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U‘; ' _ I ' 2;’ ' ___: _ _;_ ' S ......,.'. ...¢. ““ n..1' '-.."_ ~"::::" . .4 .‘_ ; . __ ‘ p_....- -... -.... “..: ,_.. ... ...'-L" ;:‘.,_.- .,-.-- .. ,-- __- ¢.—\~ ,_,,.. ..~— '~. .~, \.~,:O ‘I3 1. 047'“ ¢‘, '_\.---~ -‘<4. ’Q 1‘-. ¢-..¢ . .... .. = . .!.‘...__ A .-.¢ .4 Na“ Fv _ _ I 3. _C ‘ . x . . ; ' _._ __ , .. ~ . (‘=21 6:/\fl \;Y\$JC- E5}\o@<§c> w ~ A OUQF \/U Wk; \'Y1%/ Y<>\Y F? . L- ”"\‘3ht- “O/*'@ ll)/o -r~,,/\/V clig ~@/Q/ With the cooperation of his younger brother Neal and his devoted sister Valley, David Chisholm sets to work to restore their old home, Winding Ranch, to fruitfulness and prosperity. He takes over management of a herd of Karakul sheep. He becomes Colora- do's corn producing champion. By putting a number hitherto worthless burros to good use he all plays an important part in the sal- vationioflla mining town which has been iso- lated by big snows. Hard work, all of it, and David glories in it. Yet over all David accomplishes there seems to fall a shadow which turns each teal achieve- ment into a bitter memory. For unknown rea- sons jealous neighbors have started a malicious campaign of gossip against him that threatens his ruination. 'The heaviest blow falls when he is accused of being a water rustler. After this, David has little hope of realizing his cherished ambition to win honor in the Future Farmers of America, the organization. which has been his inspiration for many years. Then, with almost dramatic suddenness, the cruel shadow over Winding Ranch and its young owner begins to lift. The reasons for this change, the part that David plays in the annual convention of Future Farmers at Kan- sas City, and the surprise that awaits him on his return to Colorado, provide some of the most exciting and colorful chapters in this inspiring story. ‘F... l 1 l l i I I 3 -_ .._ ._._. .. ; l 4 l ‘- ‘- I I: ll 1 ‘- a > 4 l 1 i_ , * '1 n-_v$-f'I‘§F ,,_.. ~"liZ .u~ . 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A W 1 1 “~ SARAH LINDSAY SCHMID \\\?\e\4\\4\\ \ 5 / 7 7 / 7 / / / / / / / / / / 5 § / / \\\\\ \\\\\\ D \ \9\ \\\\t\ lllustratzons by RAFAELLO BUSONI GRA|\D RAPIDS PUBLIC LIBRARY 522357 RANDOM HOUSE NEW YORK 1 M .._ fi..<_.e . .. ; ... -:";;~< 1 p=~=-Q, all-'imid‘ -4.-_¢-A -I .4’ ‘. —~_+ . _ .-_ T _ -‘ ' All the principal character: in this story are entirely fictitious. CL COPYRIGHT, 1940 BY SARAQLLINDSAY SCHMIDT . . m PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA PUBLISHED SIMULTANEOUSLY IN CANADA BY THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. I - I 1 i I r - - .. J C -77??’ ' TO RAYMOND CONIDON who, while a high school boy in the vocational agriculture course at Platteville, Colorado, devel- oped a variety of seed corn adapted to Colorado conditions. It made him a state corn producing champion. After a five-year test, it was adopted by the Colorado Agricultural Experiment Station as the now widely known and used Colorado 13. '~ ii >1 -1 l .- ‘4:-1. I. II. III. IV V. VI VII VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. A STRANGE FENCE THE LocAL CONTEST A CALL ON DAD QUEER MAGGIE HERSTAN MUT_’s LOST CHANCE BAA, BAA, BLACK SHEEP A SECRET RECORDING MUT CALLS AT LAST FLASH FLOOD FAMILY CONcLAvE A BITTER SALVATION A TRIUMPH IN CORN I I4 25 41 50 60 71. 81 93 I05 114 127 ! - ' I XIII. 133 THE MEANING OF A FIND XIV XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. XIX. XX. XXI. XXII. XXIII. XXIV. XXV XXVI A PUZZLE To BE SOLVED Btmnos To THE RESCUE SPRINGTIME IN THE ROCKIES A HERO’s UN JUST REWARD A STRANGE THEFT LosT HOPE A SURPRISE SUMMONS THE WEsTERN SPECIAL ALoNE IN A Cnown ONE OF THE Cnown AT LAsT IN THE ARENA LAsT HOURS THE SHAnow SH0ws ITs HAND I44 I58 I68 I80 I92 206 221 229 244 252 264 276 284 ,,__ ..... Q Y l I 1 0 °\\\\*\\ '\\*\*\* *\i'\'\'\\\* /~\\\\‘\\#\ '\\~\\\ " 1 -— —~ .. - '\ ~" . . \, Q“ ' dill - . /fl’ / ¢/ .»/ / , // ,,///I/i :_ fl!M{/#4” .-~ Chapter 1 A STRANGE FENCE T-IE Chisholms’ old car, little better than a jalopy, had been chugging its way down from the upper end of a mountain valley, beyond which the Chisholm ranch lay. Around curves and over continually rising and falling grade of foothill roadway, it swung at last into the outskirts of the little town of Wagon Rest. Two boys and a girl, all Chisholms, sat crowded close together on the car’s single seat. David, the oldest of the three, was at the wheel, occupying the position of great- est responsibility as a matter of course. The laughter and chatter that vied with the noise of the car came chiefly from the girl. But the tall, fair boy who sagat the outer l I ‘B i ‘P l 1 19- :5- ‘-s=n1.. __ J 1 F_ . is’ ‘Iii .,; r. S"‘ "I i 1 I “— ¢-.. 2 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH edge of the seat joined in with frequent, quick-witted comments. Except for his carefully groomed appear- ance, there was nothing to indicate that he was to be an important figure in the local Future Farmer speaking contest to be held that evening in the auditorium of the Wagon Rest Consolidated School. Although as usual David was the quietest of the three, there was no lack of companionship in his silences. He greatly admired his brother Neal’s gift for ready speech, and even more the younger boy’s capacity for taking whatever life brought with a manner of casual accept- ance. ()f Valley, the only girl of the Chisholm clan and the youngest, David was vastly proud. Her real name was Susan Valeria, but no one ever called her anything but Valley. She was short and slim and shapely, with short dark hair and dark eyes. David adored her. But he knew her faults. She had almost as little sense of family responsibility as their father had. The country road merged into the wide, dusty main street of the town. Suddenly David swung the car so sharply to one side that it just missed sliding into an open irrigation ditch. Nobody exclaimed. The reason for David’s act was too common and obvious. He had had to avoid colliding with two wandering gray burros which had suddenly taken it into their heads to start across the road toward better forage than the ditch bank afiorded. “Blame nuisance,” David muttered. Neal laughed. “Don’t forget you’re a Chisholm, Dave.” All three understood the reference. Those bur- ros would never have been wandering loose all over I .‘ I O I P mm‘ “‘ mmmimiiié l l l A STRANGE FENCE 3 Wagon Rest’s landscape if it had not been for their father. David did not reply. Unlike Neal he could not refer lightly to any of the causes of Chisholm shame._Those neglected burros were a reminder of one of his father’s many fruitless schemes. In a way ]ames Chisholm still owned them. His plan had been to have the hardy, sure- footed little mules trained to carry out precious ore from a promising mining district over precipitous mountain trails no wagon or beast of burden could safely negoti- ate. But the newly developing mines had proved so valu- able that the railroad company had built and used its own narrow-gauge line. The burros had become a drug on the market, and James Chisholm had been glad to turn them over, gratis, to the proprietor of a boys’ summer camp. The seasons at the place were short. When the camp closed for the winter, the faithful little beasts were invariably turned loose. They would wander down out of the snowy heights to the towns in the lower valley, and forage for themselves as best they could. This year, report said, the burros would likely be around all summer since the boys’ camp would not re- open. Thank heaven, David thought now, the scheme upon which Dad had been bending all his energies these last two years was not one that could leave an ever- present reminder of itself upon the home town. The approaching roar of an airplane brought a wel- come interruption to his thoughts. The machine flashed above them and soared ahead into the long distance. It was a private plane, of course. This locality was entirely 441'!’ i < .- ._. ‘ 7; * ...'‘‘- ‘''_»':.“.. ;',T,Iii; - K3. 55 ii ii.. ii ls , z. i l n ...; 1 1|. - .... - - 1-1n. . --— -:;-za-1;;ai if .-1. '~.l ‘I 3 l . _i_.a - " l ..21- anln -'%.3'n'- 4 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH off the route of any line of regular air travel, although the long valley had a landing field at its lower end. “Whose stock is that flyer spotting now?” David queried. “Not the Chisholms’.” Again Neal laughed. “There’s some advantage these days in not having any stock to be spotted on our grazing lands. Even if we had, the ani- mals would be safe enough in our Draw.” It was com- mon knowledge that modern rustlers, with their spot- ting planes and high-speed trucks, liked to pick up stock which was grazing near enough an up-to-date highway to be hastily maneuvered to a quick loading and get- away. “This neighborhood makes me tired,” Valley com- mented. “I believe it’s the very gossipiest place in the whole United States. And it’s always the meanest gossip it likes best and spreads the most. It’s just like it to be so suspicious. ]ust because of a few little thefts lately, it imagines every airplane or strange truck that appears is after some of its scrubby old stock.” Neither brother heeded her speech because at the same moment David was stating with emphatic grim- ness, “One of these days we’ll have some stock.” He was voicing a dream toward which both brothers had been working during the entire four years of their high school vocational agriculture course. Already they had accomplished something of that dream, with their few head of dairy cattle, their half-dozen registered brood sows and their large annual flock of holiday turkeys. But the wide acreage of grazing foothills on Winding Ranch, which in their grandfather’s day had been .5,‘- A STRANGE FENCE thickly dotted with sheep, was still largely unoccupied. There were two ranches now up Old Woman’s Draw. Originally there had been one and never should have been anything else. The grandmother of a promi- nent local resident named Maggie Herstan was the old woman for whom the Draw and its creek had been named. She had filed on the place when nearly eighty years old, and a little later had acquired all the adjacent land. David’s grandfather had bought the entire property at her death and for years had prospered on it as a range stockman. Now the only hope for a dependable liveli- hood from it lay in diversified farming. And up Old Woman’s Draw there was not enough water and tillable land to support more than one up-to-date combined farm and ranch. James Chisholm had known this about the land he had inherited. Yet in a moment of sharp need for cash to develop one of his fruitless schemes, he had sold the upper half of the Draw to Silas Lamb for a ridiculously small sum. Si Lamb was not an impractical dreamer like James Chisholm. He was a miner who loved mining, and had a wife who hated it. He had bought the land because she had wanted to steer their boy, Horace, into the agri- culture course at high school. But Si had farmed his property so little it had won the name of Phantom Ranch. He had put upon it a low, roomy house and far more sheds than were necessary. Then he had lost inter- est, going back to the mining he loved and at which he showed a steady, capable industry such as he stubbornly refused to give to the farming he disliked. F ( 2. .. .‘ I . :8 l v 4 | S P 1 ‘ \.._..|_._ CCfnn$..QZ.,,'*IVl‘ “... ..-_ .... -. ._._._ ..‘ ¢ I l 1 \ '4 . .-:9!‘ 1' s . 1 . 6 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH The division of the old property was not the chief present worry of the Chisholm boys. That was implied in the light, half-humorous tones with which Neal re- turned, “You mean, Dave, we’ll have stock if we still have a ranch to have it on.” Again David winced. Yet Neal was right to say it. One had to face facts practically to carry out any dream. That was what had always been the matter with Dad. He had always had the dreams, far too many and transitory ones. But invariably they had failed because he could not face facts. And it was because Dad still could not face facts that David’s and Neal’s dreams had always to be carried out on the edge of a precipice. Dad steadily refused to realize how tenuous had become his own hold on the title to the Chisholm property of the Draw, or how overdue were the debts against the place, which he owed to Maggie Herstan, the most ruthless capitalist of the region. David sighed as the car rattled into the dusty width of Wagon Rest’s one business street. The little Colorado town lay nestled on an upper bend of the river. The last brilliant coloring of the sunset lingered over the ice and snow of jagged mountain ranges in the distance, while deep, slate-colored shadows of a fading late spring day stole over the rocky foothills. “Look, Dave, look!” Valley broke out. “Something’s happening on those empty lots of Maggie Herstan’s next to the bank. Let’s stop to see what’s collecting the crowd. Sounds like hammering.” David needed no urging. Soon the three young Chis- holms were pressing into the throng of gathering towns- .‘. | people—businessmen, loafers, Mexicans, school patrons on their way to the speaking contest—who spanned the dirt road. Valley, hanging onto David’s arm, pulled him to the very forefront of the crowd, greeting vivaciously meanwhile many of the people she passed. Brother and sister found themselves facing a stretch of newly con- structed fence of a most amazing kind. They had not needed this front view to know what was going on. The fence was near completion. Already the structure rose well above the heads of the crowd in the most irregular top line David had ever known a fence to have. Yet the top line was a thing of symmetry compared to the rest of it. The entire fence had been put together out of every kind and style of lumber imagi- nable, none of it new. Laths, two-by-fours, floor planks, slab shingles, barked poles, short logs split puncheon style-all were combined into a compactly grotesque and most unsightly whole. Small wonder the spectators were excited. Neither David nor Valley needed to be told why that fence had been built. It was an act of defiant spitefulness on the part of the eccentric old woman who owned those lots. “Maggie must have scoured the town to collect as much cast-off lumber as that.” “No, she didn’t, Dave,” came from Valley in spon- taneous outburst. “I see it all now. Every bit of it came from the Lamb ranch. There’s plenty of such stuff on that tumbling-down place. I saw Mut hauling it. When I called out to jolly him about what a Future Farmer meant, wasting valuable spring planting time, hauling 1 *1" I ._l ““ .2"'_i".‘J.f"_T“:_'T;.?," 7:;-‘;'*_—*—--_._.._.~—iz 8 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH any such hit-and-miss load to town as that, he was both- ere'd all right. Easy enough to see why now. It explains, too, why Winifred was so worried when I ran up there yesterday to borrow some baking powder. Only, of course, Win always has plenty to worry about, living on Phantom Ranch, with people saying everywhere lately that our ranch used to be as worthless as the Lambs’, and isn’t any more. The contrast is hard on Win. Her brother isn’t any such Future Farmer as mine have been the last few years, I’ll say.” The man on Valley’s other side was saying, “That young Lamb can work all right at what he likes to do. Proved it yesterday and today by the way he helped with this fence.” “Proved himself an artist, too, didn’t he?” Valley giggled. “It may be an eyesore but it’s fun just the same. Adds a little spice to life. Mut probably thinks he’s smart for having had a hand in a fence that’s sure to get talked about. But he won’t feel so funny when Neal beats him in the contest tonight. Come on, Dave. Let’s get going.” “Go tell Neal to take you the rest of the way,” David said. Neal had not wedged himself as far into the crowd as his brother and sister. “I’ll walk.” “All right. I have to sit with the glee club, anyway. Even if I could sit with you, you wouldn’t know I was there. You’d be lost in your thoughts like some old grandfather. Meditating on your field of seed corn, prob- abl .” gavid winced. It was not pleasant for a fellow who was not yet twenty-one to be called an old man, even by his own seventeen-year-old sister. He was even more sensitive to Valley’s slighting reference to seed corn. That had to do with a goal toward which he had worked tenaciously for five long years, ever since 4H Club days. He had two reasons for his decision to walk. He wanted to cool his anger toward Horace Lamb, long ago dubbed Mutton or Mut by schoolmates because of his last name, and he wanted to join Alex Arkins, his school teacher of vocational agriculture, whose tall figure he had spied at the farther end of the crowd. As David worked his way along the line of spectators, gossip about the amazing fence surged plentifully into his ears. “A disgrace to the town, a thing like that.” “We’ll corral a crowd to tear it down the first dark night.” “Better not. Maggie’ll get the law after you.” “Authorities won’t put up for long with such a public eyesore.” “I’m not so sure, when it’s Maggie’s. What’s eatin’ her, anyhow, to make her build it? Just those old Chis- holm burros browsing on the weeds she’s too stingy to cut? Those weeds of Maggie’s, left to go to seed in the fall, are a bigger disgrace to the town than those friendly little mules have ever been.” “It ain’t the weeds Maggie cares about. It’s getting even with the law because she couldn’t get the authori- ties to order the burros off the streets. She says she’ll keep ’em off her property, anyway. That fence looks as if she would.” “Queer she’d get it in for old man Chisholm all of a < -Iyw-1IlAb'.--q’run1..-aw -1 1-; ~.,....’-_,-._- ...“ .%... 10 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH sudden after bein’ so easy about his mortgage for so long. About them burros, too, wandering the highway every winter since old man Chisholm washed his hands »of them.” “Reckon Maggie’s spite is because of what those Chisholm kids have been doing, lately. Maggie likes to be the whole show in this town, especially since the de- pression knocked the props out from under so many of the valley’s other leading folks. She’s getting an awful kick out of being almost the only big frog left in the puddle.” “Well, she’s sure doing plenty. Foreclosed yesterday on another valley farm.” David, listening and sick at heart, was returning as best he could the kindly and joking salutations he was receiving. Sympathy was the spirit back of most of them. Whatever people might think of his father, the Chisholm boys had won the respect of the town. But there was little comfort in that realization now for the shame that burned through him. He was relieved to be moving away at last with Mr. Arkins, and to have the teacher put into words his own inner misgivings. “It doesn’t look any too well, does it, Dave—Mrs. Herstan’s showing a spirit like that against your father with the hold she has on your land?” Alex Arkins knew all David’s home problems. His interest and advice were the rope to which both David and Neal clung in their efforts to climb out of the morass of those problems. “Sure doesn’t.” Stubborn defiance combatted the discouragement in the boy’s voice. The teacher mused on. “Nobody would be keener than she is in sizing up what you two boys have been doing to your place, with your whole farm program- the four-year crop rotation you have worked out so well on your irrigated and dry fields and all the rest of it. You can be even surer she knows, too, not only what you have already done with that high altitude corn of yours, but what you still hope to do.” A half-bitter smile rose in David’s dark blue eyes, deep-set under his straight dark brows. “Don’t forget she knows that last year’s crop was hailed out, too.” The two walked on in silence for some little distance. “If only,” the teacher sighed at last, “you could per- suade your father to realize the seriousness of the situa- tion, to give you boys the legal right to establish an assured security for yourselves.” “I’m going up to see him about it again tomorrow.” David’s tone was less grim as he added, “He needs sup- plies for the summer, anyhow.” The boy was far too loyal to add that he had litde hope of attaining satis- factory results. The teacher showed his respect for David’s reserve by a deft change of subject. “Your turkey poults doing well?” “Fine. The whole thousand of them.” “Glad you got day-old poults. A Swift and Com- pany’s man told me yesterday orders were so heavy around here this spring that all their supplies from near- by hatcheries were exhausted early. They’ve had to send clear to California for poults to fill their late orders.” “I know. Mut Lamb came in on those. Had to take Ii ,1 i . I 4 . _‘.