“Damn it, man!” called Del Williams to him, approaching him after one more chase after a wisp of stragglers. “I’d think you could ’tend to your own end part ways somehow!”
It was the first time he had spoken to Dalhart in days. Their enmity was smoldering.
“I don’t need any help from anybody about handling cows,” retorted the other; “least of all from you.”
Del Williams rode straight up to him at what seemed a challenge.
“I don’t see you for no cowman, myself,” said he.
They sat face to face midway of the dry river bed.
“I want to know what you mean,” said Dalhart. “I’ve been as good a hand on this trail as you have.”
“I don’t think so. Nothing but luck kept you from drownding that girl crossing the Red. More than that, it was you that let logs come through the cattle when they was swimming the day before. That started the mill. Four hundred cows lost and two men drownded. You was upriver side of the herd.”
This was mortal affront, as Del Williams was willing that it should be. At the time both men were unarmed.
“You know I won’t stand that,” said Dalhart.
“You heard it plain,” rejoined Williams quietly. “Make your play any time you like.”
“All right, I will make it! We both said we’d hold off till we struck Abilene. We’ll not both ride south together,” said Dalhart savagely.
“I hope not,” smiled Del Williams. “I have got plenty of grief riding in sight of you going north.”
Neither man liked to be the first to back his horse. Their actions caught the sight of Nabours, who started back.
“Look here!” he began. “What are you two doing here?”
“Well,” began Dalhart, “he told me I wasn’t doing my work.”
“Then he told you plumb right. Look at you now, both of you. You two give me your word, both of you, that you’d quit this quarreling till you got to Aberlene. Now quit it or else get out. If a little more happens I am going to get on the prod my own self.”
They separated. Del Williams later approached Nabours, both moody, sore.
“Jim,” said he, “look at the luck! Could anything more happen to us? I tell you, there’s a Jonah somewheres on this herd.”
“There shore is!” rejoined the harried foreman. “There shore is! And it’s got red hair.”
UPON even the most seasoned outdoor men the weather has undeniable influence. Came now a bright sun and gentle winds. The prairie lay like a silver sea. The surliness of the men vanished, they were children again. Once more the force of custom, of duty, made itself felt.