and he lay there goggling at the sky.

“I hope he isn’t injured.”

The cowboys turned and stared at Jane Cleveland, who was standing on the porch, staring at Wooden-shoe, who sat up and puffed the atmosphere back into his lungs. He saw her and tried to laugh.

“No, ma’am,” said Wheezer foolishly. “You can’t hurt him.”

Wheezer had removed his hat, and now he stepped over, lifted Wooden-shoe’s hat off his head and placed it in his lap.

Jane Cleveland was a stately brunette, well-dressed, possibly twenty-five years of age. There was no question of her beauty, but it was marred a trifle by the superiority of her manner. She might well have been a queen, looking down upon them; making them feel rather out of place before her. Her lips lifted slightly in a semblance of a smile at Wheezer’s rough wit.

“You are the cowboys, I suppose?”

“Yes’m, I s’pose we are,” nodded Chet.

He looked at the other three and back at the girl.

“Yes’m, I’m sure of it now. Get up, Wooden-shoe. My gosh, you ain’t got no manners a-tall.”

“You’re Miss Cleveland, I s’pose,” observed Leather.

It was a perfect imitation of her question, and her eyes hardened slightly.

“Yes, I am Miss Cleveland, the owner of this farm.”

“My ----!” breathed Chet. “Farm!”

Ma Coogan had come out of the door, and Miss Cleveland turned.

“Was there something you wanted?”

“Nothin’, me dear,” said Ma Coogan.

“Then I think your place is in the kitchen--not on the veranda.”

Ma Coogan looked wonderingly at Miss Cleveland.

“Would ye mind sayin’ that again?”

“Are you not the cook?”

Miss Cleveland’s voice was icy.

“Yes, I’m the cook.”

“There is nothing to cook out here.”

“Well--” Ma Coogan swallowed painfully and looked appealingly at the four cowboys--“well, I s’pose that’s right. I never thought of that--in ten years.”

She turned and went back into the house. Leather Kleig cleared his throat, and his eyes narrowed dangerously, but Wheezer trod heavily on the side of his ankle and saved Leather from saying the wrong thing.

“I have not made up my mind what I am going to do with this place.” Miss Cleveland was talking, but the four boys were still staring at the doorway where Ma Coogan had disappeared and paid no attention to her.

“I would like to know just what I inherited from my uncle. Can you give me an estimate of how many cows, horses, etc., are included in this ranch?”

“Well--” Wheezer scratched his head thoughtfully--“that’s kinda hard, ma’am. There won’t be no round-up for a month, and ’till we kinda bunches them cows there ain’t no way of tellin’.”

“Didja know yore uncle very well?” asked Wooden-shoe.

“No, I never have seen him.”

“He didn’t have much sense, ma’am.”

“Is that so?” Miss Cleveland seemed indifferent to that statement.

“You goin’ to run the ranch yoreself, ma’am?” asked Leather.

“I suppose I will. Mr. Williams, the lawyer, will advise me in some of the details, and Mr. Murtch has offered his services at any time. Is there any reason why I cannot handle it?”

“Not with all that help--” Leather shook his head. “Of course you’ve got to hire some cowboys.”

“Naturally. Mr. Williams said that I could probably get along with less hired help than my uncle did. In fact, they informed me that every one wondered how uncle managed to make the ranch pay, with four cowboys in his employ.”

“Yeah, it is a wonder,” agreed Leather softly. “Yuh see, he hired us by the year and died two days before payday. This ranch owes us each four hundred and eighty dollars apiece.”

“Four hundred and eighty dollars apiece?”

“Yes’m,” said Wheezer grinning widely and making some rapid calculations. “The old NR owes us four punchers the grand total of nineteen hundred and twenty dollars.”

Wooden-shoe blinked and wet his lips with his tongue. He was a willing but slow liar, and he marveled at Leather telling a thing like that.

“And we sure worked faithful-like,” added Chet sadly. “A year’s a long time to go without a payday. ’Course the ranch is good for it, ma’am; so we ain’t worryin’.”

“Well,” said Miss Cleveland dubiously, “I know nothing about such things, but I shall take it up with Mr. Williams.”

“And Ma Coogan kinda got the worst of it,” said Wheezer mournfully. “Yuh see, when she goes to work for yore uncle, he says to her--

“ ‘If you work for me for ten years without pay, I’ll give yuh enough to keep yuh for the rest of yore life.’

“Well, she’s sure worked faithfully, y’betcha. It ain’t no cinch runnin’ her end of the job. Now, she’s old and can’t land no other job, but I reckon you’ll see that she gets what old Nick Ralls promised her.”

“But I know nothing about these things,” protested Miss Cleveland. “Is there any agreement--a written agreement, I mean?”

“Shucks, folks use their word instead of ink out here,” said Leather. “We’ve all heard Nick tell what he was goin’ to do for Ma Coogan. Why, jist the other day he says to me, like this--

“ ‘Leather, if anythin’ happens to me, will you see that Ma Coogan gits what’s comin’ to her?’

“I told him that I sure would, ma’am.”

“Why wasn’t she mentioned in the will?”

“I’ll tell yuh why, ma’am.” Chet moved in closer and lowered his voice. “Old Nick Ralls wasn’t in his right mind. He heard the banshee wailin’.”

“The--what do you mean?” Miss Cleveland frowned slightly. “What did he hear?”

“A banshee wailin’. There’s lot of ’em, ma’am. When yuh hear one, yuh might as well practise up on some kind of a harp, ’cause yuh ain’t got no chance left.”

“I do not think I understand--nor care. By the way, I do not know your names.”

“I’m Wheezer Bell,” Wheezer indicated himself. “That’s Leather Kleig. Got his front name from reachin’ for a saddle-horn so often. This’n,” pointing at Chet, “this’n is Chet Wells. He’s old man Wells’ son. That other one is Wooden-shoe Van Dorn, the only Dutch cowpuncher in captivity. He can squeak like a windmill, and he wakes up yelling at night, thinkin’ that the dykes have busted.”

“Thank you very much.”

She turned and went into the house.

* * * * *

The four cowboys looked at each other and went back to the bunk-house, where they draped themselves in the shade and stared at each other.

“Leather,” said Wheezer softly, “yo’re the first ---- liar I ever loved. But can we work that idea?”

“Who in ---- can say that we lied?” queried Chet. “Nick Ralls never kept no books.”

“I dunno--” Leather shook his head sadly--“I’m a son-of-a-gun if I ever seen a look on anybody’s face like there was on Ma’s, when Miss Cleveland ordered her back to the kitchen.”

“Aw, that was too bad,” nodded Wheezer, “and Ma took it, too.”