The Freebooters of the Wilderness | Page 9

he a gentleman--he had had a narrow escape from that--the next generation of him would probably be one. He gave the impression of a passion for only one thing--getting. If people or things or laws came in the way of that getting, so much the worse for them.
Strident laughter blew up on the wind from the cow camp of the Arizona drovers in the Valley.
"Rough rascals," ejaculated Moyese fanning himself with his hat. "I wish you wouldn't wander round too much alone when these drover fellows are here from Arizona. Birds of passage, you know? Sheriff can't pursue 'em into another State! When it's pay day, whiskey flows pretty free--pretty free! Wish you wouldn't wander alone too much when they're up this way."
"Mr. Senator, I move we come to business, and leave poetry and flowers and palaver out of it--"
The Senator turned suavely and faced the impatient sheep-rancher.
"To be sure! Let us get down to business, MacDonald, by all means; but before we go any farther, let me ask you a straight question! Clearing the field before action, Miss Eleanor! Bat come over here and entertain Miss Eleanor. Miss MacDonald, this is my man Friday--Brydges, Miss MacDonald: it's Brydges, you know, sets us all down fools to posterity by reporting our speeches for the newspapers."
Brydges winked as he got his limp collar back to his neck. It wasn't his part to tell how many speeches came in reported before delivered; how many were never delivered at all.
The Senator had stopped fanning himself. He was caressing his shaven chin and taking the measure of the rancher; a tall man, straight and lithe as a whip, lean and clean-limbed and swarthy.
"MacDonald, why don't you take out your naturalization papers so you can vote at election? In the eyes of the law, you're still an alien."
"Alien? What has that to do with paying grazing fees for sheep on the Forest Range?" MacDonald's black eyes closed to a tiny slit of shiny light. "Mr. Senator," he said tersely, "how much do you want?"
Mr. Senator refused to be perturbed by the edge of that question.
"You ask Wayland how much the grazing fee is. You know it's my belief there ought to be no grazing fee. We stockmen can take care of ourselves without Washington worrying--"
"Yes," interrupted Williams, "you took such good care of the sheep herders last spring, some of you put them to eternal sleep."
"We're not living in Paradise or Utopia," assented Moyese. "We can take care of our own. Men who won't listen to warning must look out for stronger arguments; and it's a great deal quicker than carrying long-drawn legal cases up to the Supreme Court. You sheepmen are asking us to take care of you. I'm asking MacDonald to vote so he can take care of us. Majority rules. What I'm trying to get at is which side you are on! We're not taking care of neutrals and aliens--"
"Aliens." The low tense voice bit into the word like acid. "And I suppose you're not taking care of pea-nut politicians either. My ancestors have lived in this country since 1759. Mr. Senator, how many generations have your people lived in this country?"
Eleanor became conscious that a question had been asked fraught with explosion; but the Senator smiled the big soft voiceless smile down in his waist-coat as if not one of the group knew that memories of the ghetto had not faded from his own generation.
"We're not strong on ancestry out West," he rubbed his whiskerless chin. "It goes back too often to--" he looked up quietly at MacDonald, "to bow and arrow aristocracy, scalps, in fact; but as for myself," if a little oily, still the smile remained genial, "for myself, from what my name means in French, I should judge we were Hugenots--what do you call 'em?--Psalm singing lot that came over in that big boat, growing bigger every year; boat that brought all the true blues over here; Mayflower--that's what I'm trying to say--all our ancestors came over in the Mayflower--"
The sheep rancher's thin lips slowly curled in a contemptuous smile. "Then I guess my ancestors on one side of the house were chanting war whoops to welcome you--"
Bat Brydges uttered a snort. Eleanor puckered her brows as at news. The Senator was fanning himself again with his hat. Even Wayland was smiling. He had heard political opponents of Moyese say that dynamite wouldn't disturb the Senator. "Only way you could raise him was yeast cake stamped with S: two sticks through it."
Certainly--Eleanor was thinking--there was some good in the worst of dragons. St. George had put his foot on one ancient beast. Wasn't it possible to tame this one, to tame all modern dragons, put a bit in their mouths and harness them to good nation building?
"Girt round