CHAPTER V.

LEONIDAS SWIPES, SHEEP DEALER.

The sun had barely crossed the meridian, when the emigrant party reached a small stream of water, and made midday halt. The animals were fed, dinner cooked and eaten, pipes smoked, and everything done in accordance with the time and circumstance.

Fred Wainwright did his best to appear natural, but since the mention of Florence Brandon’s name, his heart had been stirred, as it had not been stirred for many a day. Old emotions which he imagined were dead had——but enough for the present.

When the call was made for dinner, he saw a young lady descend from one of the large baggage wagons, so remarkably handsome, as to cause an exclamation of surprise and admiration from all who had not seen her. The young hunter started and gasped, and then passed his hand over his face, as if to make sure that his massive beard was there, then he slouched his hat so as to be sure the fair girl could not possibly recognize him.

At meal-time, he managed to keep a goodly distance from her; and, when pressed to go forward and make himself known, he resolutely refused, and acted very much as though he had a mortal terror of Miss Florence Brandon.

The alloted time for rest had expired, and the party were making ready to move on again, when three strangers made their appearance mounted on rather sorry looking nags. Two of them were dressed in half civilized costume, with shaggy, untrimmed beards and hair, and a remarkable talent for saying nothing except when directly appealed to. The third would have attracted attention in any part of the world,—being nothing more nor less than a genuine, traveling Yankee, dressed in precisely the same suit of clothes in which he left his own native Connecticut a year before. A huge, conical hat surmounted a small head, from which sprouted a mass of yellow hair, a portion of which protruded through an opening in the top, while the rest hung down over his shoulders. Sharp, grey eager eyes, a thin peaked nose, a yellow tuft of hair on the chin, prominent cheek bones and bony, angular muscular frame, completed the noticeable points in the most talkative character in the group.

While the party were as yet nearly a hundred yards distant, the Yankee called out,

“Say, you folks, have you seen anything of any stray sheep in these parts?”

The earnest simplicity with which this question was asked brought a broad smile to the face of all who heard it. Lancaster asked as the three horsemen rode up,

“Have you lost any?”

“Ye—s! a few.”

“How many?”

“Five thousand, four hundred and twenty eight.”

From the remark of the horseman, it was evident that the flock of sheep stolen by the Comanches belonged to him and his party. Lancaster, therefore had no hesitation in replying,

“We seed a drove of almost that size go ’long this morning.”

“Did you count ’em?”

“I rather think not.”

“Pretty good sized drove?”

“Right smart size.”

“Who was driving on them!”

“A half dozen Comanches.”

“There’s our sheep!” exclaimed the horseman clapping his knee and turning his face toward his companions, who merely looked their reply without speaking.

“Now, ain’t that mean!” he asked, turning back again toward the trappers and emigrants. “My name is Leonidas Swipes, and me and these two gentlemen left New Haven, a year ago last April. All three of us teached school in districts that joined, but we concluded we was intended for better business, and so we put our heads and purses together and started for California.”

“What were you doing with such a number of sheep!” asked Mr. Bonfield.

“Taking ’em into California where mutton is five times as high as it is east.”

“But where did you get the sheep!”

“Wal, the way on it was this,” replied Mr. Swipes, ejecting a mouthful of tobacco juice, rolling his quid to the opposite cheek, and assuming a position of ease. “We started from St. Louis just at the beginning of Spring, lost our way and afore we knowed it fetched up in Santa Fe, five hundred miles off our course. Of course, we were considerably riled to think we had made such fools of ourselves, but there was no help for it, and we soon found there was as good chance to make money in Santa Fe, as in any other part of the world.”

“Yes,” said Harling, “it is one of the greatest gambling holes this side of the Mississippi.”

Mr. Swipes instantly straightened himself with righteous indignation.

“You don’t s’pose we ever gamble? No, sir; such things are frowned upon in Connecticut, and there aint one of this party that can tell one keerd from another. No, _sir_; we never gambled in our lives. If you aint mistaken there, then my name aint Leonidas Swipes,—no, sir; by jingo.”

