"The rawncher met me at the station with two horses. Not a blessed wagon or a thing to carry my luggage did the bounder have. It is lying at the station yet;--at least it was last time I called in there. The fellow took my five hundred dollars, then took me twenty miles up over these everlasting hills. A thousand miles in the bally wilderness!

"Of course, you know, Phil, I will admit I was deuced raw."

Phil laughed. DeRue Hannington's good nature a.s.serted itself and he laughed, too.

After a while, he went on.

"This rawnching Johnnie's name was Duff. You don't happen to know him?"

Phil shook his head.

"Well,--he put me in the charge of Mrs. Duff, and she set me to paring potatoes, washing the floors, scouring pots and pans, wringing clothes and all that sort of rot; till, one day, I just said to Duff that I'd come West to rawnch, not to skivvy.

"Of course, I'll admit, I didn't know an apple tree from a cauliflower, but, damme, I was game to learn, Phil. Don't you think I did right to jolly-well remonstrate?"

"You certainly did!"

Thus encouraged, DeRue Hannington continued:

"He then put me to digging, and digging, and digging, till the cows came home, then to weeding, and weeding, and weeding, miles and miles of rows and rows of beastly carrots and things until I can't look an honest carrot in the face or a potato in the eye without feeling faint.

"I really didn't seem to be learning anything, but I stuck it gamely until three days ago, when Mr. and Mrs. Duff went off to visit a neighbour five miles up the Valley. They left me to look after the blooming squawking baby. That just got me real mad, so when it started in to bawl, I sat down and wrote a note saying I was through. I pinned it to the baby,--and, here I am.

"Don't you think I did the right thing?"

"You bet!" answered Phil, striving hard to suppress his bubbling merriment.

"They cawn't make me serve my three years out, can they, Phil?"

queried DeRue Hannington, anxiously.

"Not they! Why, all they wanted was your five hundred dollars. They'll be glad to be quit of you."

The Englishman perked up.

"They're welcome to the money. But I'm not through rawnching, you know. You see I've got the worst over now and I'm feeling quite a Westerner. You don't happen to know anyone who has a good rawnch for sale?--one with a decent sort of a house and stables, and lots of fruit trees on it. I've got the money in the bank, you know, and could pay cash for it. I really think I could run a rawnch now."

"No,--I haven't the slightest idea!" returned Phil. "But it shouldn't be a hard job getting a ranch, if you have the money. There are always lots of people ready to sell goods for cash. Take my advice, though; don't be in too great a hurry."

Phil rose to go.

DeRue Hannington followed him to the saloon, where Phil shook hands and left him.

As he pa.s.sed out at the door he heard the voice of the stranger raised above the general conversation of the saloon.

"Excuse me, but have any of you good fellows any idea where a chap could buy a good rawnch for cash?"

Phil threw up his hands in despair and walked on, knowing that Percival DeRue Hannington had still a lot to learn about ranching and about those who had ranches to sell.

CHAPTER VII

Wild Man Hanson Goes Wild

Jim Langford was waiting for Phil at Mrs. Clunie's.

"Where the Sam Hill have you been, Phil? I've been looking for you everywhere. Got a job yet?"

"No,--not even the scent of one!"

"Want one?"

"You bet!"

"Hard work and start to-morrow?"

"Sure thing! Where is it? what is it? who is it? Tell me quick! I'm aching to work for real money, for more reasons than one."

"Royce Pederstone, the blacksmith, is quitting being an active blacksmith any more. He is putting Wildman Hanson in charge, and Hanson's job is going a-begging."

"Wildman Hanson! That sounds good for a start, Jim."

"And it's as good as it sounds, too, young fellow, my lad. I'm not going to tell you anything about his 'wildman' tricks. You'll find that out for yourself in good time. But he's a crackerjack blacksmith and can show you all of the trade that is worth showing."

"I haven't the strength to be a smith."

"Not now;--but you have the frame and you've got to build on it.

"The job's worth twenty dollars a week to start, and it's yours for the taking. I did the asking from Hanson this morning. Are you on?"

"Of course I'm on."

"All right!--six o'clock to-morrow morning at Pederstone's shop, one block down the hill and two blocks to the left."

Langford chuckled.

"What are you grinning at?" asked Phil.

"Oh,--just thinking what you'll be able to do with that rusty-headed, son-of-a-gun McGregor after a month or two under Hanson."

"Thanks! I've had some McGregor, and I'm not greedy. I'm not at all anxious for more."

"What? See here, Phil,--you've got to beat that lobster stiff if it takes you a year. It took me all I knew to turn the trick, and I had to keep off drink for six months to do it, but there was something inside of me that just wouldn't stay quiet till I licked the stuffing out of him. He's a bully. He's the craftiest, sneakiest, most underhand skunk in the Valley. He's at the bottom of most of the trouble with cattle and feed hereabout, but he's too d.a.m.ned wary to be caught.

"I'm surprised at the Mayor having anything to do with him. But, of course, the Mayor's a cattleman himself, and, give Rob Roy McGregor his due, there isn't a better man on stock this side of Calgary."