-.:Y_- l 12 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH poults three days old, and of course still unfed when they reached him. Not that it seems to worry Mut any.” There was a wordless suggestion of, “It wouldn’t,” in the teacher’s responding manner. David went on, “Mut’s mind’s on something else be- sides turkeys lately, anyhow. He won’t say what, hints now and then something about his ranch’s getting ahead of ours soon by acquiring the stock both places need so badly. Says he’s got a private reason for having to find a way to get up to the state Future Farmer con- vention, and that’s why he’s set out to beat Neal in the speaking contest tonight. It’s his one chance at a free trip since he hasn’t made a judging team and isn’t a chapter officer.” The teacher gave no hint of his probable knowledge of Mut’s purpose, merely remarking casually, “Water supply for the summer look as if it would hold out for the needs of both your places?” “Yes, if the old reservoir doesn’t fill up too much with silt from the erosion on the Lambs’ sloping fields, so that it causes overflow of what we’ll need later.” Sud- denly David laughed. “Mut’s speaking on erosion to- night is really funny, you know; he needs so badly to practice what he preaches. Not that I’m altogether sure I want him to do too much of it. I wouldn’t object in the least to having a little Lamb topsoil carried downstream onto some of my fields and stopping there.” “Is that so, Dave Chisholm? Hello, folks.” A short, dapper boy with bright dark eyes and an easygoing, self- assured manner stepped abreast of David and his com- u panion. He walked on with them, completely unper- turbed by the effect of his own sudden appearance. “Mut Lamb all over,” David thought in silent re- sentment. “When the day comes at last that I’m the real and legal boss of Winding Ranch—-” The thought stopped precipitately, blocked by the hopelessness im- plied in Maggie Herstan’s new fence. . A._-P H-la--H l » £1 _l Q‘- ! .1 -_-__‘‘_fi_.,-.‘.‘" ‘ ~ . . - _, .'-_ -;_;-.—.:-up“: -’';..-:-nv . 111.‘ $ r F ~ .. . *1-‘~ ~:~ .£ U-_-awn-4 whit‘; l; d.'¢'1~<. v | ____ ~7 ’ TM ‘If ‘W'._-W ‘j ?,',~ ____ it ;__t':%§'::‘ /I _ | . ~ '//I H ‘LP (L: (\pn(..%\ 119$) / ~\\\. \&T‘ “ \ ® \‘ I_\ \‘ \ I \ \ \ 1//// "ii:-I V ii“ i""“i t' //" ’ 1 ‘}’§%¥=,,\w L’? F: é 1| 3' fl I 4/ %% M iii A _ Chapter II THE LOCAL CONTEST MAVID walked down the main aisle of the high school auditorium alone. Mr. Arkins had parted from him at the door to attend to preliminary matters; Mut joined Neal and the other speaker in the front row. David chose a seat well forward but to one side. From it he had a view of Valley and, far more important, of Winifred Lamb. The two girls were seated side by side in the high school glee club. Alex Arkins’ father and mother were in the seats next to David. They greeted the boy cordially, then froze to more formal salutation toward the next person who was claiming a seat in the same row. The newcomer was Mrs. Maggie Herstan. It must be true, then, David thought, that Mrs. Her- 14 THE LOCAL CONTEST stan had a “plaster” on the Arkins ranch, long the richest and most successfully run in the valley. Report had it that their son, Alex, could have had a much more lucra- tive position than the one he held in the Wagon Rest Consolidated School. Instead, fired by the practical idealism of the Future Farmers of America, he had chosen to come back to his home valley, determined to stimulate and teach boys to meet the grave agricultural problems of the day so that they could keep themselves free, as even his own capable father had not been able to do, from the clutches of persons like Mrs. Maggie Herstan. David and his neighbors stood up to let the new ar- rival pass to her seat. The voluminousness of her figure would allow her entrance in no other way. Although she was a large-framed and strong woman, this was due not to her size but to the style of her dress. She wore a floor-length full skirt of the fashion of her youth and, so report had it, numerous full petticoats under it. No other person in all Happy Wagon Valley ever dressed in that completely outmoded style. With Maggie Her- stan the garb was habitual. It made her instantly recog- nizable everywhere. There lay the real reason, David had always believed, why she dressed as she did, for despite her indifferent manner, Mrs. Herstan unques- tionably enjoyed being a “character.” Now, as she passed, she gave David a curt nod of recognition. “Good evening,” he responded with slightly bel- ligerent stiffness. Considering the new fence, courtesy was difficult to muster. The greeting between the woman and David’s neighbors was even more strained. I i I I I I l l l I ji | 1 \ r » ... --Q.--.-.. 16 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH 7 Not on Maggie s part, however. She seemed to be en- joying herself. If she dared hold an attitude like that toward the best rancher in the whole valley, what must her attitude be toward the Chisholms? Consternation grew in David at the thought. He felt no surprise at Maggie’s presence. She rarely missed any public function. Such events gave her a chance to enjoy the sense of power that her wealth, shrewdness and hardness created whenever she appeared publicly among her lifelong neighbors. Few persons gave her credit for any public-spirited interest in the gatherings she attended. Yet tonight she might have something of personal interest in the coming contest, for after all Horace Lamb was a relative of hers. His father was Maggie’s second cousin. Not that Maggie ever recognized the relation- ship in any way. She was said to have an even firmer hold on the Lambs’ run-down Phantom Ranch than she had on other places in the valley. And certainly no cous- ins could be more widely different in character. The con- trast, David thought, was not all in the Lambs’ favor. With all her faults, Maggie Herstan had a certain strength they lacked; at least, all of them but Winifred. David turned his eyes resolutely away from the woman. He was not going to let her nearness mar his pride and interest in Neal’s part in tonight’s program. She would soon see that there were ways in which a Chisholm could outshine any relative of shrewd, capable Maggie Herstan. The meeting had begun. The glee club was gathering on the platform, with Valley’s short, attractive figure .--i 18 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH of build and movement that even long hours of farm work had never been able completely to cramp and stiffen, he appeared decidedly handsome. And he had a pleasant voice, clear even if a little hurried in enuncia- tion. But as Neal began to talk, his voice did not seem so resonant tonight as usual. It lacked fire, too, in a way David had not anticipated. Neal had shown much more spirit when rehearsing his speech to David. It was a good speech, too. Neal had put a lot of hard, thoughtful work upon it. David was following it word for word. He knew it almost as well as Neal did. For the brothers had gone over all its points together in dis- cussion and read many of the same books and articles in familiarizing themselves with the best thought on the subject, had even talked over the wisest plan of its or- ganization. No one understood, as David did, what the outcome of tonight’s contest might mean to Neal. The local contest was the first step in a long series- district, state, regional—leading ultimately to the 3nI1113l national contest held each October in Kansas City at the time of the national convention of the Future Farm- ers of America. To the winner would come not only honor, but a medal and a check for two hundred and fifty dollars. Neither David nor Neal had ever expressed any hope of this final award. Neal had maintained from the first that he was entering the contest primarily for the train- ing and experience in public speaking so important to any boy who was ambitious to become an agricultural leader. But David had not been able to shut completely from his mind the thought of what two hundred and THE LOCAL CONTEST 19 E l _. -.—.-,,..--—_,;.=_- . i *'.. fifty dollars in cash might mean to Neal when he en- tered agricultural college next fall. The vision faded steadily as Neal’s speech went on. David shifted forward nervously in his seat, silently imploring, “Snap into it, old fellow! Snap into it!” But Neal did not “snap into it.” He finished almost as cas- ually as he had begun, and the politely listening audience failed to respond with any real warmth. “What on earth is the matter with him?” David groaned to himself. There, the three judges were questioning Neal. As a required part of the program, each speaker was tested as to his thorough knowledge of his subject and his power to think clearly while on his feet. Neal met each ques- tion calmly, pondered it a moment, then responded clearly, logically and straight to the point. David, watching the questioners, saw their faces light with satis- faction; one man, an attorney from Denver, who had been asked to serve as a judge, seemed especially pleased. As Neal took his seat, Horace Lamb sprang to his feet. His subject was, “Erosion as a Menace to America’s Agriculture. It Must Be Stopped.” David’s tension broke in the relief of a grin. “Imagine Mut Lamb stopping it.” David knew from the stir through the audience that he was not the only person who found secret amusement in the thought. He cen- tered on Mut a gaze that challenged, “Beat Neal if you dare!” The eyes of the two boys met and clashed. Mut shifted position nervously on his feet, cleared his throat and resolutely looked away. But David kept his chal- lenging gaze fixed on Mut during the next ten minutes, and thus was completely unaware that Maggie Herstan I 1 20 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH was watching him with more interest than she was the speaker. As Horace proceeded, however, gradually David’s challenging expression changed to one of consternation. That was a good speech of the “upstart’s,” as David was far too honest not to acknowledge. Could such an in- different young farmer as Horace Lamb really have thought a subject through as well as that? No, but Wini- fred could. Winifred had helped her brother with that speech. Not in any dishonest way; David knew Wini- fred too well to believe that. But she must have discussed the subject with Mut and given him constructive criti- cism. It was not only a good speech, it was being well delivered. The tightened attention of the whole roomful of people showed recognition of that. If Mut’s voice was a little too loud, it was nevertheless forceful. If his bearing was a little too assured, it was nevertheless easy and free of movement, its gestures natural and devoid of stiffness. Horace was ending at last in an emotional crescendo that had true effectiveness. David sat back, glad it was over. Then the three judges began questioning Horace. The boy’s confidence never wavered. Without a sec- ond’s hesitation, he replied glibly each time in a repeti- tion of used phrases from his speech which had scarcely any bearing on the questions asked. David’s intelligence was prompt to note the fact. “Missed every shot,” he thought with shamed exultation. A musical number followed while the three judges retired to compare judgments. They were back again as the music ended, and the spokesman of the three an- i. ,....,-I. ‘ l i _ l l THE LOCAL CONTEST 21 nounced their verdict. “The opinion of the judges was not unanimous. One judge voted for Robert McNeal Chisholm as winner.” (That Denver attorney, David felt sure.) “The other two, for Horace Lamb. Since the majority decision rules, Horace Lamb is the winner of the contest, and next week will represent the Wagon Rest Consolidated High School in competition with the winners of the contests in the other high schools of the district.” . As the meeting broke up, David lingered near his seat, hoping that Neal would soon be free of the group at the front. Loyalty demanded that he go promptly to his defeated brother’s side. As Maggie Herstan brushed past him, he became suddenly aware that she was addressing him. “What do you two young Chisholms mean, letting that young upstart beat you out?” She strode on without giving David a chance to reply. To his amazement he found his inner response rising in defense of Horace. Mut was no upstart; his greatest handicap so far had been his lack of persistence, the result of going off half- cocked at every new thing that came along, the way he had in answer to those questions tonight. Neal certainly had beaten Horace there. A moment later David heard the Denver judge make that very remark to Neal. “There was real thought in your talk tonight, boy, and in your replies to your ques- tions. You kept your head and your power to think clearly while on your feet. I scored you high enough on that to make you my choice for winner. But you lacked the fire the other boy had in his platform presence and in his delivery. Get it! Learn how to reveal to your audi- * — ‘III 22 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH —‘ I t - - ence your gripping faith in what you are saying and you’ll go ahead of the other chap one of these days.” Neal was genuinely pleased at the commendation, David saw. It was almost as if it accorded with some secret satisfaction of his own. David referred to the judge’s comment on the home- ward drive. “Pity you didn’t get that fire tonight,” he remarked drily. Neal’s response was provokingly lighthearted. “Well, I never nourished any hope of that two hundred and fifty dollars, you know, Dave. My chance in competing against the whole United States was altogether too slim from the start.” “Go into anything with that spirit and you’re licked before you start.” “Oh, I don’t know,” Neal parried without rancor. “There’s more than one kind of victory. I got a lot of exactly the right kind of training and practice out of that contest.” I Was Neal’s present attitude merely the cloak that he wore so often and so successfully to hide his deeper feelings? It rarely deceived David, although he had known Neal to be misjudged by it more than once. To- night David doubted whether it really was a cloak. Could it be, after all the hard work Neal had put upon his speech, that he had deliberately let Horace Lamb win the contest? If so, why? There was no use in voic- ing any such suspicion. Pleasantly communicative about his aflairs as Neal always appeared to be, he would be sure to keep his own counsel about a situation like that. “Won’t Mut be cocky?” Valley was laughing. “Bask- . V i l v r I | I 7 l 1 THE LOCAL CONTEST ing in the spotlight. Strutting in the public eye. How he loves it! And, of course, there’s precious little of it to be had grubbing on their out-of-the-way, run-down ranch. Poor Winifred! She’ll have a harder time than ever this summer, holding Mut down to real work at home. And if he doesn’t——” Valley shrugged sug- gestively to imply the hopelessness of the Lamb ranch situation. Presently she added, “I wouldn’t mind Mut’s winning tonight so much if it wasn’t for the way he helped Maggie Herstan with that awful fence.” David had much the same feeling. He accepted the shift of subject. “Neal, it looks as if we might have to round up those burros and graze them again on some of the home foothills that the turkeys won’t need.” Neal stiffened. “Absolutely nothing doing! No worthless stock, ever again, grazing on those hills! Above all, now, when once again they’re worth some- thing.” David welcomed Neal’s mandate. Both Chisholm boys had big dreams of all that wide, winding foothill grazing acreage. Long overstocked, during the boys’ childhood, under their father’s neglectful management, those acres had become almost worthless from over- cropping. Then James Chisholm had lost his run-down stock in a big winter snowstorm, and for years much of the range had lain idle, to its great benefit. Rest had re- stored it to fertility, reseeded it with new grasses. Once again it was ready to make of the old Chisholm place a real ranch, a Western farm that raises livestock on the range in goodly numbers. In recent years, with the boys as its workers, the place had been merely a small farm. 1 Ii .1 J». :"-.-_ ._‘, ‘_‘. .4:-_-...'-M I ll l I-t§,ii i ! |-bud-A-A - 24 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH But one of these days—so David vowed in his heart—it would be again both a farm and a ranch. Only in diversi- fied farming, he knew, was there any hope of earning a real livelihood from agriculture. All this was in the back of David’s mind as he met Neal’s decisiveness with a half-hearted, “Better than having Dad sued for trespassing, isn’t it? Let Maggie Herstan tighten her hold just one more little notch or two, and then where would Winding Ranch be?” Both brothers were glad to have Valley break into their discussion. “Have either of you boys any idea what made Mut go into the speaking contest the way he did? Why, I mean, he was so dead set on winning so as to get a_ free trip to Fort Collins?” “No,” returned David. “And I don’t know as I want to.” . “You weren’t expecting him to confide in me, were you?” David flashed a sharp glance at his brother. Convic- tion shot through him. “Whether he confided in you or not, young man, you know. And it has something to do with your letting Mut win that contest tonight.” He did not speak the words aloud. \ \ \.. / 4’ '7)’ i r / . '" J’ 4 Q2 ‘ ' ' . _ / _ . f } _ Chapter Ill A CALL ON DAD ~ORE daylight the following morning David built the kitchen fire, put the teakettle on to boil and went outside to do the early chores. When he carried the foaming milk pails into the house, Neal was in the kitchen, stirring oatmeal and breaking eggs into the sputtering grease in the frying pan. “Knew you’d need an early start.” The words were muttered in an apologetic tone. . “You’re a knowing kid,” David returned gratefully. When Neal commented, “It’s all right to try again, old man. But you won’t get anywhere,” discouragement 7 settled upon David s spirit in spite of himself. 25 1 I l l l x 1 1 L 1 i l --_-'__ ...w.-,r-A-Qnlp -_.- -?,fl-'_-=;;.:-4n\<-- \ ,AL . 4,11 _~ A ....¢>-. -.A..;_*-_ la ti .1 13 I- . l ll . ... _-1.1. ; ;_'__“:'‘'_ _ fiz_ 1’; ,4 ' 1'.i.|u_j‘ l 26 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH “Not if we keep that attitude.” But the retort lacked force. As he ate, David listened unwillingly to the running comment he had heard so many times before from Neal. “Look here, Dave, it’s a mistake for fellows situated as we are to build for a future on the home ranch, as most Future Farmers can. We’ve simply got to look facts in the face, as I’ve always told you from the start. I’ve got to do enough on the old place, of course, to qualify for Future Farmer honors, since a fellow’s got to prove first he’s a real farmer before he can get very far in that organization. But I’m not tying my hopes and dreams to the ranch the way you are. And if you’ve got any sense, you’ll stop it. “I like farming as well as you do. But I’m going in for the training in agricultural leadership that the Future Farmer organization gives a fellow a chance to get. My big worry is that the home props will cave in under me before I’ve been able to get it. After all, what’s to prevent Maggie Herstan from foreclosing any time she feels like it? But I’ve never had any hope of making Dad see that. I know one thing, though. It’s you I’ve got to thank for anything I may have done so far, as well as for any prospect I have for doing things in the future. And you’ve my full permission to tell Dad so straight from the shoulder. There’s just a chance it might jog him a little. He still likes to think he’s the real head of the family.” David had no intention of telling his father any such thing. He was soon driving his jalopy down the winding 28 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH he had left. This was not tourist country he was enter- ing. It was part of the gold country of Colorado’s early mining days. Once or twice David traveled through a small mining town. More frequently he passed old mine dumps, mine shafts and decaying frame structures. Now and then the whir of machinery suggested the toil of workers underground. David went on and up until at last the actual road faded out. There on a hillside stood a small, squat build- ing that was store, post office, roadside garage and dwelling house all in one. A lone man and boy were in charge. They greeted David cordially by name. “Dad all right?” he queried. “So far as I know. Ain’t seen him for ’most two months. Got supplies to pack in to him, ain’t you? He’s expecting you; left his mountain birds here for you. Bud,” the man turned to the hovering boy, “you go catch them mules o’ old man Chisholm’s and bring ’em here. Pronto, too.” A little later David was once more on his way. He had left the car at the road-end garage and had secured the pack on one of the burros, which trailed him sturdily as he rode the other. He had only five more miles to go, but they were diflicult ones, precipitous, rocky and rarely traveled. The burros took them knowingly. At last David drew rein on a high ridge to let Flap Jack, the gray burro he rode, rest after a last steep climb. The pack burro paused, too, and stood with sleepily droop- ing head, indifferent to the breathtaking view beyond. David himself was far from indifferent to that view. A CALL ON DAD The emotion it aroused in him, however, was not that of an artist kindled by its beauty. Rather it was a feeling of resentment. For that view did something to him that made him understand altogether too well why his father was satisfied to spend days and years in utter loneliness, working hard without recompense for the sake of an empty dream. And today of all times David did not want to feel too sympathetic toward Dad. As Flap Jack and his rider took up their journey, followed by the swaying gait of the pack-laden Dried Apple, they traveled a thin line of what in bygone days had been a well-worn trail, but which was now rough, faint and often almost impassable. It led to a group of decaying buildings on the opposite slopes that rose like ugly dark blots among patches of scrub green growth and bare yellow ground. They were the abandoned buildings of the Camp Mule mine. Before one of the crumbling shacks which com- manded the finest view, F lap Jack and his rider, with Dried Apple behind them, came to a halt. The door was closed, smoke rose from the patched chimney and sounds came from within. A radio hummed and a type- writer clacked. So Dad was not at work today, digging, setting charges, blasting away to run a new tunnel into that old exhausted mine, in the vain hope of striking a new vein. Only with Dad, of course, the hope was not impossible. According to Horace Lamb’s father and the Denver mining company, it was strong enough for James Chisholm to have been willing to undertake single- handed the long, arduous task of boring that tunnel; and i I l l 5 5 ; l 1 1 F In .