The Main Chance Page 4

  CHAPTER IV

  AT POINDEXTER'S

  John Saxton trotted his pony through a broken gate into a great yardthat had once been sown in blue grass, and at the center of which laythe crumbled ruins of a fountain. This was clearly no ordinaryestablishment, as he had been warned, and he was uncertain how to hailit. However, before he could make his presence known, a frowsy man incorduroy emerged from the great front door and came toward him.

  "My name's Saxton, and you must be Snyder."

  "Correct," said the man and they shook hands.

  "Going to stay a while?"

  "A day or two." John threw down the slicker in which he had wrapped afew articles from his bag at Great River, the nearest railway station.

  "I got your letter all right," said Snyder. "Walk in and help yourself."He led the pony toward the outbuildings, while Saxton filled his pipeand viewed the pile before him with interest. He had been making acareful inspection of all the properties that had fallen to his care.This had necessitated a good deal of traveling. He had begun in Coloradoand worked eastward, going slowly, and getting the best adviceobtainable as to the value of his principals' holdings. Much of theirproperty was practically worthless. Title had been gained underforeclosure to vast areas which had no value. A waterworks plant stoodin the prairie where there had once been a Kansas town. The place wasdepopulated and the smokestack stood as a monument to blighted hopes.Ranch houses were inhabited by squatters, who had not been on his booksat all, and who paid no tribute to Boston. He was viewed with suspicionby these tenants, and on inquiry at the county seats, he found generallythat they were lawless men, and that it would be better for him to letthem alone. It was patent that they would not pay rent, and to ejectthem merely in the maintenance of a principle involved useless expenseand violence.

  "This certainly beats them all," Saxton muttered aloud.

  He had reached in his itinerary what his papers called the Poindexterproperty. He had found that the place was famous throughout this part ofthe country for the idiosyncrasies of its sometime owners, three youngmen who had come out of the East to show how the cattle business shouldbe managed. They had secured an immense acreage and built a stone ranchhouse whose curious architecture imparted to the Platte Valley a touchof medievalism that was little appreciated by the neighboring cattlemen.One of the owners, a Philadelphian named Poindexter, who had a weaknessfor architecture and had studied the subject briefly at his university,contributed the buildings and his two associates bought the cattle.There were one thousand acres of rolling pasture here, much of it lyingalong the river, and a practical man could hardly have failed tosucceed; but theft, disease in the herd and inexperience in buying andselling, had wrought the ranchmen's destruction. Before their money wasexhausted, Poindexter and his associates lived in considerable state,and entertained the friends who came to see them according to the bestusages of Eastern country life within, and their own mild approximationof Western life without. Tom Poindexter's preceptor in architecture, anelderly gentleman with a sense of humor, had found a pleasure which hehardly dared to express in the medieval tone of the house and buildings.

  "All you need, Tom," he said, "to make the thing complete, is adrawbridge and a moat. The possibilities are great in the light ofmodern improvements in such things. An electric drawbridge, operatedsolely by switches and buttons, would be worth while." The folly of manseems to express itself naturally in the habitations which he builds forhimself; the folly of Tom Poindexter had been of huge dimensions and hehad built a fairly permanent monument to it. He and his associates beganwith an ambition to give tone to the cattle business, and if novel ideascould have saved them, they would not have failed. One of their happynotions was to use Poindexter's coat of arms as a brand, and this wasonly abandoned when their foreman declared that no calf so elaboratelymarked could live. They finally devised an insignium consisting of theGreek Omega in a circle of stars.

  "There's a remnant of the Poindexter herd out there somewhere," Wheatonhad said to Saxton. "The fellow Snyder, that I put in as a caretaker,ought to have gathered up the loose cattle by this time; that's what Itold him to do when I put him there."

  Saxton turned and looked out over the rolling plain. A few rods away laythe river, and where it curved nearest the house stood a group ofcottonwoods, like sentinels drawn together for colloquy. Scattered hereand there over the plain were straggling herds. On a far crest of therolling pastures a lonely horseman paused, sharply outlined for a momentagainst the sky; in another direction, a blur drew his eyes to where agroup of the black Polled Angus cattle grazed, giving the one blot ofdeep color to the plain.

