Bunch Grass | Page 7

a woman of
silence, secretive, with lips tightly compressed, as if--as Ajax
remarked--she feared that some of John Jacob's peccadilloes might
escape from them.
The father was inordinately proud of his son, Quincey, who in many
respects took after the mother. He, too, was quiet, self-possessed, and
somewhat pale. He worked for us and other cattlemen, not for his father,
and after the lad left school Ajax fell to speculating about him, as he
speculated about the mother.
"Is Quincey on to the old man's games?" he would ask.
It must be recorded that John Jacob was very careful to keep within the
limits of the law, but he ploughed close to the line, where the soil, as
we all know, is richest and, comparatively speaking, virgin. But no man
in the county was louder than he in denouncing such crimes as
horse-stealing or cattle-lifting, crimes in those days disgracefully
common. He might ear-mark a wandering piglet, for instance, or clap
his iron upon an unbranded yearling; but who could swear that these
estrays were not the lawful property of him upon whose land they were
found?
At that time Ajax and I were breeding Cleveland Bays, and amongst
our colts we had two very promising animals likely to make a match
team, and already prize-winners at the annual county fair. One day in
October, Uncle Jake, our head vaquero, reported the colts to be missing
out of our back pasture. Careful examination revealed the cutting of the
fence. Obviously the colts had been stolen.
Ajax suggested that we should employ old man Dumble to help us to
recover the stolen property. He was shrewd and persevering, and he
knew every man, woman, and child within a radius of fifty miles.

"Why, boys," said he, when we asked him to undertake the job, "I'd do
more than this to help friends and neighbours. It's a dooty to hunt down
these scallywags, a dooty, yas--and a pleasure."
We took the trail that night. The thief, so far as we could conjecture,
had about twenty hours start, but then he would be obliged to travel by
night and by devious mountain-paths. According to old Dumble, his
objective would be Bakersfield, and to reach Bakersfield some dry
plains must be traversed. At the watering-places upon these plains we
might expect to hear from sheep-herders and vaqueros some
information respecting animals so handsome and so peculiarly marked
as our colts.
And so it proved. At a dismal saloon, where water was nearly as
expensive and quite as bad as the whisky, we learned that a bright bay
colt with a white star and stocking, and another with a white nose, had
been seen early that morning. Old man Dumble gleaned more.
"We're dealing with a tenderfoot and a stranger to the saloon-keeper,"
he said, as we struck into the sage-brush wilderness. "The fool didn't
know enough to spend a few dollars at the bar. He called for one
lemonade."
"Well," said Ajax, "you are teetotal yourself; you ought to respect a
man who calls for lemonade."
"I ain't a thief," said our neighbour. "If I was," he added, "I reckon I'd
cover my tracks around saloons with a leetle whisky. Boys, there's
another thing. This feller we're after is ridin' too fast. Them colts won't
stand it. Young things must feed an' rest. The saloon-keeper allowed
they were footsore a'ready, and kinder petered out. We must keep our
eyes skinned."
"You're a wonder," said Ajax. "How you divined that the thief would
travel this trail beats me."
"Wal," said old man Dumble, "it's this way. There's a big dealer comes
three times a year to Bakersfield; he pays good money for good stuff--

an' he asks no questions. I happened to hear he was a-comin' down only
las' Sunday."
Something in his voice, some sly gleam in his eye, aroused my
suspicions. As soon as we happened to be alone, I whispered to my
brother: "I say, what if the old man is playing hare and hound with us?"
"Pooh!" said Ajax. "He's keen as mustard to collar this thief--the keener,
possibly, since he discovered that the fellow is a tenderfoot. I've sized
him up about right. He wants to establish a record. It's like this teetotal
business of his. The people here refuse to believe evil of a man who
drinks water, goes to church, and catches horse- thieves. I'll add one
word more. To give the old fraud his due, he really holds in abhorrence
any crime that might land him in the State penitentiary. Hullo! There's
a faint reek out yonder. I'll take a squint through my glasses."
We called a halt. We were now on the alkaline plains beyond the San
Emigdio mountains. Riding all through the night, we had changed
horses