-‘ Ii .3 I ‘al Ii l l l l 1 ll l ~" , . i' . l I i . . ~. ~ . -.q.O. 14$ . j. .- '__1% "I ii 5; ‘ill 1 ‘ ‘ 1 1 l J_ il:'l H1, 133: ».......“..»..'‘. . - ~41--m.|_-AH as up-4_-_>_l_n5\;r: Q‘ 14111 ;. -1 1.1 it ii. 1;}. AA, Q AH v. A 1 30 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH for no pay whatever, not even a grubstake, except worthless paper shares in the mine itself. The door swung open from within before David had reached it. His father stepped out, face alight. “Sure glad to see you, son.” He laid a cordial hand on the dis- mounting boy’s shoulder. He was a small man for the type of work he was undertaking, not short but spare, and wiry of build and quick of movement. Enthusiasm and nervous energy were evidently far more of his working capital than physique. “Come right in and see what I’m up to.” He took time to give a pat each to Flap Jack and Dried Apple. “You’ve arrived just in time to give me the stuff that’ll make this the best paper I’ve sent up yet.” Leaving the door wide open, he reseated himself quickly at the type- writer and began to type. Over his shoulder meanwhile he threw a careless, “Just lift the pack ofi' Apple. Let him and Flap graze around for a few minutes. They won’t go far.” David obeyed. “What now?” he queried a moment later with a resigned curtness as he entered the shack and closed the door. He was annoyed at his own curi- osity. Would he never be able to throw off completely his interest in Dad’s ever-changing but always energetic schemes? “Newspaper,” his father announced gaily. He began throwing out information in intermittent jerks while his fingers tapped busily. “Send it up—twice a week- to Si Lamb—and that crew of men—he’s bossing at the Angela. They’re cut completely off—from the world up there—you know that. Worse than I would be—if I _. . ..~ if '15_ . .-‘is.-.:_--’—/1 " A CALL ON DAD hadn’t packed up these tubes—and wire and dial—and battery and trickle charger—to rig up—this radio. As ’tis -a lot of the time I get everything—often clear as crystal —almost no static. Since Si got me—this chance—I owe him something. So what’s the latest? A newspaper-with Guard here—for my delivery boy. Guard knows those fellows up there—and he knows the way in. We’re a good team, aren’t we, Guard?” The big collie dog lay in expectant alertness at the foot of the crude table, thumping a response with his tail. He was a beautiful creature, unusually large for a collie, his thick coat all white except for three golden- brown patches. His owner let an affectionate hand drop for an instant on the dog’s long head. “Guard’s im- patient. Excuse us, David, while I get this last item or two typed off. With your help we’ll send Si’s gang a newspaper this time that is a newspaper. They’re all Wagon Valley men like Si and me.” “Are they all working for nothing, too, not even a grubstake?” David thought resentfully. Si Lamb had “wished off” on Dad this Camp Mule job. Si himself was receiving regular monthly cash pay for bossing a crew of men starting to rework the old almost inacces- sible Angela mine. He could easily have put Dad on that paid crew. Instead, he had lured him for those worthless shares into this slow, dangerous job of blasting a new Camp Mule crosswise tunnel. Over the radio a news announcer was signing off, and Dad was completely absorbed in his typing. Easy enough to see what he was doing. He was typing off on that ramshackle machine the news from the broadcast i‘ i i I : ii’ l 1, =._ ll-1' "" I \ l l .1 .| .| l l l "i ll kl ii; in )_ ..‘.Jl‘ ' I .1’ . .''.>\>-J-A~nn=A‘~\_‘¢_|n\—u A IT‘ -4 V ..-.< own-\.. . _ ‘... ..- _- --‘‘¢i~<-4: - * 4 - 'M. ‘T““- . ..._~;...=..- ‘..,f --4 ' - ' i 1' _ --.-. ~_:--_--. :-..-.1-.-’ 2.-.-:: -i--sir-.2 '!“‘fl‘ ‘T. t1!i.aii.ii_i i this resentment may lead, considering the hold Mrs. Herstan has upon the property. It is well known that the younger Chisholm sons have been putting all their effort into Winding Ranch in the hope of bringing it back to something like real productiveness.” Mr. Chisholm lifted his hands from the machine and dropped them into his lap. “Of course, you mean that for me, David, not for the paper.” His tone was hurt rather than angry. “Guess that’s about it, Dad.” Ashamed of his round- about method of approach, David was also relieved that Dad had been so quick to understand. Now they could come right out in the open and talk. “You’ve got to own up,” David spoke more persuasively now, “that such things don’t promise any too rosy a future to two fellows as enthusiastic about farming as Neal and I are.” “Why not, Dave? I’ve signed over to you two boys, in your regulation Future Farmer style, the right to use any or all of the whole place any way you wish.” “And what good will that do us—or all the work we’ve put upon it—if you lose the place?” “If that was going to happen, it would have happened long ago. Abe Herstan never even pressed me.” “But Abe’s dead now. And everything he owned be- longs to his widow. And Maggie isn’t Abe. There’s never any knowing what she’s going to spring next.” “Abe’s been dead ’most a year and Maggie’s never pressed me, either.” Dad spoke as if what he was really saying was, “I’m not afraid of Maggie.” If Dad wasn’t afraid of Maggie, he was the only "“TT_ T T T T ‘ T T T T“‘H'~ 1 34 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH person with whom she had business relations who was not, David was thinking. Aloud he said, “Easy enough to see why. The place hasn’t been worth taking over. It was different in Grandfather’s time, of course. That’s why Abe was always willing to loan you money on it, money that you never once put back into the place, either—just spent it on some scheme that didn’t pan out, like those burros. Everybody knows that’s how our place got to be so run-down and good-for-nothing, and that was before these last depression years when the best farmers haven’t been able to pay their debts and are losing all they’ve got. So we’ve been allowed to live on there, call the place ours—the old Chisholm ranch, de- veloped by our grandfather into one of the most sub- stantial country homes near Happy Wagon Valley.” Sarcasm had mounted in David’s tone. Suddenly it vanished. “It’s a farce, Dad, and that’s all there is to it. Neal and I would like to go on improving the place, but with the situation what it is——?” David concluded his sentence with a hopeless shrug. “Then why do you stick, David? George didn’t. Nor Steve.” George and Steve were David’s older brothers, long since gone from home and independent. It struck David with sudden force that his father might have had similar interviews with them. “Because I promised Mother I would. At least until Neal and Valley were through high school. We do get a living off the place, such as it is.” His father was the one person who knew of that promise. The dying mother herself had told him about »~ f ;‘:' ..---1 ';'.‘:'. , . . L :~ ‘-T .._,_..’-gg'—~'4-_'.~¢;r¢:';_5 _. . _»_?-'‘T;,_ '_._ .._..-.__ . "=—'-'- ' " Iii- Q‘ \ . . - A CALL ON DAD it. David almost never spoke of it, but the recollection i of it now softened his mood. He went on in more prac- J , , tical persuasiveness, “Besides, George and Steve never ll‘ saw any hope in agriculture. They went to high school before farm boys had a chance at the practical, scien- tific vocational training Neal and I have had under Alex Arkins. Neal and I have really been doing things, Dad— _ _ Qi ‘ in a small way, of course—these last years. Don’t you -. l ‘ . ;.......... | 2- ‘ .y Q. Q Ii‘ -N "N it- I-T!!1!.‘.‘._P."1A_ think Maggie Herstan’s keen enough to see that? i “Maybe, if we go on improving the place for another § year, it will be worth having again. But what’s the use of Neal and me putting in all the brain and brawn we’ve j got on a ranch where we haven’t any real security? One I § that could be taken away from us at any moment? Sup- _ 1 pose Neal and I could raise the money to meet the taxes 1 i P" and pay off the unpaid interest and all that, what good ‘ ill! would that do? The place would still be yours; we’d l I” have no security on it.” The boy paused. Did Dad catch the implied fear that '2 if he, their father, were again in a financial position to ‘I raise even a small sum of money from the place, he might j do so because of some new fantastic scheme? “But if you’d just deed the place over to us, Dad——” Plead- 7 ingly David’s dark blue eyes, glowing with desperate hopefulness, rested on his father. Then the glow snapped off with the suddenness of an electric light as he saw his father’s unmistakable swift refusal. James Chisholm’s answer was sharp with new de- cisiveness. “You’re not twenty-one yet, David. And Neal’s only eighteen.” “I’ll be twenty-one the tenth of August.” But spirit ~ 36 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH had ebbed from David’s voice. “Neal graduates in June. But Valley has one more year of high school. Let’s hope Maggie Herstan lets us stick that long.” ' “She will, Dave.” David scarcely noted the remark. To him it was another bit of Dad’s usual groundless optimism. In- differently he listened to his father’s next words. “If you think, son, I’ll ever let you and Neal tie a debt-ridden ranch around your necks, you’re mistaken in the kind of father you’ve got. I’ll never do it, and that’s all there is to it. There’s no money—not even a living—in farming any more; nothing but a round of ceaseless drudgery that gets the farmer nowhere, just leaves him buried in a lot of hopeless debts and economic problems neither he nor anybody else can solve. Do you think I want to see my boys doomed to that? I know what that ranch can do to a young fellow. Hasn’t it been the nemesis of my own life? No, David, I’ve got a better scheme than that.” The father had suddenly become all eagerness, lean- ing toward the boy and fairly radiating generosity and confident triumph. “Dave, you love the old place. I’ve always seen that. You’re like your mother. You’ve got what she used to call ‘the feeling for the soil’ in you. Well, that’s all right. If the old place is what you want, I want you to have it. But not as any millstone hung around your young neck to drag all the life out of you, all the joy of living, for nothing but steadily increasing debts. That’s one thing I simply will not consent to, as I’ve told you more than once before. So I’ve got a secret. I’ve had it ever since I came up here. It’s what I took i I flzr "* ' _ . Z. . -.;.PY:-._--.._;_;.’-u"-;.~u: T‘; i "I. ll. .5 ll. r. \ 7 l A CALL ON DAD this job for. But I never meant to tell it until the right moment came. I guess, though, that you and Neal have a right to know what I’m up to.” Dad’s voice had risen until it almost sang. “One of these days—the time’s not very far off, either—I’m going to deed all Winding Ranch over to you, or to you and Neal if he still wants it. I’m not so sure about Neal. I’m hoping he’ll change into some other course, drop agri- culture, after he gets to college. When am I going to do that deeding? The very minute I get the old place free of debt. And that’s exactly what it’s going to be as soon as I strike the vein in this tunnel. I’m going to strike it mighty soon now. But nothing will ever induce me to hand the ranch over to you the way it is now. I think far too much of my boys ever to consent to a thing like that.” He paused; then seeing no sign of response in David, went on: “But—free from debt—all newly equipped with the stock you say it needs so badly, with really up-to-date machinery and equipment, with the buildings all re- paired—just you wait and see, Dave. Only don’t let Maggie Herstan get a suspicion of my plan; I want to surprise her, get even with her for always being so contemptuous of my schemes. That’s one reason why I’ve kept this one so secret. But it’s what I’m dreaming about and working for all the time. It’s why I’m content to lead this lonely life up here. Haven’t you ever guessed that?” Dutifully David raised his dark blue eyes to meet his father’s equally blue ones. “Thanks, Dad,” he managed to mutter, trying hard to make the words sound con- l l I l l 1 ~ A I ll l I l l 1 4 1 5! :} l . . 1 VI 1! fl l l | I l l 1..f.T3f“ - I K ’ Q -1'»... 2+: ,1 - -~ -1.5-.‘-0 —“”.;:.."'::;."':L , ,1 15 -1 . I; In .‘ ,., jg l 38 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH vincing. All censure of his father had drained from him, but hopelessness was seeping through him to his very toes. “No use,” he thought, adding with complete sin- cerity, “Dear old Dad.” In past years he had thought his mother too easy with his father. He Imderstood her better now. He aroused himself to ask, “How about Maggie and those burros? Suppose she sues you for let- ting them trespass on her property?” “She won’t. But we’ll get them out of her way, any- how. Suppose you round up all the little fellows and drive them up here to me. Acres and acres of this land belong to the mining company. They said that in place of pay I could have a ten-year lease on the grazing rights any time I wanted it.” Instantly David became alert. “And you never told us?” “What was the use? You hadn’t any grazing stock. No use to have. Nothing in range stock raising any more.” James Chisholm dismissed the subject before David could voice a protest, and continued, “Guard, here, hasn’t much to do except when he’s postman. He’ll keep an eye on the burros. They’ll thrive up here and ease my conscience. I’ve always felt bad about the way I went back on those little beasts. Sometimes Guard and I get sort o’ lonesome up here. They’ll be good com- pany for us, won’t they, Guard?” The dog gave a sharp bark of assent. He at least had not forgotten about the newspaper. He was standing alert and impatient to be off. It was David who at last tied the compact roll of typed sheets to Guard’s collar. _—_.a . M. 1' -._ --~"'.,T<=: -T __ ;.0_ :. ' / ;-c#""" l l 1 l l l a I I . __._-~=.__ -_-~.— E 1. _. . : A CALL ON DAD No wonder Dad loved that dog, the only real companion of his life. David gave Guard a surreptitious pat as he finished the tying. “Take care of old Dad,” was what the pat really said. The dog’s long, intelligent face with its serious brown eyes looked up at the boy as if in under- standing, his tongue caressing David’s cheek in ac- ceptance of the trust. A moment later father and son stood side by side in the shack doorway, watching the beautiful, dignified animal trot out of sight up the vanish- ing trail into still higher mountain country. Then the two said good-bye. Both understood it would be well into fall before David came again. As David and the burros started out again on the home trail, the boy braced his shoulders. He had come on this trip in the hope of losing a burden. Not only had he failed to lose it; he had acquired the full realization of another. The queer thing was that he was actually glad of the acquisition. In a way it had lightened his load. For it had robbed him of the old unwelcome bitterness against his father and what his father’s way-of life had done to the family and its picturesque old home. For the first time he sensed that back of his mother’s last request, outwardly concerned only with Neal and Valley, there had lain an unspoken plea, “Bear with Dad, David, and be good to him.” ' It was late when he turned the jalopy into the home yard, but the kerosene lamp shining from the living- room windows told him Neal was still up. He found his brother at the desk, busy, so he said, preparing copy to be sent to the next issue of the Colorado Future 1. 1. l 1 i i l l!. . ,. . . if l \ v I , Q '1! 133' : lg 13 51 1?, .z...‘. ..,4. _...... . ‘E11. .. 3.". l.£§-' I fl-:."£ _-7‘Ci \i. .1 .m.:L I -i I: I? lli ; ! 40 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH Farmer. He turned toward David with the quick query, “Any luck?” “No. Except a plan to get the burros out of Maggie Herstan’s way.” He explained his father’s suggestion. “I’m going to see her in the morning and tell her about it.” Sudden interest gleamed in Neal’s face. He began ask- ing more questions than David could answer about the Camp Mule grazing lands. How big were they? What was the prevailing vegetation? How thick was it? How many head would it support? How close was it to avail- able water? “Why so interested?” “Never can tell when it might come in handy, the way things are.” “How?” David smiled bitterly. “As a place of refuge for us and our few animal possessions if Maggie turns us off the place?” Neal laughed. “Maybe so,” he agreed lightly and be- gan to whistle as he walked off to bed. David stared after him, frowning a little. Once in a blue moon Neal showed a trace of that baseless optimism of the spirit so persistent in their father. "J I ' - //-/'L ‘A \ ki /' .. ~ , yg-17 \_. fl K Q , . J . \,‘_ j," l . _%h\ (-1 J/I/’Wr'.v '47 “'»~.__"/Th. ”\% \‘\ 0. I‘/_'\'4\ Chapter I V QUEER MAGGIE HERSTAN ; DAVID hesitated in front of Maggie Herstan’s front gate. Should he enter, or was the time unfavorable? The automobile standing in front of the old-fashioned horse block looked like the one driven by Jack Haines, the county sheriff. David’s glance rested on the house as if to penetrate its thick walls. One of the oldest houses in Wagon Rest, it had once been much the finest, and time and lack of repair had never been able to mar its dignity. Its originally white brick was dingy now with age. Its wooden porches, steps and window casings sagged a little here and there, and were worn to a dark and lusterless gray. Maggie’s place occupied an entire block of land, enclosed by a picket 41 ‘ | ll ' 5 .. am: net: » > A i 1 , 2 v _ . l l. iillm " _ .5 = ‘;i'n'I . 