Sixes and Sevens | Page 7

your sheep on is mine. I'm putting
up a wire fence, forty by sixty miles; and if there's a sheep inside of it

when it's done it'll be a dead one. I'll give you a week to move yours
away. If they ain't gone by then, I'll send six men over here with
Winchesters to make mutton out of the whole lot. And if I find you
here at the same time this is what you'll get."
King James patted the breech of his shot-gun warningly.
Old man Ellison rode on to the camp of Incarnacion. He sighed many
times, and the wrinkles in his face grew deeper. Rumours that the old
order was about to change had reached him before. The end of Free
Grass was in sight. Other troubles, too, had been accumulating upon his
shoulders. His flocks were decreasing instead of growing; the price of
wool was declining at every clip; even Bradshaw, the storekeeper at
Frio City, at whose store he bought his ranch supplies, was dunning
him for his last six months' bill and threatening to cut him off. And so
this last greatest calamity suddenly dealt out to him by the terrible King
James was a crusher.
When the old man got back to the ranch at sunset he found Sam
Galloway lying on his cot, propped against a roll of blankets and wool
sacks, fingering his guitar.
"Hello, Uncle Ben," the troubadour called, cheerfully. "You rolled in
early this evening. I been trying a new twist on the Spanish Fandango
to-day. I just about got it. Here's how she goes -- listen."
"That's fine, that's mighty fine," said old man Ellison, sitting on the
kitchen step and rubbing his white, Scotch-terrier whiskers. "I reckon
you've got all the musicians beat east and west, Sam, as far as the roads
are cut out."
"Oh, I don't know," said Sam, reflectively. "But I certainly do get there
on variations. I guess I can handle anything in five flats about as well
as any of 'em. But you look kind of fagged out, Uncle Ben -- ain't you
feeling right well this evening?"
"Little tired; that's all, Sam. If you ain't played yourself out, let's have
that Mexican piece that starts off with: '_Huile, huile, palomita_.' It

seems that that song always kind of soothes and comforts me after I've
been riding far or anything bothers me."
"Why, seguramente, senor," said Sam. "I'll hit her up for you as often
as you like. And before I forget about it, Uncle Ben, you want to jerk
Bradshaw up about them last hams he sent us. They're just a little bit
strong."
A man sixty-five years old, living on a sheep ranch and beset by a
complication of disasters, cannot successfully and continuously
dissemble. Moreover, a troubadour has eyes quick to see unhappiness
in others around him -- because it disturbs his own ease. So, on the next
day, Sam again questioned the old man about his air of sadness and
abstraction. Then old man Ellison told him the story of King James's
threats and orders and that pale melancholy and red ruin appeared to
have marked him for their own. The troubadour took the news
thoughtfully. He had heard much about King James.
On the third day of the seven days of grace allowed him by the autocrat
of the range, old man Ellison drove his buckboard to Frio City to fetch
some necessary supplies for the ranch. Bradshaw was hard but not
implacable. He divided the old man's order by two, and let him have a
little more time. One article secured was a new, fine ham for the
pleasure of the troubadour.
Five miles out of Frio City on his way home the old man met King
James riding into town. His majesty could never look anything but
fierce and menacing, but to-day his slits of eyes appeared to be a little
wider than they usually were.
"Good day," said the king, gruffly. "I've been wanting to see you. I hear
it said by a cowman from Sandy yesterday that you was from Jackson
County, Mississippi, originally. I want to know if that's a fact."
"Born there," said old man Ellison, "and raised there till I was
twenty-one."
"This man says," went on King James, "that he thinks you was related

to the Jackson County Reeveses. Was he right?"
"Aunt Caroline Reeves," said the old man, "was my half-sister."
"She was my aunt," said King James. "I run away from home when I
was sixteen. Now, let's re-talk over some things that we discussed a few
days ago. They call me a bad man; and they're only half right. There's
plenty of room in my pasture for your bunch of sheep and their increase
for a long time