"Why not? Listen to me, Lafe." He began to plead, his manner nervously insistent. "If it's going to come, it's going to come, and a lot of good dodging will do. Give me a chance, and not--say, I don't want to crawl off like a sick rat. Me and you never used to run away, did we? Well, I'd kind of like--I'd kind of like to be on top of a good horse."

"Me and you both."

"Come on, Lafe. Go get ol' Sc.r.a.pper for me. I can stand it all right.

Let's see The Hatter together, like we aimed to do. The sun'll be just busting himself when we get there."

"Well, you know what it means. Go get your saddle. Whatever you say, goes," said Johnson.

Ten hors.e.m.e.n met them where the path split, the one to the right sweeping upward and around the rim of the giant mountain. They were in ill-humor, for all had been roused from sleep and they knew what was ahead. Therefore, not a word was exchanged as they dog-trotted in single file. Sometimes only a pinpoint of light, when a cigarette glowed from a long intake, showed where they moved.

Rough and rocky was the trail. Shortredge came last, by Johnson's directions, and the cowboy in front turned in the saddle from time to time to ascertain that he followed in safety. He marveled much that Jim should attempt this ride, but advice is the last thing his cla.s.s will obtrude. The night was black, but the western sky was a pale yellow, and a broken line of red wavered intermittently above the farther slope of The Hatter.

Once Shortredge became conscious of something beside him and faced toward it swiftly, but there was nothing there. He essayed a laugh.

"Pshaw! I'm sh.o.r.e getting foolish," he muttered. "My eyes, I expect."

Twice after that he was moved to peer into the dark on his right hand.

Surely something rode there, hovering very near. Lafe dropped back from his position at the head of the line, to satisfy himself about his friend.

"How goes it?"

"Stronger'n the oldest man in the world," said Buffalo cheerily.

Johnson ranged beside him for a short distance. The line wound ever upward, in silence. Several times a horse's hoof clacked on rocks with flare of sparks. At last: "Say, Lafe."

"Well?"

"I've been a-figuring that I must have given you and Hetty a right smart of trouble. There ain't no way of knowing it from you-all, but I kind of got the idea--"

"You make me tired," said Johnson angrily. "What's wrong with you, anyhow? You talk like an ol' woman."

"It's right queer," Shortredge continued, "ain't it?"

"What's queer?"

"Why, me and you both starting out the same way. We used to sleep under the same blankets, me and you did. And here you've got Hetty and li'l Lafe--say, Lafe, there's one kid for you. He says to me only yesterday--"

"Look out for this drop," Johnson cautioned.

"And I've got a b.u.m heart and a b.u.m lung. However, it's all in the game.

Hey, Lafe? A feller's got to grin and face the music. That's all there is for him to do, I take it."

"What you need," his friend remarked sagely, "is a drink. But we ain't got any along. Now, take a brace and forget it, Buf'lo. Don't go talking like a quitter. Just as soon as you're a mite stouter, me and you'll go shares on that bunch of cattle we were looking over. I done had this in my mind for a long time. I need a partner--need him bad, what with ol'

Horne's work coming on me more every day."

Buffalo started to say something to this, but Johnson touched Nugget with the spur and scrambled forward to the head of his men. They continued to climb. Often they would see the shooting flames; again, merely a dull glow revealed where the fire raged; and now they were mounting the sheer walls of a canon, now dipping down the faces of cliffs. A horse rolled into a gulch and crushed his rider's leg. Johnson told off a man to look after the injured one. Another strayed from sight and sound, and bawled frantically for twenty minutes before he caught up with the party. Soon it was necessary to raise the cry of the night trail in broken country. Lafe began it.

"Here I go." He sent it weirdly behind him in a long yell.

"Here I go."

And, "Here I go" went down the line to the last man.

Shortredge kept a firm seat and allowed the reins to swing loose. Well he knew that Sc.r.a.pper was more to be trusted in this work than the guidance he or anybody else could give.

"Here I go," came Johnson's halloo.

"Here I go."

"Here--I--go," Jim echoed.

The sting of early morning was in the air, and often he shivered. Stare at the rider in front as he might, he could not shake off the impression that something kept pace at his side. Vainly he sought the silhouettes of the advance hors.e.m.e.n, stark against the yellow sky, when they rounded a bend. Those were real men. He counted them--nine.

"There's ten in this bunch, all the same," he said to Sc.r.a.pper. "Don't you see n.o.body besides us, boy?"

Apparently Sc.r.a.pper did not. So Shortredge followed behind, encouraging Sc.r.a.pper up the heights, leaning far back against the cantle when they went downward to thread another defile. Some of the chasms they crossed took his breath away.

"Well," he quavered, with an uneasy laugh. "We're giving him a run for his money. Hey, ol' feller? We're sh.o.r.e making him ride some."

At long last they climbed to the topmost ridge. Above was the peak of The Hatter, and the fire stood revealed a mile below. The air was cold, and a gray shiver ran along the eastern sky. Shortredge's hand flew suddenly to the breast of his shirt. He gasped for breath.

"How goes it?" yelled the man ahead.

"Fine as silk," he answered after a minute.

They skirted a crag and the devastation of the flames was hidden from them. No time was to be lost. With Lafe leading the way, they advanced at a quickened gait.

"Here I go."

"Here I go."

"Here--I--go," said the last man in a faint voice.

He settled gently in the saddle and Sc.r.a.pper came to a halt. The reins trailed on the ground and the rider's hands were gripping the mane.

Thus did Buffalo Jim face the music, atop a good horse, as he had hoped--the music of the spheres, swelling in the blood-red dawn that broke back of The Hatter.

CHAPTER XLII

MIDDLE LIFE

Ten years have pa.s.sed. Lafe is a trifle heavier, his figure more set.

The gray flecks in his hair are p.r.o.nounced, and his manner has taken on an a.s.sured poise that marks him in the company of his fellows. I have seen Johnson in many companies, composed of men in all ranks of life. It must be admitted that sometimes he looked out of place, because he was so palpably not of their world; but never has he failed to win respect, frequently has he dominated the a.s.sembly, although usually silent.

If there be good stuff buried in a man, increased responsibility will bring it out. Larger responsibilities have contributed to develop Johnson's latent strength. He is now not only boss of the Anvil range, but has taken over the management of all its affairs from Horne, who has grown feeble in acc.u.mulating wealth and depends wholly on Lafe. In addition, he has started as a cowman in his own right and pays rental on pasture for eleven hundred cows. Fully a thousand calves wear his brand of the Spur.