1 42 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH fence, once white, now grayed in tone to a harmony with the whole. David admired it, although he did not know exactly why. Just then a man came around the house from the back. Yes, it was Jack Haines. David held open the gate so the sheriff could pass through. “Hello, Dave.” The man paused. “If you’re going in to ask anything of Maggie, I suggest you wait a while. She’s not in a favorable mood. I’ve just laid down the law to her. That unsightly fence she built two days ago has got to come down at once and at her expense. As usual, Maggie’s not for taking orders from the law or anybody else. And she’s clever at dodges. Claims there’s no personal spite work about her fence at all. Says it’s a public-spirited protest she’s putting up for the sake of the poor and spineless citizens of the town who can’t afford to have their gardens eaten up by straying burros this summer. She claims it was up to her, as the only person with enough spunk to do it, to force this town to get them off the street and highway. And she doesn’t intend to take that fence down until it does.” David’s eyes brightened under their level brows. “I’ll settle that.” Briefly he told the sheriff of his father’s suggestion. The man’s rugged face showed relief. He fairly pushed David through the gate. “Go to it, boy. God bless you. You’ve saved my skin. A tussle to the finish with that old woman is something I have no relish for. Hope you never get up against her.” “So do I.” David grinned fervently. He walked around the house in the direction from which the sheriff QUEER MAGGIE HERSTAN 43 __.._---‘ had come. Maggie was just in sight at the far end of her deep back yard. David awaited her approach. Had he not been born and brought up in Wagon Rest Valley, he would have been surprised by the appearance of the reputedly richest person of the country, now nearly sixty years of age. Dressed in a man’s shoes and her customary full skirt, she was plodding sturdily behind a plow drawn by an old sorrel horse which_looked as though he belonged to the same era as her clothes. Above the heavy skirt, she wore a tight-fitting black jersey waist, buttoned closely all down the front. On her head, pushed back from a tanned, deeply wrinkled face, was a faded blue sunbonnet. She was plowing up her entire back yard in prepara- tion for her usual big garden. Facing David as she traveled slowly up the furrow she was turning, she frowned at sight of him. Then she burst into a throaty laugh, so deep it was startling, and yet not unpleasant. “Another caller. Old Maggie Herstan is popular this morning. What do you want?” She had turned the furrow to the upper end just be- yond the place where David stood, but she did not pause. Instead she guided the old sorrel in a skillful turn and swung the plow about with a strong, masterly mo- tion that made the muscles of her arms bulge under the jersey’s tight-fitting sleeves. The grip of the brown gnarled hands steadied firmly on the handles for the re- verse trip. She had moved away from David almost be- fore he realized it. He had been looking on admiringly at the symmetrical beauty of line in the deep furrows which she was turning with such deft ease. The great QUEER MAGGIE HERSTAN again. As she turned the horse and plow, as deftly as before, and began the advance in David’s direction, she commented grimly, “So you’ve got grit. Well, your mother had it, the quiet kind. I respected that woman.” Surprised response kindled in David. “I like grit,” she added. “The kind that’s not afraid to work. But, bah, your generation doesn’t even know what grit is. Want their chances in life handed out to them on a tray instead of putting up a stiff fight to get them for themselves. Blatting that the world owes them a living and all that kind of bosh, while they let their backbones turn to jelly, leaning on relief. They make me sick.” David forgot to be tactful. “Future Farmers don’t,” he retorted indignantly. “There’s no industry in the country has had such a tough time these last years as agriculture. But you’ll find precious few Future Farm- ers on relief.” “That so?” Again the words were a challenge but there was a pleased note in them. She had liked rather than resented David’s indignation. “If you don’t want favors, what brought you here?” she finished gruffly. David told her of the proposed plan for the unwanted burros. If she felt relieved as the sheriff had in finding a graceful way out of a difficult situation, she gave no evidence of it, merely commenting, “That father of yours isn’t altogether a fool.” “He certainly isn’t,” David retorted with spirit. This woman kept him in a continually shifting state of emo- tional response that was decidedly uncomfortable; 46 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH especially when her own poise remained completely unperturbed. “My own Abe,” she was continuing, “was as bad at following after crazy schemes as your father is. Only my Abe usually ended up by making money out of his. That was my doing, though, not his. Abe Herstan was the kind of a fool a woman could manage. I knew from the start that Jim Chisholm wasn’t.” The remark seemed entirely irrelevant. This time she had stopped at the end of the furrow, letting horse and plow stand idle, while she foraged with a gnarled and grimy hand among the voluminous folds of her long skirt, as if in search of a pocket. Presently the hand emerged, holding a folded paper. She opened the folds and held the paper out toward David, who moved forward to take it. “That really the way it is?” she queried, her gaze focusing on the boy in shrewd appraisal. He lost consciousness of her scrutiny in surprise at what he saw on the paper. It was a diagram of the irrigated fields and pastures of Winding Ranch, showing his and Neal’s plan for a four-year crop program. Where could Mrs Herstan have got it? From only one source, he felt sure. Alex Arkins. Had Mr. Arkins gone to Maggie Herstan to try to obtain for him and Neal the security they could not get from their own father? If so, had he succeeded? Not likely, since he had said nothing about it. It would not be unlike Mag- gie, though, to exact secrecy. Meanwhile Maggie was adding a sharp query, “Are you going to have water enough to manage it?” QUEER MAGGIE HERSTAN 49 lished in the Draw, its sole owner? It would be like her, David knew. . But why, then, had she mentioned those Karakuls to him, David Chisholm, at all? Here, as in every situation in which one encountered Maggie Herstan, there were inconsistencies. There was the remark she had made to David after the speaking contest: “What do you two young Chisholms mean, letting that young upstart beat you out?” And there was that recent moment of sympa- thetic comradeship between them which had surprised David. Plenty of people said, though, that Maggie Herstan was not above being a “double-crosser,” that she some- times found a keen delight in being a successful one. She had told him to go ahead with his spring work. Why? Because she was interested enough in his seed corn experiment to be willing to let him see it through? If so, for whose sake? No use to ask. There was nothing for him to do but obey her bidding and hope for the best. Yet he found himself driving homeward with far less lightness of heart than he had had when he had come. "‘% / Chapter V MUT’S LOST CHANCE lDAvID’s report of Maggie Herstan’s reference to Karakul sheep and of her having “put Mut Lamb on to them” brought surprisingly little response from Neal. He was too absorbed in getting ready to drive up to his father the burros he had rounded up from the vicinity of Wagon Rest. Since David could not be spared from the ranch, Neal had asked Mut Lamb to go with him. “Even after that fence building?” David had de- murred. “No sense in remembering that. Since it all came to nothing, the joke’s really on Mut.” Then he added sug- gestively, “May have another joke on him, too, before long.” 50 MUT’S LOST CHANCE 51 There were fifty-six of the burros all told. Neal and Mut were gone several days. It was the kind of outing Mut loved. He was a natural mountain man, always at his best in the life of the open wilds. The delay his absence meant in his performance of spring work at home troubled him little. To be back in time for the district speaking contest was his only concern. He did get back in time and he won the contest. When the report of Mut’s second success came, Neal commented to Dave, “The situation’s going well. Now, if he can only win the state contest, he’ll get a good trip to Utah this spring to compete in the regional.” David’s pride forbade his showing pique about this puzzling statement, even when Neal added half apolo- getically, “We don’t want him having it in for us any more than we can help, Dave. A Utah trip will set him up—he’ll have it over us there, all right.” Only after both Neal and Mut had come home from the state Future Farmer convention at Fort Collins did David fully understand what had been back of Neal’s remarks. The two boys did not come back together. Mut came first, riding past Winding Ranch not only without stopping or calling out a greeting, but even without so much as a glance toward the house. This was a strange performance, especially after he had won the state speaking contest. “Must be sore about some- thing,” David concluded. “Maybe he’s jealous of Neal’s election.” News travels fast in these days of telephones and radios. Already David was proudly aware that Neal had been elected state president of the Future Farmers - . 1 1 1 ._. ~ .-.--F - - I ¢ 'r | \ I 1 1 . i r l | . 5 5 5 I ..‘ 1 0 l l '* '!.‘;i -,-T2’-L1“. rt -.. 5% nil ~ .—_"~ ~.-.~..~; 52 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH of America. The position would bring work, responsi- bility and opportunity for just the sort of experience Neal craved: traveling widely throughout the state organizing new chapters, stimulating sluggish ones, pre- senting to Future Farmers everywhere the problems the chapters of the state had in common, and leading in their solving. And it would be his duty to help inspire in all members strict allegiance to the ideals for which the organization fundamentally stood: hard practical work and a self-reliant farming program, cooperation, honesty, manhood and morality. It meant, too, the surety that Neal would be one of the state’s two oflicial delegates next October to the annual Future Farmer national convention, held in Kansas City. Not all of Neal’s elation on his arrival home, how- ever, was due to his new office. Much of it was due to the man who accompanied Neal and Alex Arkins. The three drove up the Draw that sunny spring morning in the stranger’s beautiful new Buick sedan. David, busy at the thorough daily cleaning he al- ways gave to the enclosed, wire-floored yards where he kept his young poults, paused in his work and walked forward in surprise to await the car’s approach. It had turned off the Draw road through the entrance gate and was pulling easily up the steep grade into Winding Ranch’s barnyard. The house door slammed in the distance behind him and he heard the house gate click. Soon Valley’s light-moving, impetuous little figure was beside him. “We must be getting distinguished,” she giggled, “having a new car like that visit us. Hard on if i .._- v ' -‘.-_5 -sf-'_-f_''-1..'f_-T='i"=":’_ _ ‘ . MUT’S LOST CHANCE 53 it, coming up that awful road. That’s fit only for cars like ours.” As always David shrank from the open mention of anything to the discredit of Winding Ranch. The shining car did make everything about the ranch look startlingly shabby. More than ever did he realize how badly the old house needed paint and how the roof he and Neal had repaired, and the new porch floor boards and new bottom step they had put in, emphasized that fact. He saw Neal cast a disparaging glance over the place as he jumped from the car and held the door open for Alex Arkins to follow. But it was on the driver of the car that David was centering his attention. Ignition turned off and the key in his pocket, the driver, too, had stepped from the car and paused to look around. “So this is the place,” he said pleasantly. He was a man of average height but powerful build. The sturdy independence of his bearing, the deep tan of his face, the athletic freedom of his movements, as well as the careless wearing of his well- made city clothes, stamped him unmistakably a West- erner. Neal introduced him to David and Valley as Mr. Deane, manager of the Fort Collins branch of the Western America Karakul Company, whose central business headquarters were in Denver. " The man turned a cordial but keenly appraising look upon David, while Neal took a step backward to whisper to Valley, “Go rustle the best dinner you can get. And don’t waste any time about it.” “I’ll run up after Winifred. She’ll be glad to help me.” l . I M ‘C . I 4" 1,‘ Q ‘.. 1% .1; ‘ll-i t'i""1gi' f.fi1’jZ§F1‘a‘i‘tfi1IFQli I 1 ll H. . .. ‘ ,,"~iI'“‘ Q aauqqlj_ Lil. vs: t; .j. i i s . 1 . | ..= q._.-.-.—.O.—_z_?= -_ _ ' MUT’S LOST CHANCE as for David’s. “He understands that we have only a few head of domestic stock of our own, and conse- quently that our place not only needs stock badly but can care for it well—on reseeded, well-grassed foothill pastures in summer and in the pens in the home yards during the winter. He knows, too, that our grandfather went in pretty heavily for sheep that Dad lost later, so that we have enough old equipment in the way of sheds and pens that can easily be put into repair for Karakuls. It’s possible some kind of an agreement can be worked out between us. So if you’ll just show Mr. Deane everything, Dave——” Neal turned to the visitor. “We’re both Future Farmers here, of course. But, as I told you, my brother’s older than I am; graduated from the high school voca- tional agriculture course a year ago. He’s at home work- ing on the place all the time now, and so, the head boss. He’s been that, really, ever since his 4.H Club days. He had to take his high school work slowly, only a few courses each year. So he’s a pretty experienced man.” David felt dazed. Why hadn’t Neal prepared him for this? The answer was easy. Because of Horace Lamb. Even more, perhaps, because of Maggie Herstan, who had first put Mut “on to” the chance at these Karakuls. As for Neal’s designating him as the “real boss” of Winding Ranch, if in one way it was true, in another, it was sheer farce. What about Dad? And what about Maggie Herstan? Had Neal been as honestly candid with this Mr. Deane about Maggie Herstan as he evi- dently had been about Dad’s complete failure as a rancher? Did the Karakul company know that in enter- -_ P..,. .-. .,.qn ......._‘4 I ll I I ‘J 11;} 11*»- . .11 '1 :1 !.s5*= arr-a iii, »!m rm “'m TI. .1‘. ~. -' ' i Biihfll If__lj’ '. '.. --_ I. -i 1., ii. ¢,; w. vs :53. I 56 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH ing into a contract with the Chisholm brothers, it would be placing its valuable purebred breeding stock on a ranch that might at any moment be snatched from the occupants? David felt somewhat reassured by Alex Arkins’ at- titude. The teacher was unmistakably sympathetic to the whole situation and be certainly knew to the last detail the entire Chisholm situation. If he approved-— David shook off dismay and doubt to rise to the demands of the occasion, and the four set out together on an in- spection tour of the ranch. When the visitor drove away again that afternoon, there was not much about the place he did not know. David had liked the way Mr. Deane’s few questions probed to the depths of things and the way his eye took in'details. He liked even more the man’s intelligent understanding of all Winding Ranch’s possibilities. It had awakened a sympathetic admiration in the boy that had loosened his tongue and made him talk with a full candor underlain by eager hopes. And plainly the man had liked David. Once Neal had overheard him say quietly to the agriculture teacher, “That lad’s all you said he was, Arkins. He’s the sort I’m looking for.” The result of the day’s business was a contract be- tween the Chisholm brothers of Winding Ranch and the Western America Karakul Company of Denver. David and Neal were to be jointly responsible for a year’s care of a flock of one hundred and fifty Karakul sheep. It was an experiment, yet no light undertaking, for these animals were considerably more valuable than most farm animals. Neal accepted the responsibility S 8 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH through Mut. Everybody knows that when the band- stand view of any farm enterprise fades out, he flops.” Valley nodded her black curls in vigorous assent. “Perhaps,” she suggested shrewdly, “Mrs. Herstan wanted to get Karakuls started on a ranch that will be hers pretty soon.” Neal laughed. “If that’s the case, Winding Ranch may suit her purpose just as well as Phantom.” He be- came serious again. “Mut, of course, had to go to Mr. Arkins with the Karakul idea, after he’d got it from Maggie. To put it over he had to have Mr. Arkins’ recommendation and backing. Well, he didn’t get it. Not that anybody told me so in words; I just know it. Because, then, Alex Arkins dropped me a hint to see if I would be interested. And you can sure bet I was.” Nobody interrupted this time. Neal went on, “There were just two things I was afraid of. First, Maggie Hers- tan. I decided to risk crossing her. She’s pig-headed, but she’s clear-sighted. And Mr. Arkins would be sure to let her know that Mut Lamb’s record left him with- out a chance. Second, you, Dave. I was afraid that plague-taken Scotch conscience of yours might think we were double-crossing Mut. Well, we aren’t. He got a complete turndown before we even entered the race. I know because Mr. Arkins told me l\/Ir. Deane asked to see the complete project record of every boy in Wagon Rest’s Future Farmer chapter. And Mr. Deane didn’t just look at those records, either; he studied them. When he got through, the only boys’ records he showed any interest in were yours and mine—above all, yours. And so we got the chance no other Wagon Rest fellow i‘\ Al\ F-=5? si \ \ / .\-'T§**’.il as ) 4vD( 4 “I C bapter VI BAA, BAA, BLACK SHEEP VI[:>’vo weeks later the Karakuls arrived. When the stock car containing them was switched off to the sid- ing at the Wagon Rest railroad station near the unload- ing chute, the town learned promptly of the arrival and appeared on the scene primed with curiosity and gossip. By this time most people knew about the new sheep: whence they came, what they were, where they were destined to go, and why. Comments flowed back and forth plentifully among the onlookers. “Some nerve those Chisholm kids have got. Crazy as their dad, evidently.” “Can’t be satisfied with plain farmin’ like the rest of us. Got to try some new, high-falutin’ scheme.” 60 BAA, BAA, BLACK SHEEP 61 “Sure to go smash, too, sooner or later, just like their dad’s schemes always has.” A stocky farmer, known throughout the countryside for his kindly volubility, led the refutation. “Don’t you believe it. Them kids has a training their dad never had; it keeps their heads screwed on tight and looking straight ahead. They’re Arkins’ prize pupils. He doesn’t let ’em do any rumiing ofl after crackpot notions. He keeps their plans centered on the home farm, and the home neighborhood. Helps them figure out what’s best for ’em. What’s more, them Chisholm kids ain’t one bit afraid of work. No squeal out of them about a forty- hour week.” ' “That’s right,” a lanky, awkward man agreed. “Take that young Dave. At it early and late on that old, run- down place, pulling it back to something like. Yet he ain’t all for himself. He ain’t much for oflerin’ gab, but he’s always willing to talk over what he’s trying to do with any fellow that’s interested. Always glad to learn, too, what the other fellow has to learn him. A few more kids like him in this here valley——” “Like him?” a sour-faced, slouching man cut in con- temptuously, to the obvious approval of numerous hangers-on in the crowd. “A Future Farmer, eh? Stand- ing for cooperation, personal honor, and a common spirit of helpfulness to all of us hereabouts? Looks like it, I must say. Why, the idea of getting these Karakuls at all belonged first to young Lamb. Then his two nearest Future Farmer neighbors got wind of it and deliberately stole the notion, shoving him completely out in the cold while they put it over for themselves. . I.’ .,; 13 I | > Ia lul Q $5 L LILJA It Dun ii‘ 5 '3 lf; .3: .'.._...2.,;**_‘. - “- 791':-' .2-'. T i nu H uni v I2 -2 I ‘.