The Flying U Ranch | Page 4

with
mankind in general. At supper they talked with him perfunctorily, and
covertly sneered because he sprinkled his food liberally with cayenne
and his speech with Spanish words pronounced with soft, slurred
vowels that made them sound unfamiliar, and against which his English
contrasted sharply with its crisp, American enunciation. He met their
infrequent glances with the cool stare of absolute indifference to their
opinion of him, and their perfunctory civility with introspective calm.
The next morning, when there was riding to be done, and Miguel
appeared at the last moment in his working clothes, even Weary, the

sunny-hearted, had an unmistakable curl of his lip after the first glance.
Miguel wore the hatband, the crimson kerchief tied loosely with the
point draped over his chest, the stamped leather cuffs and the tan boots
with the highest heels ever built by the cobbler craft. Also, the lower
half of him was incased in chaps the like of which had never before
been brought into Flying U coulee. Black Angora chaps they were;
long-haired, crinkly to the very hide, with three white, diamond-shaped
patches running down each leg of them, and with the leather waistband
stamped elaborately to match the cuffs. The bands of his spurs were
two inches wide and inlaid to the edge with beaten silver, and each
concho was engraved to represent a large, wild rose, with a golden
center. A dollar laid upon the rowels would have left a fringe of prongs
all around.
He bent over his sacked riding outfit, and undid it, revealing a
wonderful saddle of stamped leather inlaid on skirt and cantle with
more beaten silver. He straightened the skirts, carefully ignoring the
glances thrown in his direction, and swore softly to himself when he
discovered where the leather had been scratched through the canvas
wrappings and the end of the silver scroll ripped up. He drew out his
bridle and shook it into shape, and the silver mountings and the reins of
braided leather with horsehair tassels made Happy Jack's eyes greedy
with desire. His blanket was a scarlet Navajo, and his rope a rawhide
lariat.
Altogether, his splendor when he was mounted so disturbed the fine
mental poise of the Happy Family that they left him jingling richly off
by himself, while they rode closely grouped and discussed him
acrimoniously.
"By gosh, a man might do worse than locate that Native Son for a silver
mine," Cal began, eyeing the interloper scornfully. "It's plumb wicked
to ride around with all that wealth and fussy stuff. He must 'a' robbed a
bank and put the money all into a riding outfit."
"By golly, he looks to me like a pair uh trays when he comes
bow-leggin' along with them white diamonds on his legs," Slim stated

solemnly.
"And I'll gamble that's a spot higher than he stacks up in the cow
game," Pink observed with the pessimism which matrimony had given
him. "You mind him asking about bad horses, last night? That
Lizzie-boy never saw a bad horse; they don't grow 'em where he come
from. What they don't know about riding they make up for with a swell
rig--"
"And, oh, mamma! It sure is a swell rig!" Weary paid generous tribute.
"Only I will say old Banjo reminds me of an Irish cook rigged out in
silk and diamonds. That outfit on Glory, now--" He sighed enviously.
"Well, I've gone up against a few real ones in my long and varied
career," Irish remarked reminiscently, "and I've noticed that a hoss
never has any respect or admiration for a swell rig. When he gets real
busy it ain't the silver filigree stuff that's going to help you hold
connections with your saddle, and a silver-mounted bridle-bit ain't a
darned bit better than a plain one."
"Just take a look at him!" cried Pink, with intense disgust. "Ambling off
there, so the sun can strike all that silver and bounce back in our eyes.
And that braided lariat--I'd sure love to see the pieces if he ever tries to
anchor anything bigger than a yearling!"
"Why, you don't think for a minute he could ever get out and rope
anything, do yuh ?" Irish laughed. "That there Native Son throws on
a-w-l-together too much dog to really get out and do anything."
"Aw," fleered Happy Jack, "he ain't any Natiff Son. He's a dago!"
"He's got the earmarks uh both," Big Medicine stated authoritatively. "I
know 'em, by cripes, and I know their ways." He jerked his thumb
toward the dazzling Miguel. "I can tell yuh the kinda cow-puncher he is;
I've saw 'em workin' at it. Haw-haw- haw! They'll start out to move ten
or a dozen head uh tame old cows from one field to another, and there'll
be six or