  Snyder reappeared, and Saxton followed him into the house.

  "It isn't haunted or anything like that?" John asked, glancing over thelong hall.

  "No. They have a joke about that at Great River. They say the onlyreason is that there ain't any idiot ghosts."

  There was much in the place to appeal to Saxton's quiet humor. The housewas two stories high and there was a great hall, with an immensefireplace at one end. The sleeping rooms opened on a gallery above thehall. An effort had been made to give the house the appearance ofWestern wildness by introducing a great abundance of skins of wildbeasts,--a highly dishonest bit of decorating, for they had been boughtin Chicago. How else, indeed, would skins of German boars and Polarbears be found in a ranch house on the Platte River! Under one wing ofthe stairway, which divided to left and right at the center of the hall,was the dining-room; under the other was the ranch office.

  "Those fellows thought a good deal of their stomachs," said Snyder, asSaxton opened and shut the empty drawers of the sideboard, which hadbeen built into one end of the western wall of the room, in such amanner that a pane of glass, instead of a mirror, filled the center. Theintention of this was obviously to utilize the sunset for decorativepurposes, and Saxton chuckled as he comprehended the idea.

  "I suppose our mortgage covers the sunset, too," he said. Nearly everyportable thing of value had been removed, and evidently in haste; butthe heavy oak chairs and the table remained. Snyder did his own modestcooking in the kitchen, which was in great disorder. The floor of theoffice was littered with scraps of paper. The original tenants hadevidently made a quick settlement of their business affairs beforeleaving. Snyder slept here; his blanket lay in a heap on the long benchthat was built into one side of the room, and a battered valiseotherwise marked it as his lodging place. Saxton viewed the room withdisgust; it was more like a kennel than a bedroom. His foot strucksomething on the floor; it was a silver letter-seal bearing the peculiarPoindexter brand, and he thrust it into his pocket with a laugh.

  "My ranching wasn't so bad after all," he muttered.

  "What's that?" asked Snyder, who was stolidly following him about.

  "Nothing. If you have a pony we'll take a ride around the fences."

  They spent the day in the saddle riding over the range. The ridiculouscharacter of the Poindexter undertaking could not spoil the real valueof the land. There was, Saxton could see, the making here of a greatfarming property; he felt his old interest in outdoor life quickening ashe rode back to the house in the evening.

  Snyder cooked supper for both of them, while Saxton repaired a decrepitwindmill which had been designed to supply the house with water. He hadformed a poor opinion of the caretaker, who seemed to know nothing ofthe property and who had, as far as he could see, no well definedduties. The man struck him as an odd person for the bank to have chosento be the custodian of a ranch property. There was nothing for any oneto do unless the range were again stocked and cattle raising undertakenas a serious business. Saxton was used to rough men and their ways. Hehad a happy faculty of adapting himself to the conversational capacitiesof illiterate men, and enjoyed drawing them out and getting their pointof view; but Snyder's was not a visage that inspired confidence. He hada great shock of black hair and a scraggy beard. He lacked an eye, andhe had a habit of drawing his head around in order to accommodate hisremaining orb to a
ny necessity. He did this with an insinuating kind ofdeliberation that became tiresome in a long interview.

  "This place is too fancy to be of much use," the man vouchsafed, puffingat his pipe. "You may find some dude that wants to plant money whereanother dude has dug the first hole; but I reckon you'll have a hardtime catching him. A real cattleman wouldn't care for all this house. Itmight be made into a stable, but a horse would look ridiculous in here.You might have a corn crib made out of it; or it would do for a hotel ifyou could get dudes to spend the summer here; but I reckon it's alittle hot out here for summer boarders."

  "The only real value is in the land," said Saxton. "I'm told there's nobetter on the river. The house is a handicap, or would be so regarded bythe kind of men who make money out of cattle. Have you ever triedrounding up the cattle that strayed through the fences? The Poindextercrowd must have branded their last calves about two years ago. Assumingthat only a part of them was sold or run off, there ought to be sometwo-year-olds still loose in this country and they'd be worth finding."

  Snyder took his pipe from his mouth and snorted. "Yer jokin' I guess.These fellers around here are good fellers, and all that, but I guessthey don't give anything back. I guess we ain't got any cattle coming tous."