- his .;‘ :0 - ll i F 62 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH Yeah—a few more kids like that in this here valley-” Although sneers of this kind were destined to be re- peated widely in the days to come, they were inter- rupted now by comments along another line of attack. “Whether the Chisholm kids are crooks or not, there’s one thing they sure-are. And that’s fools. Wasting their young lives on property they ain’t got anything like a good hold on. Wonder what old Maggie thinks about their gall?” “That’s her business,” a gruff voice interjected from behind the group of gossipers. The men broke apart. They might have known Maggie Herstan would be promptly on hand at a scene like this. The sour-faced, slouching man turned to her propitiatingly. “Ever heard of sheep like these before?” “Sure have. As every farmer in a dry grazing country like these hills around should.” She stalked away nearer to the scene of unloading without further explanation. Had she deigned to do so, she might have told the onlookers many things, things that David had come to know well from his study and reading this last week. He had learned that Karakuls are a breed of sheep intro- duced into this country within the last few years. Hardy, desert-bred, they thrive on short-grassed moun- tain range where cattle or other sheep cannot. The strain these sheep came from was shipped over from Bokhara in West Central Asia from a place called Kara- kul Valley. Hence their name. That is why, too, the valuable fur they furnish for women’s coats is called Persian lamb. - . The Western America Karakul Company owned I 41 ‘ii BAA, BAA, BLACK SHEEP 63 the parent flock. It had chosen this section of the United States in which to build up its herd of high-grade and registered breeding stock. From this herd it had already begun to sell numerous head to individual farmers to start the industry on their own. Instead of explaining any of this, Mrs. Herstan worked her way through the crowd to a point near the Chisholm boys. Alex Arkins was with them. Mrs. Her- stan’s shrewd eyes could not fail to notice David’s un- hurried management of the worried Karakuls as they filed and crowded down the unloading chute into the waiting pen. Nor to note how quiet the boy was and yet how alert and quick to act. There was in him a steadiness the sheep seemed to sense and rely upon. She saw David glance in annoyance at surrounding specta- tors, pressing too close. There was that in his face which said, behind a cloak of affability, “Well, look your fill, and then clear out, will you? We aren’t going to start to drive these nervous sheep home through any such crowd as you.” Almost as if she read his thought, Mrs. Herstan brushed brusquely past the boy, remarking, “I’ll whip- lash the whole bunch of gawpers out of your way, so you boys can get at your driving.” She set about the task at once. “Get along there. An empty right of way belongs to these sheep. No balling them up, either. Here, turn into sheep yourselves and follow me. I’ll be the lead ewe.” Maggie was as good as her word, clearing a wide passage for the nervous new arrivals and their drivers. Did her behavior indicate sympathy for the Chisholm I: F , 4;_-;niu-;‘u::: nut in alauai x _ :'_'..__'.'. I;-I... .-. -. --. e ~ In ii 1 .11 I iii Il- ,i %a'i'iii=bi‘ Tai'{a1 mi 3'1? TF- .u- ‘in "''!5i Z1‘; .‘1 I ' 1 I I‘ ..... ‘ 1 64 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH boys in their new undertaking? Or was she again only seeking to mystify the crowd as to what her attitude really was? As usual with Maggie Herstan, one person’s guess about her purposes was as good as another’s. Once safely trudging along the wide country road, the nervousness of the Karakuls vanished. As long as they could graze along the roadside, they appeared un- aware that they were still objects of curious observation and comment from the sidelines. Genuinely interested stragglers from the station crowd persisted in following them for some distance. Chief among these was a chunky, friendly, voluble man who, apparently, had acquired considerable information about Karakuls that he was eager to impart. He poured it forth importantly whenever oppor- tunity offered. “Raised for their fur more than their wool. Plenty of wool, though. But they sure aren’t shaped to put on fat. Wouldn’t go very well for mutton.” “The lambs are mighty pretty. Such black coats, so tight-curled, and so shining glossy even through all this dust. Too bad the ewes don’t keep that black color and glossy curl. Only a few really black ones among them; instead, about every shade of brown down to light gray. And instead of curling up tight like the lambs, their wool looks awful coarse to me.” “It’s mighty long, though. Gets silky again, they say, in manufactured products. Used a lot for Persian rugs.” “And they use the skin of them cute little young lambs for Persian lamb coats?” “Got to be younger than these. These are to be raised 66 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH H Nonsense. These creatures are too queer to get run off. Could be traced too easy.” “Well, they’re purebreds—registered breeding stock, every one of them ewes and lambs. Wouldn’t see me lettin’ my kid take over such responsibility—too risky. Regular Chisholm performance, I call it. Shows these kids has sure got their dad in ’em.” “Always catty jealous for that kid of yours, aren’t you, Hank?” the voluble man retorted slyly. “Ever strike you he might show up better alongside other kids if he had a little stiffer example of hard work in his own dad?” The gloomy-faced man went on, “Wonder what old Maggie feels about the Chisholm kids putting stock again on those reseeded hills. Can’t tell me she hasn’t been having her eye on ’em.” None of the drivers overheard this talk, which lasted for only a short distance beyond the town. Long before the little cavalcade of narrow-faced, fat-tailed sheep had turned up into the rutted road that led up Old Woman’s Draw, spectators had ceased to follow. But waiting in Winding Ranch’s barnyard were two others, Valley and Winifred. “Oh, the darlings! The darlings!” Valley was all en- thusiasm for the little lambs, keeping so nervously close to their mothers. Lending a helping hand wherever she could, chiefly in opening and closing pen gates at David’s bidding, her lively black eyes took in rapidly all the details of the flock. “All the grown sheep are ewes, aren’t they, Dave? Not a ram among them. And the ewes are hornless.” A J __.._..z=;-'¢9'‘-.". ...,_._.-'£“_:.'i;-- _.__—4_..-._a_. BAA, BAA, BLACK SHEEP “All Karakuls are.” David, who was running water into troughs, did not add that these ewes were already bred, would become mothers again in the late fall for the second time that year. The Karakul company would send registered rams to be put with the flock when they were needed. David was far less conscious of Valley’s continued exclamations than he was of Winifred’s quiet interest. It was as sincerely glowing in its way as Valley’s, yet at the same time, decidedly troubled. He knew why. For Mut Lamb to absent himself completely from a scene like this was unusual enough to be significant. Suddenly Neal called out, “Where’s that young brother of yours, Win? Sulking?” When Winifred hesitated in flushed embarrassment, Neal answered for her. “Good and sore, isn’t he? En- joying himself nursing his wrongs? Well, he hasn’t one darn bit of reason to be. If he had had vocational reports that were in the right kind of shape, he would have had as good a chance at these Karakuls as Dave or I. But a big business company like the Wester n America Kara- kul Company isn’t giving a chance like this to anybody who doesn’t show himself sure to keep the right kind of records. That’s why they wanted some young Future Farmer in the first place—Future Farmers keep the kind of records needed in a business like this, and when they don’t, though perhaps they haven’t done the kind-of work that makes it pleasant to have exact records to dis- play, they suffer for it. And you can just tell that young sulk so for me with my compliments. Not that he doesn’t know it already. He just isn’t game enough to I "Z?-" 5"1:-u”"iii ta an -- La ll 0 it ktllill nun 9 .._.: : tint 1- .1-O“nni' ..i shun A V.__..,“'_..‘ _ 'lL...l .- ..__i||\““lXl @325; Ila in , Iii |~ ..‘ - ~11 ra7' F |,< I-’ ‘ 3 .... -I--f I lg. ,5 .4 O ii pl > I II ' -xii‘-. mil 1 H I- ‘I”.4 ml. I I I i 1 I I 68 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH own up to his own shortcomings and take the loss that’s the result of them like a man.” David turned anxiously toward Winifred. To his gratification she seemed relieved rather than resentful. “I’m glad you told me that, Neal,” she said quietly. “I didn’t understand exactly before.” Her tone stiffened into sisterly defense, though, as she added, “Of course he’s dreadfully disappointed about losing the Karakuls. And you know how he al- ways is for a while when things go really wrong with him—has to go off some place where he can get some- thing different to think about and to get his feelings soothed down. Like a visit to the airport down the val- ley. Or a camping trip into the hills. He rode Old Sal ofi somewhere this morning and took a little pack, told Mother not to worry if he was gone several days.” Neal executed a long whistle. “At this time of year? After preparing and planting more acres than he ever has before?” “Well, he won’t need the amount of feed now he thought he would.” Defense sharpened in Winifred’s tones. “Since he won’t have any Karakuls to winter.” Neal’s laugh was more propitiating than his speech had been. “Maybe we won’t either. It all depends upon Maggie.” He dropped his assumed lightness to ask more seriously, “Who’s looking after his poults while he’s away? You?” “Yes. I wanted to. I’m going to do his herding for him, anyway.” “And I’m going to do yours, did you know it, Dave?” came from Valley. “Win and I have planned it all out. l - _ _ BAA, BAA, BLACK SHEEP 69 We’re going to herd together, on the hills where our two ranches join. That will leave Neal free to give him- self to the Karakuls, and you, to your field crops—above all, your beloved high altitude seed corn. There won’t be any risk of Win and me getting our turkey herds mixed so we can’t separate them easily when we need to. We’ll brand ours extra thick with the white paint streaks on the wings, and she and Mut theirs with the red.” David suddenly smiled in gratitude toward his sister. “You really mean, Val, that I can trust you to do a thoroughly responsible job of the herding?” “Of course I mean it. And of course I’ll be responsi- ble. How can I help being when I’m with such a respon- sible person as Winifred? She’ll be a good influence for me.” Valley burst into her merry, infectious giggle. “Anybody would be glad to be responsible to get a chance like that—to spend the summer outdoors, with Win, instead of in a prison of a house, doing house- work.” “We won’t let housework bother any of us,” David grinned. His concem about the summer’s division of labor was over. A far more serious problem was soon to assail him, however. The very next day Neal began taking the Karakuls out to graze on near-by foothills, bringing them back into the yard pens at night until they should come to know their new home well. The third morning he re-entered the kitchen not long after he had left it for early chores. Valley was washing the supper dishes she !—'I—“T‘ri1 I l Q ‘ l I. H 4 N ikiny KJI lll‘l.. _” .1 -“oil 13* 45-l 1:‘ ii Fwy a'3iZ'3'aT'’ ' . .. . i I ll; ,|u '3 4 I 70 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH had left the night before and David was mixing a warm mash for a newly freshened cow. “Dave,” Neal’s voice brought David to sharp atten- tion, “come on out here and see if I’ve forgotten how to count.” “Why?” But David was already with him. “Because there are ten fewer Karakuls in the flock than there were yesterday. Four ewes and six lambs are missing.” Valley, hands still dripping suds, darted in her broth- ers’ wake. “And we never even heard a dog bark. I saw an airplane flying over—awful high, though—yester- day.” i 9 1 I I I _ = .-j_-~ - F ///1 . ~§ Chapter VII A SECRET RECORDING VIEJREE days later the inference in Valley’s remark about the airplane seemed the only plausible explanation of the new sheep’s disappearance. Those three days were exhausting ones. Spring work laid aside, the boys first spread the alarm, then spent the hours in search, all to no avail. The ten Karakuls were gone, seemingly with- out leaving a trace. No one had heard or seen a strange truck anywhere in the neighborhood of Old Woman’s Draw. Any tracks or footprints had been largely elimi- nated by a heavy shower the night of the sheep’s dis- appearance. The narrow, rutted road up the Draw still held in many places imperfect imprints of dainty hoofs, but apparently all were those of entering Karakuls. Whether among them were a few headed in the opposite I I I I l '1-'..-I I \\.\‘”-‘:- \ \ ‘\X\X I III ii-'iii*.i'i'I'..i.\| i in 7-.'f3“‘;'*£i.‘ Infra? 1'1” ..; .. ,,.-... ~ J! "flu .. "_N_'‘. “J =.'='=;=_=..u_u.\ 1 1444 ,g3,,j.,;,:._La‘~.'-A um um LUM- Ifi ' i’ -' jun - -F-6% fa 71 72 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH direction, the partial washing of the rain made impos- sible to teH. On the third evening, after chores were done, three weary young Chisholms stood together gazing into the pen where the remaining Karakuls were settled for the night. The quiet dusky mass of sheep made a pleasing picture in the night light. The watchdogs, Mufti and Raven, were stationed on guard. But so had they been on the night of the loss; their failure to raise an alarm was one of the unexplainable features of the situation. “It would have been different if Guard were home,” David stated, as he had many times before. But Guard was with their father and the burros up at Camp Mule. None of the Chisholms would travel up that way again until after summer work was over. Of course, when the big snows of the high country began in the fall, someone would have to bring the burros down. Where to? The Chisholms had enough on their minds at pres- ent without facing that question. . Dispiritedly the young people walked toward the house to sit down on the back step in the deepening darkness and to go over again all the puzzling features of their loss. There was no one the boys knew in the whole neighborhood who could possibly have been the thief. Even if there were, he could never have suc- ceeded for long in hiding the stolen animals. All the out- lying country was still being searched as thoroughly as Winding and Phantom Ranches had already been. To be sure, numerous visitors had called at Winding Ranch during the two days after the Karakuls’ arrival, but they had been merely old acquaintances. Even the most envi- A SECRET RECORDING 73 ous and petty-minded of the lot were as incapable of real theft as long years of close contact had proved the entire Lamb family to be. There was no other way into the blind Draw except up the narrow three-mile road along the stream, and no ranch above the Chisholms’ except that of the Lambs’. “And that Mut Lamb still too baby-sore to show up —the only neighbor we’ve got who hasn’t lifted a finger to help search,” Neal commented. “How can he when he’s off somewhere camping?” Valley laughed. “Win’s worried, I think. Not about Mut, himself. But about his staying away to sulk when he ought to be home helping.” David’s mind was on a more important matter than Mut’s resentment. The time had come when letting Mr. Deane know of the loss could no longer be post- poned. “Probably he’ll take the Karakuls away from us.” He and Neal had already been over the situation thoroughly, agreeing there was only one solution for it so far as they were concerned. As Neal had said, “It’ll be pretty hard on us—smash our Karakul record all to atoms; and that means, of course, our Future Farmer of America records. But it can’t be helped. It’s square. And it keeps us from being quitters. We’ll carry out our con- tract. Care for the flock, graze them, feed them our grain just as we agreed. Our only pay for a good while to come will be the ten lost Karakuls. Tough as the loss is, it’s legitimately ours, and we’ll stand up to it.” Presently David stood up and spoke with decisive- ness. “Now you two kids run ofi to bed. I’m going in \ ‘ II- .s 4' n ¢ *4 .1! i 5 l ll-I ._.db 1 .- an ‘Mal .1 x s. _l‘ 2 .,. S I a ii 5 \ii\lI1"I§ n "¥'\ I? 74 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH to write to Mr. Deane and I want to be alone. It’s a honey of a job and I’ve got to do my best.” “All right, boss.” Obediently Valley sprang up and away, first stopping to reach up and rumple David’s hair and to drop a light kiss on the rim of his ear. It was her way of trying to cheer him up. Neal left reluctantly. He had yielded unwillingly to David’s insistence that writing to Mr. Deane was his business. David’s reasons, as he gave them to Neal, were that he was the older, and moreover, the Karakuls were to be his responsibility alone after Neal would leave for college in September. Sound reasons enough, but David had another. One he had no intention that Neal should suspect, much less know. It concerned a decision that it had taken him considerable struggle to reach. He meant to act on it irrevocably tonight. Hard as writing that letter to Mr. Deane was going to be, carrying out the decision he had made in regard to its content was even harder. That was why, even after he was seated alone before his grandfather’s desk, he waited so long before begin- ning to write. Just how detailed should the letter be? He decided to make it brief and to the point. It was the account in his project record book that must be worked out in careful and complete exactitude. Neal would expect to see the letter. Of the project record account, revealing the sacrifice David was making, Neal must not have the slightest suspicious inkling for months to come. Such secrecy could be managed in only one way—with Alex Arkins’ full cooperation. That would not be any too easy to get, David knew. Well, . l 76 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH in a kind of accomplishment that he cared, beyond any- thing else, to achieve. Well, he could not have the de- gree and that was that. For Neal wanted it, too. More than that, to accomplish his life ambition, Neal must have it. With half the Karakul loss scored against his record, Neal’s almost certain chance at receiving it next fall would be jeopardized. Such a risk was too great to take. The loss must be recorded as David’s and David’s alone. But no one, least of all Neal, must know about it until it was too late to change the season’s filed and endorsed Future Farmer records in the national office at Wash- ington, D.C. Alex Arkins, of course, would have to know. No Wagon Rest boy’s record was legitimate without his endorsement. Moreover, he would have to help out in managing matters, see to it that David’s rec- ord was officially and irrevocably in at Washington be- fore Neal’s was submitted. Otherwise at the end there might be no managing Neal. Without more delay David opened a desk drawer, took out his agricultural project record book and his farm accounts ledger, and on both recorded the entire Karakul loss as his alone. This done, he restored the books to his private drawer, locked it and put the key on the ring in his pocket. Neal would be surprised at the locked drawer, but he would be too proudly sensi- tive to speak of it. Secrecy in regard to project details was unlike the open and aboveboard habits of all Future Farmers, even one as naturally reserved as David. Other Wagon Rest fellows would probably look upon his new silence as unfriendly and queer, like as not would _~ T- A SECRET RECORDING 77 let their tongues wag among themselves with suggestive insinuations about it. Well, it couldn’t be helped. He would just have to ignore their remarks. David went to bed at last. He must be up again before dawn. Tomorrow, unfortunately, had to be another day away from the ranch. He and Neal were scheduled to take part in a grange meeting in the next county, there to give to those farmers who were ready to start planting a demonstration of the seed corn selection and breeding that had helped the Chisholm boys to win their State Farmer degrees. Also, David had somehow to manage to get in a talk alone with Alex Arkins be- fore he and Neal left town. By riding into town on horseback and leaving Neal to finish the home chores and follow in the jalopy, he managed his call upon Alex Arkins, who was still at the breakfast table. Decisively he laid the case before the teacher. Just as David feared, Mr. Arkins balked. “I can’t okay that, Dave,” he stated firmly at first. But in the end he yielded, although reluctantly, to David’s un- answerable arguments. “Those Karakuls are really my project. Going off to college as Neal is in the fall, he would never have found it worth while to start in on them at all, except as a joint responsibility he could turn over to me when he leaves. More than that, he gave up his chance in the speaking contest so that Horace Lamb might be coddled and pacified to where he wouldn’t resent too much my getting the stock he couldn’t. The future success or failure with those Karakuls doesn’t depend on Neal; it depends on me. That’s why it simply wouldn’t be fair ‘ Ila .'3 2|: |2 5 it 1?!‘ I - Hr: 5%; II’ 61:0 In ni I nah : -la lllrlkli Au nun n-In. . fun}: . ‘ . -1 $4 1 '7 . . 