“But how did you get the sheep?” pursued Mr. Bonfield, for there was something in the rattling loquacity of the Yankee that made him interesting and that caused the male members of the party to gather around him. As the horseman found himself in this pleasing position, he grew more voluble than ever, and declaimed in a style and manner, which demonstrated that while his two companions were mum, yet his party in the aggregate did enough talking to answer very well for one of its size.

“I’m saying it was rather queer, the way we come in possession of them sheep, I swan if it wasn’t. We hadn’t been in Santa Fe a great while, when a sickly looking Missourian and a gander legged Arkansian came into the town with this drove of sheep. They tried to sell ’em, but nobody would give their price, and one of ’em got out of patience, and turned his horse’s head around and started straight back for home. The other staid at the hotel where we was, and got took sick, and I soon seen he was going to die. As I’ve read law some, I axed him whether he hadn’t a will to make, and I’d be happy to draw it up for him. He said he hadn’t a single friend in the world, except the Arkansian, and he didn’t s’pose he’d ever see him again. He said he hadn’t any property except the sheep.

“Well, friends, I was not long in seeing there was a fine opening for a young man, and the way I stuck to that poor Missourian would have teached your hospital nurses a lesson. I hope you don’t think there was any selfishness in it; for if any of you get sick, I’ll do the same for you. Howsomever, that aint here nor there; the fellow died after awhile, and, in his will, it was found that the five thousand and odd sheep had been left to Leonidas Swipes.

“I was about to sell the drove to a couple of Mexicans, when I happened to hear that sheep in California was worth twenty dollars a piece. Jingo! wasn’t there a chance? That flock that I wast just on the point of selling was worth over a hundred thousand dollars, if I could only get it through the mountains. I tell you the bare idea gives me the head-ache, I swan if I didn’t.

“Wal, I told my friends here, Mr. Doolittle and Birchem that if they’d join, each of ’em could have a third, and we’d make our fortune. So we started, and here we are without a sheep to our name.”

“How did you expect to get through the mountains?”

“The thing has been done before and can be done again.”

“But you did not know the way.”

“Oh! we had a guide, but he played us a mean trick. I agreed to give him a hundred sheep for his payment, just as soon as he got us into the Sacramento Valley. We hadn’t been out three days, when one night, he give us the slip, taking two or three hundred sheep with him and leaving us to go alone. We felt a little shaky about doing it, but we couldn’t do anything else, and so we shoved ahead, and by jingo here you see us, only three sheep of us,” and Mr. Swipes’ face expanded into a broad smile.

“But you haven’t told us how these Comanches got the sheep away from you?” said Fred Wainwright, echoing the curiosity that all the others felt.

“You wish the _modus operandi_ I presume, I can soon give it, I swan if I can’t. Last night we stopped on a small stream of water, where we knew the grass was so _succulent_,—so _succulent_, that the sheep would stay there all Summer if we’d only let them; and, as we was pretty tired, and hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since leaving Santa Fe, we made up our minds to take a square night’s sleep.

“Well, we did so; and when I awoke this morning, I looked around and seen our sheep about a half mile distant, tearing away like mad, and a party of Indians driving on ’em. Well, if you ever seen three Yankees, you know what the matter was with us. We hopped around there awhile, like a lot of chickens that had stepped on a hot johny cake, and then we set off after the Indians, shouting to ’em to hold on, while we explained the matter to them; but hang ’em, they only went the harder; and, as our horses was used up, we had to give it up and yumer ’em along like to keep ’em from giving out.”

“You have been rather unfortunate,” remarked several, feeling really sorry for the unfortunate Yankees.

“Yes, but I hope we can recover ’em agin.”

“How?”

“Can’t we make a party and pursue them? I’ll do the fair thing with any of you that will join us. You see it hardly looks smart to let a hundred thousand dollars stray off in that style.”

“I cannot speak for the three hunters here, but it would be hardly prudent for the rest of us to weaken our force by dividing it when we are in such a dangerous portion of the country,—but, I beg pardon, we have forgotten the laws of hospitality. Have you been to dinner?”

“I was about to observe that _we had not_, and we would rather do that just now than anything else we can think of.”