  "You think you'd rather not try it?"

  "Not much!" was the expressive reply. The fellow smoked slowly, bringinghis eye into position to see how Saxton had taken his answer.

  John was refilling his own pipe and did not look up.

  "Who've you been reporting to, Snyder?"

  "How's that?"

  "Who have you been considering yourself responsible to?"

  "Well, Jim Wheaton at the Clarkson National hired me, and I reckon I'dreport to him if I reported to anybody. But if you're going to run thisshebang and want to be reported to, I guess I can report to you." Hebrought his turret around again and Saxton this time met his eye.

  "I want you to report to me," said John quietly. "In the first place Iwant the house and the other buildings cleaned out. After that thefences must be put in shape. And then we'll see if we can't find some ofour cows. You can't tell; we may open up a real ranch here and go intobusiness."

  Snyder was sprawling at his ease in a Morris chair, and had placed hisfeet on a barrel. He did not seem interested in the activities hintedat.

  "Well, if you're the boss I'll do it your way. I got along all rightwith Wheaton."

  He did not say whether he intended to submit to authority or not, andSaxton dropped the discussion. John rose and found a candle with whichhe lighted himself to bed in one of the rooms above. The whole place wasdirty and desolate. The house had never been filled save once, and thatwas on the occasion of a housewarming which Poindexter and his fellowshad given when they first took possession. One of their friends hadchartered a private car and had brought out a party of young men andwomen, who had enlivened the house for a few days; but since then nowoman had entered the place. In the Poindexter days it had beencarefully kept, but now it was in a sorry plight. There had been a wholeyear of neglect and vacancy, in which the house had been used as ameeting place for the wilder spirits of the neighborhood, who had nothesitated to carry off whatever pleased their fancy and could be put onthe back of a horse. Saxton chose for himself the least disorderly ofthe rooms, in which the furniture was whole, and where there were even afew books lying about. He determined to leave for Clarkson the followingmorning, and formulated in his mind the result of his journey and plansfor the future of the incongruous combination of properties that hadbeen entrusted to him. He sat for an hour looking out over the moon-litvalley. He followed the long sweep of the plain, through which he couldsee for miles the bright ribbon of the river. A train of cars rumbledfar away, on the iron trail between the two oceans, intensifying theloneliness of the strange house.

  "I seem to find only the lonely places," he said aloud, setting histeeth hard into his pipe.

  In the morning he ate the breakfast of coffee, hard-tack and bacon whichSnyder prepared.

  "I guess you want me to hustle things up a little," said Snyder, moreamiably than on the day before. He turned his one eye and his grin onSaxton, who merely said that matters must take a new turn, and that if aranch could be made out of the place there was no better time to beginthan the present. He had not formulated plans for the future, and couldnot do so without the consent and approval of his principals; but hemeant to put the property in as good condition as possible withoutwaiting for instructions. Snyder rode with him to the railway station.

  "Give my regards to Mr. Wheaton," he said, as Saxton swung himself intothe train. "You'll find me here at the old stand when you come back."

  "A queer customer and undoubtedly a bad lot," was Saxton's reflection.

  When Saxton had written out the report of his trip he took it toWheaton, to get his suggestions before forwarding it to Boston. Helooked upon the cashier as his predecessor, and wished to avail himselfof Wheaton's knowledge of the local conditions affecting the severalproperties that had now passed to his care. Wheaton undoubtedly wishedto be of assistance, and in their discussion of the report, the cashiermade many suggestions of value, of which Saxton was glad to availhimself.

  "As to the Poindexter place," said Saxton finally, "I've beenadvertising it for sale in the hope of finding a buyer, but withoutresults. The people at headquarters can't bother about the details ofthese things, but I'm blessed if I can see why we should maintain acaretaker. There's nothing there to take care of. That house is worsethan useless. I'm going back in a few days to see if I can't coax homesome of the cattle we're entitled to; they must be wandering over thecountry,--if they haven't been rustled, and then I suppose we may aswell dispense with Snyder."

  He had used the plural pronoun out of courtesy to Wheaton, wishing himto feel that his sanction was asked in any changes that were made.