1 78 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH 7 7 to chalk up any of the loss we ve just had against Neal s record. Besides, it would be practically a knockout blow to him. Why, with that loss against his record he might even lose his chance at winning the American Farmer degree at Kansas City next October. Think what that would mean, Mr. Arkins, not only to Neal, but to Colo- rado’s Future Farmer standing. You told me, yourself, that Neal was almost the only Colorado boy who had a clear-cut chance this year at the American Farmer degree.” “Except yourself, Dave,” the teacher asserted gravely. “With me it doesn’t matter as it does with Neal. Without that degree, all hope of advancement in the Future Farmers of America would be over for him. He wouldn’t be eligible to a single higher office where he could get the training and right kind of experience for the agricultural leadership he cares so much about. Look at the way he’s worked to fit himself for it, too, ever since he left his 4H Club days behind. As for me, I don’t care the same about it.” David looked the teacher straight in the eye, uttering the lie without flinching. “My dream’s a different one that the loss won’t hurt so much. You know perfectly well what it is. Just trying to bring our old place back a little. Make it presentable again as a snug, self-supporting farm and ranch home near Happy Wagon Valley.” The last words jolted both the teacher’s and David’s thoughts away for a moment from the subject at hand. Into both minds popped the inevitable query, “Bring it back—for whom?” What Maggie Herstan’s real attitude was toward the A SECRET RECORDING 79 Chisholm acquisition of the Karakuls, and the conse- quent loss, not even Alex Arkins had any idea. She could scarcely have failed to learn of the loss, yet no one had reported hearing her mention it. “Well, Dave,” the teacher said finally, “if only folks could know about what is on your record sheets, it would certainly put a stop to their——” He broke off in self-conscious abruptness. “Talk,” David finished for him with a grin. “Don’t think I don’t know about that. Valley’s a master at gossip reporting.” He moved away to keep his rendezvous with Neal, his thoughts reverting to a talk he had had yesterday with Valley. “Do you know what a lot of folks are say- ing now, Dave?” she had asked. “That losing those Karakuls serves you exactly right because of the mean way you horned in on Mut’s chance at getting them. I heard some of the searchers say so. And one of them added in a nasty, sly way, ‘If he lost ’em.’ And it seems mostly you, not Neal at all, that they have it in for.” David’s eyes had lighted with their sly, quiet humor. “First time I was ever more popular than Neal among them.” But Valley had not been turned aside. “Popular!” she had exploded, then added, “It’s because Neal talks to them more about things than you do. Anybody could have told the Karakuls’ disappearance was a surprise blow to him. How anybody dares to think it wasn’t to you, too—-” She broke off vindictively. “It makes me so fighting mad——” “Don’t let it, Val,” David had soothed her. “You 80 SHADOW OVER VVINDING RANCH know what Mother used to say: ‘Gossip is the food of little minds.’ She always claimed that talk like that wasn’t worth noticing, that the only way to meet it effectively was to ignore it. She was always telling me that in a small neighborhood like this, where people know each other’s affairs altogether too well, there was sure to be a lot of talk going on among idle tongues. But she claimed, too, that most of what they say doesn’t really mean much even to the spiteful folks who say it. It’s a kind of surface froth that boils up in them and evaporates in the cooking, while all the while under- neath there’s a lot of mighty sound, substantial sniff that can be counted on to last.” Thus staunchly had David voiced, far more emphati- cally than he felt it, the philosophy which his mother had tried to instill in him to protect his boyish sensitive- ness against the community’s good-natured contempt and the give-and-take of popular jokes concerning his erratic and unsuccessful father. Was the day never going to come, he thought now with a sort of desperation, when he wasn’t going to have to try to lean harder on that philosophy than a fellow should ever need to lean? At home again that night after the demonstration trip, the Chisholm boys learned that Mut had come back while they were gone. Days went by, however, and they saw nothing of him but passing glimpses, chiefly on the Draw road. By the end of the week it was plain that he was deliberately avoiding them. Nor did his attitude change throughout the whole summer. 82 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH kuls. The arid grazing foothills had stayed green with succulent grasses throughout the hot summer months. The bred ewes had thrived and grown fat, and the lambs had frisked and played happily. Thanks to Neal’s un- ceasing vigilance, losses had been less than was normally to be expected on the range. Twice only had lambs be- come the prey of bobcats. Both times bullets from Neal’s rifle had got the marauder. Neal had rarely left his charges. This meant that at times of pressure in other work, such as alfalfa cutting and winter wheat harvesting, David was forced to hire more outside help than usual. Yet once in a while Neal would lend his assistance, pasturing his flock for a day on closely adjacent foothills. At such times he would spend at least part of the night at home. Then he and David would sit side by side on the low front porch of the ranch house talking over their plans. Often Valley joined them. During the early summer she and Winifred had herded their turkeys on near-by range only in the daytime, bringing their flocks back toward nightfall to the ample, wire-floored turkey yards and roosting houses. Not until winter wheat harvest was over did they establish their turkey camp on the more distant hilly fields. Valley was maturing this summer. Under the influ- ence of Win’s constant companionship she had more and more assumed real responsibility with the turkey raising. It meant plenty of work, too. David had crowded what help he could into his long, labor-filled days. The rare evenings on the porch were his only times of relaxation. Now and then their pleasure was MUT CALLS AT LAST 83 heightened for him by Winifred’s quiet presence, when together with her mother she would join the three Chis- holms for a restful half hour before bedtime. Mrs. Lamb was a tall, thin woman, as quiet of marmer as her daughter, but in a different way. Winifred’s quiet was always alert; back of it lay the warmth and eager- ness of serious-minded youth, interspersed with fre- quent gleams of shy humor. Her mother’s quiet was that of a woman who was worn, tired and discouraged. Yet the warmth of motherly feeling was there, kindling now and then to surface flames which shone out over the entire group of young people, all of whom tacitly un- derstood that it was for Mut those flames reserved their fiercest burning. As for Mut, himself, not once all that summer did he join them on the porch. At first the young Chis- holms would inquire for him, but the way Winifred kept silent and Mrs. Lamb arose in apologetic defense of her absent son soon made such inquiries cease. No- body even mentioned any more how queer it was that such near neighbors as the Chisholms and Mut could manage practically never to see each other. Mut was certainly carrying out his unmistakable desire of avoid- ing all contact with the Chisholms. Often, too, he really was away from home. Although he did not neglect his farm work altogether, he did it spasmodically and in the usual halfhearted fashion, seizing every opportunity he could find for fishing trips into the mountains. Very often summer fishermen, coming from cities for moun- tain camping outings, wanted someone to guide them into hidden mountain lakes or to trout streams well off I I I 84 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH the traveled roads. For such work, which he enjoyed, Mut would hire out for any pay he could get. One moonlight evening after the departing figures of Winifred and her mother had vanished up the Draw, Valley, lingering on the steps with her brothers, com- mented, “Mut’s home tonight, all right. But he’s still ashamed to come near us. That shows how guilty his conscience 1s.” From Neal came the retort she had invited. “Guilty? For what?” “The lost Karakuls, of course.” She spoke with pro- vocative relish. “Nonsense. Mut may be a sorehead and a sulk. But he’s no thief.” “Oh, I don’t mean he stole them. But I think he was mad enough those first days to carry his spite work pretty far. Do you suppose, for instance, he might have tipped off some strange pilot down at the airport about where some valuable Karakul sheep were to be found? You know how he’s always loved to hang around the airport; it’s such a grand place to get an audience among hangers-on and gossips.” “Nonsense,” chorused her brothers again, while Neal added in amusement, “You need hobbles on your imagi- nation, Val.” The scom faded out of Valley’s tone as she admitted, “Of course, Mut’s not really such a mean kid as that. That’s why, if he did have a hand in anything of the sort, he’d be mighty sorry and ashamed about it by this time, even if he is too big a coward to own up. Maybe that’s why he keeps out of our way. Or maybe he’s MUT CALLS AT LAST 85 afraid one of us might try to worm his guilty secret out of him, and that’s why he’s cold-shouldered Winding Ranch this summer ahnost as much as Maggie Herstan has.” She gave her black head a saucy toss. “I for one miss him just as little as I do her.” “Do you mean,” David grinned in teasing mockery, “that you think he’s hobnobbing with her?” “Mercy, no,” she laughed. “Why should he? Any- thing but.” Winding Ranch, however, had numerous other sum- mer visitors, chiefly interested ranchers who came to see the Karakuls. The boys always welcomed them gladly. It was part of their obligation to Mr. Deane to convince men who owned grazing range that Karakuls were de- sirable stock to purchase. Often Alex Arkins brought such callers. Often, too, he visited the ranch to watch the growth of David’s corn. Largely because of that corn, David suspected, the teacher more and more regretted his promise not to divulge what he knew of David’s locked-away project records. On several occasions Alex Arkins brought with him Seth Norton, the sandy-haired, dynamic little county agent, to inspect that corn. On their last visit, only a week ago, Mr. Arkins had said, “Don’t forget to give Dave an application blank, Norton, to fill out and send in to the laboratory at the state agricultural experiment station, so that he can get this corn ofiicially registered as seed. He hopes to sell most of it as seed to a lot of the valley folk next season. Let one or two of them come to look at this field and he won’t have any trouble finding buyers.” 86 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH “And I’ll send him plenty more,” came the enthusi- astic response, as Mr. Norton began examining the high, straight rows of strong thrifty stalks, heavily marked with filling ears. From farther up the row, his voice came back again, “Going to select from the field, of course?” David answered perfunctorily, “Medium-sized, uni- form ears, from the healthiest stalks.” Proudly he added, “I hope to begin next week.” And for the past several days every available minute he could find for the task had been devoted to the select- ing. Not often did he allow himself a rest of a few min- utes to study the sky. Now, as he did so, he decided it looked like more rain. There had been an unprecedented amount of rain this summer. Usually Old Woman’s Creek was bone dry by this time of year. Now it was still almost bank full. So, too, was the old reservoir, often practically drained by August. Except for worry about those old reservoir banks holding, David had been thankful for the sum- mer’s abundance of water. Irrigating had been a real pleasure. He had been able to do it without thought of stint at just the right time and in the right quantities. There had been no occasion for contention with Mut over the Lambs’ using more than their share and conse- quently leaving both ranches with scant supply for late season needs. It had suited David very well indeed that Mut held himself aloof this summer! For the next two or three harvest weeks, though, David admitted, he wished the rain would stop. Two cuttings of alfalfa were already attacked but the third 88 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH Nevertheless experimentation had gone on. Patience and intelligence and work were begimiing to win out through cooperation between growers and the state agricultural experiment station. Alex Arkins’ father had been interested in the problem. He had even grown a fair-sized crop on his own valley farm from seed he had sent to Minnesota to secure, known as Minnesota 13. David had obtained his first seed from Mr. Arkins. There was a good chance, Mr. Arkins believed, that through crossbreeding there could be developed a variety of corn really adapted to Colorado’s climate and Colorado’s need. Such was the problem that had appealed to the young Dave. There had been a challenge in the very difficulty of working it out that he liked; he wanted to have a hand in it. He had been only a shy, industrious young 4H Club boy in those days, rarely voicing his dreams to anyone, scarcely acknowledging them even to him- self. But when he entered high school under Alex Arkins’ teaching, David’s reserve began to break and his dreams to emerge into action. For years now he had worked toward the achievement of this very field of corn, preparing the soil carefully through a four-year rotation, the last crop of which had been alfalfa; enrich- ing it with manure of which Winding Ranch’s supply was all too meager. This year, he knew, he had a better field than even Alex Arkins’ father had ever had. Gone now was the fear that Maggie Herstan might not “hold off” until he could show results. He forgot, too, the often haunting fear that perhaps she might be MUT CALLS AT LAST 89 allowing him to continue merely for some sinister pur- pose of her own. Of course, the situation being what it was, there would be no technical dishonesty in her seizing for herself his own success. Carefully he dumped his now burdened sack at the end of the row. He could select no more for the pres- ent, he decided. Instead he would drive the wagon down to the field to gather up all the corn he had picked and carry it back to the drying shed before the shower broke. Somewhat later he was carefully stowing his load ear by ear on the drying racks of his own recent con- struction, so that the air could circulate freely about them and make the drying process steady and even. Thunder crashed over his head and he scarcely heard. Swift rain pelted noisily down in a great burst on the roof but he forgot to worry about it. It might be only a shower, after all, and in his present mood the sound of it became music to him. The roof and the whole shed was rainproof. It was rarely he took time off out of his industrious days to daydream but he felt like it now. To do it once in a while did a fellow good, he knew. It stimulated the blood and the spirit far better than the headiest wine. But like any stimulant, it must not be overused. Dad had overindulged in it until it had eaten into his steadiness of purpose, and weakened him to a state of irresponsible neglect. Was something of the same thing the matter with Horace Lamb? Perhaps, but Mut was a sulking baby, too, still nursing a grievance because he ilqniq 4-'. ....-..n-*1 V'-_..---.'_‘‘...._A_ 1 v O I I I l 90 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH hadn’t got the Karakuls. Queer that the thought of Mut should pop into his own head now. Suddenly he knew why it had. From somewhere up the Draw, near the place where Phantom and Winding Ranch boundaries met, Mut’s voice was coming faintly. Mut was evidently calling someone, each cry seeming to come from nearer by. The words grew more distinct. “Dave! Dave Chisholm! Whereabouts are you? Are you anywhere around?” The voice rang sharp with excited distress. David walked away from the shed. “Here I am. What is it?” He moved toward the other boy, whom he now saw plunging down the roadway along the streambed. Without waiting to come within speaking distance, Mut half-shouted, “Cloudburst—an awful one. Followed by big flash floods. Started up in that deserted mining country. VVhere our dads are!” “How do you know?” “Special news item. Over our radio. Just got it. Even the announcer was all stirred up. I’ve got to get there. I told Mother I would. I want your car, Dave. Ours won’t run. Anyway, we haven’t any gas.” “I’ll take you.” “All right.” Mut looked relieved. It was plain that he found the prospect of Dave’s companionship highly welcome. But if he realized it was a little queer in him to come first to Dave in the emergency, after his sum- mer’s behavior, he showed no awareness of it. His in- herent honesty came out, however, in a murmured protest, “Your dad’s safe enough. The Camp Mule and MUT CALLS AT LAST 91 those open valleys around it aren’t in the direct path of any flash flood stream. It—it—” the boy shuddered nervously, “started, they say, up at the head of Cub Canyon. That’s above the Angela mine.” David hurried his preparations. Mut hovered in his wake, pouring out nervous snatches of talk between lips that trembled over half-chattering teeth. “That an- nouncer said rain was pouring down in sheets over in that country. Out from a big black cloud that spread down over the Federal highway. The flood came down Cub Canyon first, filling it full, and it was only a minute before it reached the place where Juniper Creek joins it. From then on it wasn’t even a big roaring river any more, the announcer said. It was a wall of water tearing down into the canyon below over the Federal high- way—smashing everything—trees—summer cottages- whole resort towns—and-and—people.” David did not answer. There was nothing he could say. He knew the swift and deadly onslaught of flash floods. He took complete command, Mut obeying his orders with a willing alertness that David was to call to mind at a later time. Now, as he put away the wagon and team, got out the jalopy and closed up the barn and sheds, David scarcely noticed it. Mut, at David’s bid- ding, rode bareback up to the turkey camp to tell the girls he and Dave were leaving. Either Winifred or Val- ley would have to let Neal know about the situation so that he could bring the Karakuls down from the more distant home-range foothills where they were grazing to within easy distance of the ranch—near enough for him to take charge of the home chores. _-.__- .-‘“V %..lll£\[g C. var .,_ 4’ i_ .