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<h2> CHAPTER 8. Pink in a Threatening Mood. </h2> Eagle Creek Smith had at last reached the point where he must face new conditions and change established customs. He could no longer ignore the barrenness of the range, or close his eyes to the grim fact that his cattle were facing starvation—and that in June, when they should be taking on flesh. When he finally did confess to himself that things couldn't go on like that, others had been before him in leasing and buying land, until only the dry benches were left to him and his hungry herds. But Eagle Creek was a man of resource. When the round-up pulled in and Wooden Shoes reported to him the general state of the cattle, and told of the water-holes newly fenced and of creek bottoms gobbled by men more farseeing than he, Eagle Creek took twenty-four hours to adjust himself to the situation and to meet the crisis before him. His own land, as compared to his twenty thousand cattle, was too pitifully inadequate for a second thought. He must look elsewhere for the correct answer to his problem. When Rowdy rode apathetically up to the stable, Pink came out of the bunk-house to meet him, big with news. “Oh, doctor! We're up against it a-plenty now,” he greeted, with his dimples at their deepest. “Huh!” grunted Rowdy crossly. “What's hurting you, Pink?” “Forecasting the future,” Pink retorted. “Eagle Creek has come alive, and has wised up sudden to the fact that this ain't going t' be any Noah's flood brand uh summer, and that his cattle look like the tailings of a wash-board factory. He's got busy—and we're sure going to. We're due t' hit the grit out uh here in the first beams uh rosy morn, and do a record stunt at gathering cattle.” “Well, we were going to, anyhow,” Rowdy cut in. “But that's only the prelude, old-timer. We've got t' take 'em across country to the Belknap reservation. Eagle Creek went t' town and telegraphed, and got the refusal of it for pasturage; he ain't so slow, oncet he gets started. But if you've ever rode over them dried-up benches, you savvy the merry party we'll be when we git there. I've saw jack-rabbits packing their lunch along over there.” “Belknap”—Rowdy dropped his saddle spitefully to the ground—“is where our friend Conroy has just gone to fill a splendid position.” Pink thoughtfully blew the ashes from his cigarette. “Harry Conroy would fill one position fine. So one uh these days I'll offer it to him. I don't know anybody that'd look nicer in a coffin than that jasper—and if he's gone t' Belknap, that's likely the position he'll fill, all right.” Rowdy said nothing, but his very silence told Pink much. “How'd yuh make out with Jessie?” Pink asked frankly, though he was not supposed to know where Rowdy had been. Rowdy knew from experience that it was useless trying to keep anything from Pink that Pink wanted to know; besides, there was a certain comfort in telling his troubles to so stanch a friend. “Harry got his work in there, too,” he said bitterly. “He beat me to her and queered me for good, by the looks.” “Huh!” said Pink. “I wouldn't waste much time worrying over her, if she's that easy turned.” “She's all right,” defended Rowdy quickly. “I don't know as I blame her; she takes the stand any sister would take. She wants to know all about the trouble—hear both sides, she said, so she could judge which was to blame. I guess she's got her heart set on being peacemaker. I know one thing: she—likes me, all right.” “I don't see how he queered yuh any, then,” puzzled Pink. “She sure couldn't take his part after you'd told her all he done.” Rowdy turned on him savagely. “You little fool, do you think I told her? Right there's the trouble. He told his story; and when she asked for mine, I couldn't say anything. She's his sister.” “You—didn't—tell!” Pink leaned against the stable and stared. “Rowdy Vaughan, there's times when even your friend can't disguise the fact that yuh act plumb batty. Yuh let Harry do yuh dirt that any other man'd 'a' killed him on bare suspicion uh doing; and yuh never told her when she asked yuh to! How yuh lent him money, and let him steal some right out uh your pocket—” “I couldn't prove that,” Rowdy objected. “And yuh never told her about his cutting your latigo—” “Oh, cut it out!” Rowdy glowered down at him. “I guess I don't need to be reminded of all those things. But are they the things a man can tell a girl about her brother? Pink, you're about as unfeeling a little devil as I ever run across. Maybe you'd have told her; but I couldn't. So it's all off.” He turned away and stared unseeingly at the rim of hills that hid the place where she lived. She seemed very far away from him just then—and very, very desirable. He thought then that he had never before realized just how much he cared. “You can jest bet I'd 'a' told her!” gritted Pink, watching furtively Rowdy's averted face. “She ain't goin' t' be bowed down by no load of ignorance much longer, either. If she don't get Harry Conroy's pedigree straight out, without the varnish, it'll be because I ain't next to all his past.” But Rowdy, glooming among the debris of certain pet air-castles, neither heard nor wanted to hear Pink's wrathful mutterings. As a matter of fact, it was not till Pink clattered out of the yard on Mascot that he remembered where he was. Even then it did not occur to him to wonder where Pink was going. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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