  "I don't see that there's anything else to do," Wheaton answered. "I'vebeen to the ranch, and there's little personal property there worthcaring for. That man Snyder came along one day and asked for a job and Isent him out there thinking he'd keep things in order until the TrustCompany sent its own representative here."

  There were times when Wheaton's black eyes contracted curiously, andthis was one of the times.

  "I don't like discharging a man that you've employed," Saxton replied.

  "Oh, that's all right. You can't keep him if he performs no service.Don't trouble about him on my account. How soon are you going backthere?"

  "Next week some time."

  "Traveling about the country isn't much fun," Wheaton said,sympathetically.

  "Oh, I rather like it," replied Saxton, putting on his hat.

  Saxton was not surprised when he returned to the ranch to find thatSnyder had made no effort to obey his instructions. He made his visitunexpectedly, leaving the train at Great River, where he secured a horseand rode over to the ranch. He reached the house in the middle of themorning and found the front door bolted and barred on the inside. Aftermuch pounding he succeeded in bringing Snyder to the door, evidentlyboth surprised and displeased at his interruption.

  "Howdy, boss," was the salutation of the frowsy custodian; "I wasn'tfeeling just right to-day and was takin' a little nap."

  The great hall showed signs of a carousal. The dirt had increased sinceSaxton's first appearance. Empty bottles that had been doing service ascandlesticks stood in their greasy shrouds on the table. Saxton sat downon a keg, which had evidently been recently emptied, and lighted a pipe.He resolved to make quick work of Snyder.

  "How many cattle have you rounded up since I was here?" he demanded.

  "Well, to tell the truth," began Snyder, "there ain't been much time fordoing that since you was here."

  "No; I suppose you were busy mending fences and cleaning house. Now youhave been drawing forty dollars a month for doing nothing. I'll treatyou better than you deserve and give you ten dollars bonus to get out. Ibelieve the pony in the corral belongs to you. We'll let it go at that.Here'
s your money."

  "Well, I guess as Mr. Wheaton hired me, he'd better fire me," the fellowbegan, bringing his eye to bear upon Saxton.

  "Yes, I spoke to Mr. Wheaton about you. He understands that you're togo."

  "He does, does he?" Snyder replied with a sneer. "He must have forgotthat I had an arrangement with him by the year."

  "Well, it's all off," said Saxton, rising. He began throwing open thewindows and doors to let in fresh air, for the place was foul with thestale fumes of whisky and tobacco.

  "Well, I guess I'll have to see Mr. Wheaton," Snyder retorted, findingthat Saxton was paying no further attention to him. He collected his fewbelongings, watching in astonishment the violence with which Saxton wasgathering up and disposing of rubbish.

  "Going to clean up a little?" he asked, with his leer.

  "No, I'm just exercising for fun," replied Saxton. "If you're ready,you'd better take your pony and skip."

  Snyder growled his resentment and moved toward the door with a bundleunder his arm and a saddle and bridle thrown over his shoulder.

  "I'll be up town to see Mr. Wheaton in a day or two," he declared, as heslouched through the door.

  "He seems to be more interested in Wheaton than Wheaton is in him,"observed Saxton to himself.

  Saxton spent a week at Great River. He hired a man to repair fences andput the house in order. He visited several of the large ranch owners andasked them for aid in picking out the scattered remnants of thePoindexter herd. Nearly all of them volunteered to help, with the resultthat he collected about one hundred cattle and sold them at Great Riverfor cash. He expected to see or hear of Snyder in the town but thefellow had disappeared.

  The fact was that Snyder had ridden over to the next station beyondGreat River for his spree, that place being to his liking because it wasbeyond the jurisdiction of the sheriff whose headquarters weremaintained at Great River,--an official who took his office seriously,and who had warned Snyder that his latest offense--getting drunk andsmashing a saloon sideboard--must not be repeated. After he had beensatisfactorily drunk for a week and had gambled away such of his fortuneas the saloonkeeper had not acquired in direct course of commerce,Snyder came to himself sufficiently to send a telegram. Then he sat downto wait, with something of the ease of spirit with which an honest mansends forth a sight draft for collection from a town where he is astranger, and awaits returns in the full enjoyment of the comforts ofhis inn.

  On the third day, receiving no message from the outside world, Snydersold his pony and took the train for Clarkson.