* _.4\ 4. \ /Yea: \ Q , Chapter XII A TRIUMPH IN CORN TIE next day when David called on Alex Arkins to tell him about the new responsibility he had assumed, he found the teacher at work trimming a sturdy locust hedge which fenced his back yard. Mr. Arkins con- tinued to clip vigorously, almost impatiently, while he listened attentively to David’s story of his rental of Phantom Ranch. But as soon as the boy had finished, the man whirled about, tossed the long-handled pruning shears away from him upon the ground, all his interest now cen- tered upon David. “Trust Mrs. Maggie Herstan!” he exclaimed. “She knows what she’s doing. She wants that old ranch put back into productive shape. So what 127 128 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH does she do? She rents it to the most famous young farmer in the whole county. Trust her to find out about what you’ve accomplished—even before you yourself know anything about it! Seth Norton planned to see you today—he wanted to be the one to tell you. But we can’t wait for Seth now.” Mr. Arkins threw an arm around David’s shoulders and began to walk up and down with him along the line of the hedge. “Dave,” he exulted, “do you know what you’ve done? You’ve raised the biggest and best crop of cor n ever raised in Wagon County! You’ve beaten every other farmer in this whole big river valley! In doing what? In producing a real crop of the grain this state has needed most in order to revive to success by moder n methods the stock raising which was and still is this country’s basic industry.” _ David was a little stunned. He felt as if he were listening to a prepared lecture, although he knew the teacher’s words were none the less sincere for all that. He wondered if Mr. Arkins had been mentally prepar- ing a talk to be given in town later and if, perhaps un- consciously, he was practicing it now upon the young man who had inspired it. Less rheiorically Mr. Arkins went on, “Stock raising in the old open Western style is doomed; we all know that. To continue to be a stock-raising country, we have to feed. That means we must raise our own grain. Up to a certain point we’re doing it. But corn has been a tough proposition. Now it won’t be any more. We can raise our own corn, sure enough. Not scanty, immature ears in small quantities, good for little but silage. But real A TRIUMPH IN CORN 129 corn, in a full-sized crop. And you, Dave, beyond all others, are the person who has proved we can do it! You are this year’s county champion corn producer! There won’t be a farmer organization or meeting in this region of the state, no matter how jealous some of its members may be of what you’ve done, that won’t want a seed corn selection demonstration from you and every detail of the story about how you have succeeded in doing it. No words can tell you how proud I am of ou!” Y Still David did not speak. He had been proud of his corn, knew that it was good, but this was success be- yond his’ dreams. He managed heartfelt words at last. “I guess you’ve a right to be proud. I’d never have done it, if it hadn’t been for what you’ve taught me.” David had never seen Alex Arkins so exuberant. As for his own spirit, it was soaring now above all thought of worry. Such news could not wait to be told. He drove homeward at unwonted speed, regardless of jolts, and drove the jalopy only a short distance up into the Draw’s roadway. He knew just where to find the girls. Only that morning they had established themselves in a perma- nent new turkey camp, located on a well-drained hill near the most remote boundary line between the two Draw ranches. The jalopy was boiling hard by the time _he reached the hill’s summit. He had no choice but to pause and let his engine cool. Then, after a few minutes, he started the jalopy over the slope and across an ex- panse of the feeding ground, setting up a prolonged honking as an expression of his mood. Response came WI éi ls H | Ii 5 ! l Z 130 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH even more quickly from the turkeys than from the girls. From every direction the birds ran toward the jalopy in their swaying fashion. Before Winifred and Valley could reach the car, it was surrounded by more than a thousand turkeys, their little round black eyes shining out from the bright blue-and-rose coloring of their small heads. David greeted the familiar scene with a delighted grin. As soon as he ceased honking, birds jumped to the rumiing boards, while here and there a bolder turkey arose in clumsy flight to alight on the hood. Renewed honking sent them off again. Meanwhile the girls had “shooed” their way toward David. Modestly he told them his news. Winifred received it with quietly shining satisfaction, Valley with outspoken rejoicing. “No doubt about your receiving the American Farmer degree at Kansas City this fall, Dave,” she exulted. “Too late for that,” he responded decisively, his ex- pression sobering. Valley, of course, knew nothing of the disastrous scoring against his record. If only those Karakuls hadn’t been lost! The reference to the Ameri- can Farmer degree dampened David’s mood more than he cared to let the girls see. He parted from them sooner than he otherwise would have done, leaving the jalopy behind him. To drive it up into the more rugged foot- hills where Neal was with the Karakuls was out of the question. Instead he rode bareback on Bones, the old white horse hobbled near the camp. There was no flaw in Neal’s reception of the cham- pionship news. He declared at once that he was not A TRIUMPH IN CORN 131 surprised, that he had expected it from the beginning. The leasing of Phantom Ranch was another matter. On the whole, he approved of that, too. Anyway, there never should have been more than one ranch up Old Woman’s Draw. The brothers seated themselves on a high, hummocky knoll for a few minutes while David outlined his plans. The one about the winter care of the burros brought forth from Neal chuckle after chuckle of admiration. Seizing David around the waist, he rocked his brother’s sturdy body back and forth upon the knoll. “Dave, you sly heady old fox, you. I’ll bet Maggie Herstan appre- ciates that stroke of genius. You’ve gotten even with her and Mut for building that fence. Don’t believe she’ll resent it, either. It’s too much a play with fate after her own heart. She’ll probably even forgive you for letting the Lambs stay on at Phantom Ranch.” Neal’s mirth sobered into his more usual manner of casual amusement as he added with bright-eyed curiosity, “How’d Mut take it?” “Blazed all over. Even tried to squirm out of going up to Camp Mule with you next week after the burros. Not that he actually said much. He was so hot he couldn’t. Couldn’t, anyway, before his mother and Winifred. I’m sure he thinks I’ve dealt him a dirty blow, well below the belt, getting him cornered before them like that.” “Think he’ll really fulfill his part of the bargain?” Neal was all speculative curiosity. David’s expression grew stern. “Mut knows that the Lamb family stays on the place only so long as he does. He’s an honest kid, too, you know, in his way.” 132 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH Neal arose from the knoll to send a dog in pursuit of a wandering ewe. His merriment had subsided. “I’m not at all sure I envy you your job, Dave,” he mused. “And I won’t be on hand this winter to help you with it, either. Or,” he began to chuckle again, “to enjoy it. I’ll have to take my full share of the fun going up and com- ing down from Camp Mule next week.” “Razzing Mut, I suppose. As if this sympathetic place we live in wouldn’t do plenty of that without your help.” But the remark was only halfhearted. Secretly David was regretting he would not be at hand to appre- ciate to the full the artistry of Neal’s sly thrusts at Mut, even to add an occasional penetrating touch of his own. / V05 If flit . /I,.\lr 01¢‘./_a\% l4IIh$\ * Chapter XIII THE MEANING OF A FIND Viljmnxs to Mut, whose sense of injury made him seek commiseration wherever he could find it, the news of David’s decision about the burros soon became widely known. The result was not all Mut had hoped for. Yet, although his mood did not soften, he no longer avoided the Chisholms and he did the work David as- signed him with surprising application. “Resentment’s a good spur,” David thought with a grin, not realizing how much Winifred had had to do with the spurring. It had happened one day when Mut, carrying a sack of feed up to the turkey camp after a trip to town, sought a moment alone with his sister to report an insult he had received in town. “Right to my 133 134- SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH face those blasted Chisholm burros were called ‘the Lamb Karakuls.’ I’ll be hanged if I go up to Camp Mule after those danged, good-for-nothing little mules on orders from Dave Chisholm.” Mut expected sympathy from his sister. Already from certain sources in town he had had more of it than was good for him. But Winifred’s response jolted him. “That’s nonsense, Horace. You’ve got to go. All of us have got to everything we can these days to hold up our end. Otherwise—and you might as well face it—we’d be accepting charity.” Mut had stared at her with snapping eyes. “Charity! From the Chisholms! With old man Chisholm a bigger down-and-out than our dad ever was! Dad always earned our living, at least, and——” “From now on,” Winifred had interrupted, “we’ve got to do it for ourselves—the way Dave Chisholm has been doing when we didn’t—and be mighty thankful for the chance he’s given us to do it.” Mut had glared at her without answering. The way some statements were forcing him to silence these days was making cruel demands upon his self-control. David was the worst offender. Only once had Mut attempted a spoken protest. “Why can’t those burros be left on Camp Mule this winter? They’re of no value to any- body, anyway.” The answer he received from David was so stinging in its accusations of cruelty and irre- sponsibility that his self-control broke down. “You’ll get your come-uppance yet, Dave Chisholm! I’ll help see to that! Already a lot of folks around town are wondering if you’re not altogether too clever to be THE MEANING OF A FIND 135 7 a comfortable neighbor. In the end it ll prove dangerous for you. You can bet your best boots on that! And an- other thing. They’re saying you’re so swell-headed about being county corn producing champion, it’ll let you do anything. Already there are folks in this valley so jealous-—” But David was no longer listening. He had walked away from Mut with a manner of unconcerned con- tempt. The next day Mut left for Camp Mule with Neal. - Not until after he had watched the boys ride away down the Draw did realization strike home to David that part of Mut’s spirit of rebellion toward the trip had been caused by fear. “But what on earth of?” David asked himself in amazement. Several days later, when Neal got home, David knew. David’s responsibilities were unusually heavy during those days. “This is the way it will be all the time after Neal leaves,” he often thought. He could not have man- aged had it not been for old man Perkins and his grand- son, Guy, who lived in an abandoned cabin near a small, unworked mine some distance beyond Old Woman’s Draw. The elder Perkins had been a sheep herder in younger years, and a mighty good one. Now his eyesight was growing dim. Guy was too careless on a monoto- nous job to be given much responsibility. Together, though, they made a helpful team in times of pressing need. During the few days Neal was away, the Kara- kuls, brought down to range near enough for David to manage a daily visit to them, were looked after by the two Perkinses. David himself was so busy at home that a, I 4 t" 11..-L‘ —---* 1! i I .:—‘_— .>.-1 f-F-7:11’:-_ la ii 136 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH it was four days before he could find time for a trip to Phantom Ranch to decide on just which range to place the returning burros for winter forage. As he rode home again on his rough-gaited bay horse, Cockleburr, his ear detected the sound of a strange truck coming up the Draw road from below. Presently a small truck chugged into view around a curve and came to a stop before Winding Ranch’s front gate. David rode forward to meet it, and swung off his horse. A hail from the driver’s seat, in Neal’s voice, ringing with triumph, had reached him. “Come here pronto, Dave, and see what I’ve got.” It was not Guard, seated beside him, upright on his haunches, to which Neal re- ferred. With a leap the dog was on the ground nuzzling close to David in delighted greeting. But David was peering at something through the side slats of the truck. The next instant he looked up sharply at his brother. “Whose are they? And where did you get them? ” But he had guessed the answer. His delight was promptly modified by the thought, “Too late.” The records of the year’s applicants for the American Farmer degree were by this time irrevocably filed in the executive offices of the Future Farmers of America at Washington, D.C. “Better so,” he hastened to try to assure himself. Such thoughts were only a flash of David’s consciousness. Outwardly he was listening to Neal. “Ours, of course. No other Karakuls anywhere in this section of the state. Where did I get them? Up in a little tucked-away valley near Camp Mule. With grand -. . ..-—-._—_._. .¢~ THE MEANING OF A FIND 137 old Guard here taking care of them for us. From the looks of him, he had no easy time of it, either.” Neal was excited. “Open the gate, Dave, will you? And shut it after us. Turn Cockle loose and jump on. We’ll haul the unloading chute out of the bar n and look after these ladies. They don’t look exactly like the rest of the flock, do they? Still, they’re only dirty and ragged; they’re really all right, I think. Look healthy, anyway. I didn’t dare take the whole trip home with them on a drive, though; they’re too near lambing time. So I rented this truck at the first place I could.” While the boys examined and worked with the Kara- kuls, Neal imparted his story in interrupted snatches. “Didn’t have a bit of trouble rounding up the burros. The horses we rode up to Camp Mule took right to the job. Only three burros were missing—surprisingly few, considering, if you ask me.” David nodded. He knew what Neal meant. These last weeks the Camp Mule stock had not had the protec- tion of Dad’s nearness, not even the man scent to hold ofl the approach of the natural dwellers of the wilds. Bears, both’ black and cinnamon, frequented the region, and, far more to be feared, the big mountain cat known in the Western country as the mountain lion. “Mut,” Neal laughed, “was disappointed the burro loss wasn’t bigger. Muttered that it would suit him fine if they were all lost. I didn’t let on I heard him. What did worry me was that there hadn’t been a sign of Guard anywhere around those burros. I whistled and called and couldn’t get any comeback but echoes. Mut didn’t help any. Acted as if he didn’t care whether the dog was 1 l I 4 1 l I -‘ ._ .‘ ‘ i 138 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH alive or not. That made me good and mad. I told him straight from the shoulder that we were going to find Guard before we left for home no matter how long it took us. You see, he was in an awful sweat to get going. “By that time we had the burros collected in the val- ley just below the Camp Mule mine. So I told Mut he could stay right there and keep those burros together while I hunted for Guard, that before we left we had to get Dad’s duds into packs for Flap and Apple to carry. So far Mut hadn’t lifted a finger to help with anything like that. “Up until then I hadn’t paid much attention to his sulkiness. I’d tried to razz him out of it. When that didn’t work, I razzed harder than ever; like a fool, I sup- pose, since it only made him worse. Of course, what I thought was the matter with him was that he was find- ing taking orders from a Chisholm hard to swallow. He told me more than once he was a better mountain man than you or I. At last I asked him why he didn’t prove it by finding what we were looking for. Of course, I meant Guard, but the way that speech made him look struck me all of a sudden as mighty funny. I tumbled then to the real answer to the riddle; he was afraid of something.” David nodded. “That’s what struck me the day you left home.” Neal went on: “But even later, when I got back to where Mut was, I wasn’t sure of what. I was too excited. I had found not only Guard, but the lost Karakuls. Mut was still there with the burros all ready to start out. And he had Flapjack and Dried Apple ready, too. He had THE MEANING OF A FIND 139 @ done a good job with their packs and I was mighty grateful to him for having got Dad’s things out of the cabin. I—I’d—well, I’d been dreading to do it, myself- put it off till the last, because—you know, Dave—with Dad gone now—never going to need any of those things aga1n——” With a determined change of tone, Neal went on, “Besides, I was pretty worked up about finding Guard and those seven Karakuls—all that were left of our van- ished ten, I’m sure. And finding them up there was a mystery on our hands that needed to be solved.” “VVhere were they?” David, listening intently, inter- rupted. “In the nicest, greenest little stretch of park you can imagine, with a little stream of fresh water in it. There were hilly walls that shut it in. That’s probably why Guard hadn’t heard me earlier, or I him. Well, sir, I asked Mut what he thought of my find. How he thought those Karakuls could ever have got up there at all and why? Of course, Dad must have known they were there but he never used to write to us; everybody knew that. And, of course, nobody ever went up there for months at a time. I asked Mut if he’d ever run up against anything so puzzling before in all his life. “The way he took that question made me tumble. He was excited, all right, but I didn’t like it, somehow. And I didn’t like the way he said, ‘Is it really so puzzling?’ The way he spoke that question made me too mad for a moment to let off any gab. “Then what do you think he said? ‘They weren’t your Karakuls; you only had charge of them. Yet ten of 4 . - ...a~..- 1. r > I 140 SHADOW OVER VVINDING RANCH them’got up here somehow. Smuggled up, I’d say. Didn’t you tell more than one person that when the Karakuls outgrew the home range, you had all this to fall back upon for the summers? Dave knew that, didn’t he? Natural enough he should want to try this range out. Unknown to Mr. Deane, of course, who wouldn’t have stood for it. Right after the Karakuls first disap- peared, didn’t you and Dave go away to give a demon- stration on seed corn selection—or so you said? And didn’t you stay away a little longer than you had to? If you’re asking me, I’d say you took a long, roundabout route—not altogether alone.’ “That’s as far as he got. By that time I was so blazing mad I had all I could do to keep from pitching into him. I bawled him out instead. I sure managed a thorough job of that. I told him if ever he said anything like that about you again, I’d see he paid for it and paid big. Oh, I scared him plenty, but he just shrugged his shoulders as much as to say, ‘If I don’t say it, somebody else will. Just you wait and see.’ Then he muttered something about not having accused you of anything dishonest. “ .‘\Maybe not what you call dishonest,’ I told him. ‘But so dang tricky that Dave or any other square-shoot- ing fellow would call it dishonest.’ “All of a sudden I saw through him. ‘So that’s the dodge you’ve worked up to try to save your own skin.’ Then I let out at him again. ‘You sneaked those ten Karakuls off up here yourself. That’s why the dogs didn’t raise an alarm. They knew you. You drove those sheep up here to Dad. You told him we sent you with them. That’s how you got your hurt feelings soothed _" / - . .- 142 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH “What did he do?” “Tried to laugh it off. But he was scared stiff by the idea of my beating him home. Probably thinks I got the truck to haul the sheep just to get my story told down here first. He’s not altogether wrong, either.” “Have you told it?” David’s query was both thought- ful and sharp. “Not yet. Had to report to you first.” David spent a long minute pondering the matter. “Then don’t,” he stated at last. Neal was on his knees beside a ewe, picking burrs out of her tangled wool. Fingers pausing, he glanced at his brother. “Why not?” Just a shade of scorn crept into his voice as he added, “Coals of fire?” “Coals of fire, baloney!” David scoffed. “Unless,” he hesitated, “another name for them happens to be—Mag- gie Herstan. I’ve got to satisfy her with the go I make of her ranch next year, haven’t I? And with the Lambs left on it, where she didn’t want them? That means I’ve got to work with Mut. Manage him somehow. Making him feel more resentful toward us won’t help things. Besides,” David finished cleaning out a feed trough be- fore he added, “there’s Winifred.” Understanding lighted Neal’s face, but no conviction of David’s wisdom. “Well, you’ve a right to your say- so about it,” he conceded at last. “Especially since I’ll be gone from the scene in another week.” Inwardly he decided that one person, at least, should learn without delay the full story he had just told to David. That per- son was Alex Arkins. " Only on his last night at home did Neal bring up the THE MEANING OF A FIND 143 H subject again. Dave, do you realize that this whole town is buzzing about those Karakuls we found? And a lot of the buzzing is a nasty kind. I don’t like it. I wouldn’t have believed that a cowardly kid like Mut, desperate to save his own hide, could have stirred it up to the extent he evidently has. But I’ve kept my prom- ise; I haven’t squealed on him. It’s a mistake, though. I’m surer than ever of that. It’s a bad secret to keep. And it isn’t like you to have secrets at all.” “Oh, yes, it is,” David thought with troubled inner amusement. Six weeks later his first secret proved so successful that it became a matter of genuine gratification. At the Future Farmer convention in Kansas City, Neal not only won the American Farmer degree but was elected first vice-president of the Future Farmers of America. The letter David received after Neal, too late to rectify matters, had learned of the lack of all Karakul loss on his own record, went a long way toward full compensa- tion to the older brother for his sacrifice. Although David did not think of it as sacrifice at all, but merely justice. However, he had to convince Neal of this with all the arguments he had formerly used with Alex Arkins, before the printed achievement records of the year’s American Farmers had traveled forth on their wide distribution throughout the United States. But David’s second secret was another matter. He was to have more than one decided reversal of feeling about the wisdom of that before the winter was over. .._ _ _._ | 4 I 4 Z '_ . |_O j I, Z 1" _ ‘ ~15‘ 4; \ a, "fl fly 1/ Xwly (47 1' \ I11 i- W" " -\ /i..4_/ ,, ’ fly, ll, / ti ,/M Y / '., /,, If _,O'\%,,,, Q» /' ~<\i*\ I/w , M Chapter XIV A PUZZLE TO BE SOLVED ~RLY in September Neal left for the state college at Fort Collins. Valley and Mut went back to high school. Winifred still herded turkeys, but nearer home now, feeding the birds more grain and mash as the fattening season approached. David used all old man Perkins’ time now and most of young Guy’s. He paid them partly in supplies, partly in cash eked from the monthly cream check. Milk he could no longer market. The need for skimmed milk for turkeys and young stock was too pressing. Other things were happening, too. Already his seed corn, not yet dried, was in demand. Already, too, adult farmer organizations and the state’s agricultural exten- sion service were making arrangements for him to speak 144 A PUZZLE TO BE SOLVED 145 at local and county meetings during the more leisurely winter season. Because of what one of its members had done, the fame and credit of the Future Farmer organization was establishing itself throughout the region as never before. High schools in neighboring rural towns, that hereto- fore had not offered extensive courses in agriculture, were saying, “If that’s what it’s teaching farm boys to do, we- want a full four-year vocational agriculture course and a Future Farmer of America chapter estab- lished in our school.” Thus David, who had never had time to think about the spotlight, was finding it focused upon him in a way that was far from unpleasant. He was still much too busy, though, to give it real heed. He was too busy, also, to notice when the spotlight brilliance began more and more to be overcast with clouds of jealousy brought on by spiteful, envious neighborhood gossip. His real worry was centered on Mr. Deane’s prospective visit. The torn and unkempt coats of the rescued Karakuls were conspicuous among those of the carefully watched and cared-for animals of the home range. Three of the valuable lambs were irretrievably gone. Would the mys- tery of the Karakuls’ disappearance, reawakened and heightened by their recovery, make Mr. Deane unwill- ing to send the four expected rams for the fall breeding? Registered, purebred rams were valuable creatures, some of them worth considerably more than five hundred dollars. There must be no chance of loss in their care. Should Mr. Deane refuse to send them, it would mean the end of the entire Chisholm Karakul experiment. 