The Happy Family | Page 8

had given him, and he drew it forth and looked it
over again.
"Well, by gracious!" he said to himself. "Uncle Peter thinks we're even,
I guess."
He handed the check to Pink and rolled his cigarette; and Pink, after
one comprehending look at the slip of paper, doubled up over his
saddle-horn and shouted with glee--for the check was written: "Pay to
the order of Ananias Green."
"And I've got to sign myself a liar, or I don't collect no money," sighed
Andy. "That's what I call tough luck, by gracious!"
* * * * *

BLINK
The range-land was at its unpicturesque worst. For two days the wind
had raged and ranted over the hilltops, and whooped up the long
coulees, so that tears stood in the eyes of the Happy Family when they
faced it; impersonal tears blown into being by the very force of the
wind. Also, when they faced it they rode with bodies aslant over their
saddle-horns and hats pulled low over their streaming eyes, and with
coats fastened jealously close. If there were buttons enough, well and
good; if not, a strap cinched tightly about the middle was considered
pretty lucky and not to be despised. Though it was early September,
"sour-dough" coats were much in evidence, for the wind had a chill
way of searching to the very marrow--and even a good, sheepskin-lined
"sour-dough" was not always protection sufficient.
When the third day dawned bleakly, literally blown piecemeal from out
darkness as bleak, the Happy Family rose shiveringly and with sombre

disapproval of whatever met their blood-shot eyes; dressed hurriedly in
the chill of flapping tent and went out to stagger drunkenly over to
where Patsy, in the mess-tent, was trying vainly to keep the biscuits
from becoming dust-sprinkled, and sundry pans and tins from taking
jingling little excursions on their own account. Over the brow of the
next ridge straggled the cavvy, tails and manes whipping in the gale,
the nighthawk swearing so that his voice came booming down to camp.
Truly, the day opened inauspiciously enough for almost any dire
ending.
As further evidence, saddling horses for circle resolved itself, as Weary
remarked at the top of his voice to Pink, at his elbow, into "a
free-for-all broncho busting tournament." For horses have nerves, and
nothing so rasps the nerves of man or beast as a wind that never stops
blowing; which means swaying ropes and popping saddle leather, and
coat-tails flapping like wet sheets on a clothes line. Horses do not like
these things, and they are prone to eloquent manifestations of their
disapproval.
Over by the bed-wagon, a man they called Blink, for want of a better
name, was fighting his big sorrel silently, with that dogged
determination which may easily grow malevolent. The sorrel was at
best a high-tempered, nervous beast, and what with the wind and the
flapping of everything in sight, and the pitching of half-a-dozen horses
around him, he was nearly crazed with fear in the abstract.
Blink was trying to bridle him, and he was not saying a word--which,
in the general uproar, was strange. But Blink seldom did say anything.
He was one of the aliens who had drifted into the Flying U outfit that
spring, looking for work. Chip had taken him on, and he had stayed. He
could ride anything in his string, and he was always just where he was
wanted. He never went to town when the others clattered off for a few
hours' celebration more or less mild, he never took part in any of the
camp fun, and he never offended any man. If any offended him they did
not know it unless they were observant; if they were, they would see
his pale lashes wink fast for a minute, and they might read aright the
sign and refrain from further banter. So Blink, though he was counted a
good man on roundup, was left pretty much alone when in camp.
Andy Green, well and none too favorably known down Rocking R way,
and lately adopted into the Happy Family on the recommendation of

Pink and his own pleasing personality, looped the latigo into the holder,
gave his own dancing steed a slap of the
don't-try-to-run-any-whizzers-on-me variety, and went over to help out
Blink.
Blink eyed his approach with much the same expression with which he
eyed the horse. "I never hollered for assistance," he remarked
grudgingly when Andy was at his elbow. "When I can't handle any of
the skates in my string, I'll quit riding and take to sheep-herding."
Whereupon he turned his back as squarely as he might upon Andy and
made another stealthy grab for the sorrel's ears. (There is such a thing
in the range-land as jealousy among riders, and the fame