146 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH Before Mr. Deane arrived, fall lambing was over. Old man Perkins proved invaluably helpful with the care of the lambing ewes and of the jet-black, tightly-curled, newborn lambs. He was gentle and efficient, too, at the docking and ear-tagging of the pretty little creatures, and equally responsible at mixing carefully, according to David’s instructions, the bran, ground oats, and corn meal in equal parts, with which the lambs must be fed from their tenth day of life to weaning time. Mr. Deane’s visit, when it came, proved surprisingly short. He was pleased with much he found but he was not at all pleased with the story of the lost Karakuls’ mysterious recovery. He was far more concerned about their original disappearance now than he had been in the spring, when the theft had been believed to be the result of a scouting airplane’s activity. “That kind of performance we simply cannot have on our ranches,” he stated curtly. “I repeat—we’ve got to get to the bottom of this.” His eye rested upon David searchingly. “As I told you some time ago, I expect from you, first, a thorough investigation, with results; then, prosecution. So far you seem to have made sur- prisingly little effort in the matter. I still expect that effort. You tmderstand that?” Could it be that even Mr. Deane had been listening to the town gossip stirred up by Mut and really taken it seriously? If so, the talk that first Neal and then Valley had indignantly reported from time to time must be more dangerous than David had believed possible. Asking no questions, David met the visitor’s probing with straightforward dignity. The new proprietor of A PUZZLE TO BE SOLVED 147 Winding Ranch had matured this summer. He was a responsible man, facing another responsible man. “You shall have it,” he aflirmed. For the demand was just. When the time for prosecution came, it would have to be met in spite of Maggie Herstan’s ranch, and—Wini- fred. Mr. Deane left without promising to send the needed rams. David would have been less worried had he known that in driving through Wagon Rest, Mr. Deane had stopped for a long talk with Alex Arkins. A week later the rams arrived at Winding Ranch. In some way, David suspected, he owed their coming, in part at least, to Mr. Arkins’ backing. It was no light responsibility the teacher had assumed for him. David knew, too, that there was not another member of the Wagon Rest Future Farmer chapter—a lot of them decidedly good fellows—for whom the teacher would have done it. “I’ve got to prove myself worthy of it,” the boy told himself sternly. Such worthiness, he knew, must include complete fulfillment of his promise to Mr. Deane. Had he been dishonest in not telling Mr. Deane at once that he and Neal believed Mut to be guilty of the theft? No, he decided, because he had no tangible proof. Even had the situation between Winding and Phantom Ranches been different, he could not stoop to accusation without proof. . But no longer had he the least intention of lettingMut go free. What he must do was to secure the needed proof. How? Such was the problem that had to be solved. He hated spying; besides, in this case it was too 148 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH late for it. Diplomacy was the only means left. Some- how Mut must be made to confess. David saw only two methods for accomplishing this: by cornering Mut to where he had to own up or by winning him to the point where he was willing to do so. The first method Neal had already used without suc- cess. That left only the second. Everything considered, winning him, of course, would be far the better strategy. Except that at present David’s feelings were not at all inclined toward it. Mut’s present mood, too, was any- thing but favorable. Besides, as things were, winning Mut would certainly take time. Would Mr. Deane be willing to wait for it? Perhaps after all Neal had been right and he, David, had made a mistake in enjoining secrecy about Neal’s Camp Mule experiences with Mut. It was hard to be sure, though. There were other as- pects to consider. Mut was working better than David had ever known him to work, doing his required hours of labor faithfully and without spoken complaint. Fall plowing, helping with the planting of the dryland winter wheat—he was doing whatever he was told in a way very gratifying to his mother and sister. More than that, he was taking hold with those good-for-nothing burros—the ignominy of whose care he owed to David —in the most sporting kind of way, actually putting in work after hours training them to the pack. Even Alex Arkins was encouraged about him as a pupil. And throughout the neighborhood sympathy was flowing Mut’s way in a steadily increasing volume. The queer thing about the situation was that always the sympathy A PUZZLE TO BE SOLVED 149 for Mut was closely accompanied with insinuating gossip against David. “That’s Mut’s doing, of course—his way of getting even, though I don’t see where he gets time for it,” Valley would report with vivacious indignation. “He’s dead set on paying you for handing him those burros. At the same time he’s lapping. up all the public praise he can get for himself. He’s stirring up every old jealous cat there is here to lick up the nasty hints he drops, as if they were cream, and then letting the spiteful talk grow fat on it.” “Very sure it’s Mut, aren’t you?” David’s assumption of indiflerence aroused Valley’s pique. All the more because she was clever enough to realize there was a subtlety in the spread of gossip that was beyond Mut. David could have told Valley of another inconsist- ency that puzzled him. As the weeks passed he thought he occasionally sensed behind Mut’s resentfulness a feeling of dumb gratitude for the silence David was maintaining—even to Valley—about Neal’s conviction regarding the Karakuls. For some of the unpleasant gossip, David knew he had himself to thank. On the day after Mr. Deane’s visit, the indignation against Mut that had burned through him had precipitated David into a false move. Encountering Horace on a foothill trail, he had stopped the boy with a peremptory, “Look here, Mut.” Mut obeyed, rebellion in his pose. Without preliminaries and in a tone that in itself was accusation, David proceeded to report his renewed A PUZZLE TO BE SOLVED 151 had a good plan all worked out as to how to do it. And David had not. As time passed, he had moments of hope- lessness of ever being able to figure one out. Other incidents of the fall helped feed to lusty growth the whole gossipy situation. The first had to do with the fall turkey market. The second was Valley’s treatment of Mut, brought to a climax by Neal’s Thanksgiving visit home in company with a new-made friend. It was a long open fall with weather that kept the turkeys eager to run and forage, slow to settle down and fatten up. Yet because the Lambs had no feed and no money with which to buy any, they had to sell their entire flock of underweight birds in the early Thanks- giving market. David and Valley, on the other hand, could keep the greater number of their birds so as to have them well fattened with whitened, milk-fed flesh for people’s Christmas dinner tables. Except for a few birds, bruised in the killing, all the picked turkeys the Chisholms did market at Thanksgiving time were classed in the local turkey pool as number ones. The entire Lamb flock, on the contrary, had scarcely a number one among it, and far more thirds than seconds. Such details are always matters of prompt knowledge and widespread interest in any rural community. “Queer, isn’t it,” comment ran throughout Happy Wagon Valley with varying degrees of unpleasant in- sinuation in the undercurrent, “that two flocks, after running practically the same range all summer, should test out in two such difierent classes?” Or again, “I like 152 ' SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH to see a boy hard-working and ambitious like that Dave Chisholm. But there’s such a thing as being too smart. Jim Chisholm was no such worker as young Dave, but there wasn’t anything grasping about him, never any squeezing out the other fellow’s chance.” The sharp answers Valley Chisholm gave to such ac- cusations did not help to create better feeling in Lamb sympathizers. “Sorry for Mut?” she would retort. “Not much. The whole thing’s his own fault. I’m even mad at him for Winifred’s sake, after all the good herding she did for him. Their birds were classed as thirds because their breastbones were so crooked. Well, they were three days old and unfed when Mut got them. If he hadn’t been so careless, putting off ordering his poults from day to day last spring, instead of getting his order in early the way Dave did, he, too, would have got just- hatched birds from the near-by hatcheries, instead of those that had to come clear from California.” Only here and there did some judicial observer notice that although Winifred Lamb never openly criticized her brother, she never denied Valley’s explanation. The two girls were as warm friends as ever. But Valley and Mut certainly were not. No longer, as in past years, did they take their daily ride together down the Draw to meet the school bus, there to turn their riderless horses back toward home. Yet on Thanksgiving Day the entire Lamb family was at the Chisholm dinner table, sharing a tender tur- key and all the other good things Mrs. Lamb had helped Valley to prepare. It was a gala occasion. Neal was home. And with him was a guest, a fellow Future A PUZZLE TO BE SOLVED 15 3 Farmer of America national oflicer, also newly elected. He was a brown-haired, gray-eyed farm boy from Iowa, named Ned Newcomb. He had a humorous mouth and a good deal of reserve in the poise of his IT13.n11€l', but also an unself-conscious manliness that was unmistakable. The pride with which Neal introduced to him his county corn champion brother and his viva- cious little sister was undisguised. David liked him at once. Here was a fellow after his own kind, he felt with warmth. As for Valley, the attraction between the two was mstantaneous. When Neal first brought his guest into the dining- room to meet Valley, she was wearing the new red dress Mrs. Lamb had helped her to make. Nothing could have been more becoming to her. And during the three days of Ned Newcomb’s visit, she attended to the housework with a merry-hearted gaiety that was very infectious. When Ned left, David knew that his promise to visit them again would be fulfilled as soon as possible. Although the knowledge pleased him, it also made him just a little heavy-hearted. They all had an amazingly good time during those three days. The only note of discord was Mut’s presence at the Thanksgiving table. Neal and Ned were still aglow from the recent Future Farmer convention, full of eager talk about it and of enthusiastic plans for their organization’s national development. Both were soon to undertake long trips across the country for the purpose. Much of Neal’s old protective casualness had dropped from him. Often he showed an enthusiasm not unlike Valley’s. 154 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH Mut escaped from the group as soon as they left the table, to nobody’s regret or particular notice except his mother’s. But many people noted the way he was left out of the good times of the next three days. David, Neal and Valley were taking a pride in showing their Iowa guest all they could of their wilder, more rugged Western country. On the long picnic and horseback trips they took, Winifred was always a member of the group. But never Mut. Always he was left behind with the two Perkinses to attend to home chores. Nor did he choose to inform anyone that he stayed home because of his own stubborn refusal to go. He agreed, though, with more than one sympathizer, that he was being treated in a thoroughly mean way. What he did not reveal was that it was Valley’s meanness that upset him most. He had long admired Valley Chisholm, as everybody knew. That wasn’t surprising. Lots of the local boys admired Valley. Everybody knew, too, she had been anything but pleasant to him all fall, even stay- ing home from school parties rather than go with him. Self-pity made him prefer to think it was because his family had lost Phantom Ranch, even though he knew she told her friends she was through going anywhere with a boy who could say such mean, insinuating things about her brother as he seemed to have done lately. Such treatment, Mut brooded, had been bad enough. But it was nothing compared to the way she was acting with that Ned Newcomb on the scene. Resentment at least showed that she knew he was there. But now she was so indifferent she seemed unaware that he was anywhere around. And it was all Dave Chisholm’s fault for getting 156 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH But after Thanksgiving the pressure of work lightened greatly. The farmers’ rest time had come. For David it was, too, the time for fulfilling many of his agreements to talk at farmers’ extension meetings. Alex Arkins, Seth Norton, the local county agent, the agents of other outlying counties or other members of the state agricultural extension service often accom- panied him to these meetings, to help tell the story of his corn breeding and seed production. Praise and ap- preciation poured in plentifully upon him at such times. It was gratifying after all his long hard work to win recognition of the right sort for what he had accom- plished. Yet he was wise enough to grin more than once, saying to Alex Arkins, “A few knocks around home are good for a fellow, after all. They help keep him from getting his head so swelled his common sense evapo- rates.” Not always were his audiences made up entirely of strangers. Two or three times, to his amazement, he spotted among his hearers the shrewd, tanned face and eccentric garb of Wagon Rest’s Maggie Herstan. She never came near him at such meetings, nor spoke to him afterward. Not once all that fall had she come to Wind- ing Ranch; nor had she, so far as he knew, spoken to anybody about his corn achievement. Yet when he re- ported her presence later to Valley, he scoffed at her notion that Maggie might be one of the persons who were jealous of it. “Not she. She wants Winding Ranch paid for, doesn’t she?” Valley had retorted with a laugh, “Does anybody ever know what she really wants? Or what she’s really v W: —W - . ’ _. / W-T---7-M - “-. . ~- — ~ “ . . —“ W—~———-—¥“ A PUZZLE TO BE SOLVED I 157 doing?” Skeptically she added, black eyes dancing with amusement at the absurdity of her own statement, “She might even be helping to work up all this late sympathy for poor unfortunate abused Mut.” Spoken praise was not lacking for David in his home valley. But in it there was often a poisonous undercur- rent whose source was jealousy. It was naturally bitter for once-prosperous farmers, now barely able to make a living in these bad times, to be beaten not only by a boy but by one who came from a family long looked upon with contempt from the viewpoint of good farming. Such jealousy served to fertilize altogether too well a field already planted with false rumors and implications. Of this growing undercurrent David became aware only gradually. Valley felt sure its source was the obedi- ently working but still inwardly unfriendly Mut. It no longer aroused David’s anger as it once had. He was weary of working daily with a boy whose spirit was anything but cooperative. There was too little joy in the accomplishment of their common toil. Could he but find a way, at last, to win Mut to confidential friendliness, it would wipe away more than one of his worries. For not only would it redeem his long unfulfilled promise to Mr. Deane; it would also in all probability put a stop to all the vindictive stirring up of local spiteful talk. Before the new year was far advanced, David found the way. He owed it far more to the forces of nature than to his own ingenuity. J /% § “ ’ 4%/at :~A__ ~ _ _ Chapter XV BURROS TO THE RESCUE TIE cloudless open fall weather lasted well into De- cember. Then one evening, Valley, curled up, book in hand, in a big armchair in the living room, lifted her dark head in a listening pose. “You needn’t worry any more about next summer’s water supply, Dave. You’re going to get your snow. Listen to those hoot owls. Did you ever hear them any nearer the house?” Valley’s prophecy came true. The snows, once begun, kept up all through the remaining winter with a steadi- ness not usual in sunny Colorado. Happy Wagon Val- ley people rejoiced. The occasional blocking of roads until snowplows could do their work was a matter of indifference. Such snow was “white gold” to the irriga- 158 BURROS TO THE RESCUE 159 tion farmer; upon its plenitude his prosperity depended. In the higher reaches of the mountain ranges beyond and above the Wagon Rest country, the situation was more difficult. There the roads and passes became hope- lessly blocked and stayed so. The snow reached a depth on mountain meadows and hillsides that made it impos- sible for the most dexterous animal hoofs to penetrate to the dried, nourishing forage grasses underneath. So deeply into burrows did the weather send the small wild life that even the flesh-eating animals grew gaunt, prowling down nearer the settled valleys than they had done for years. More than once David meted out to these wild crea- tures feedings of hay that he could ill spare. Feed prices were soaring, but he had no grain to sell. He began to worry lest before the winter was over he might have to buy. Worry about feed was still with David one February night as he lay snugly but only half asleep in his bed, listening. The sweet clean cold air blew in through his open window. Outside the night was dark, yet full of that serenity of country quiet, all the more impressive because of the sounds which penetrated it. Tonight the chief of these was the hoot of owls. For weeks now in the trees above the Draw and even in those around the house, they had been keeping up their clamor, in long- drawn-out hoots that predicted big storms were coming, even if still a long way off. Night after night David, too healthy to be kept awake, had fallen asleep to the tune of the noisy little birds’ tooting and hooting. But tonight the sounds were different, not so long as usual, but short 160 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH sharp toots, repeated and repeated. He knew what they meant. But when they ceased at midnight, he was too soundly asleep to know it. When he did awake, he knew by instinct that it was dawn even though the world without was deep dark gray. Out in the barnyard for early chores, he found himself completely shut into his own small world. All trace of surrounding hills was blocked out in a thick enveloping cloud mass, whose meaning he understood even before the snowflakes began to fall in heavy sheets all about him. There was no help for it. Today all the animals, burros included, would have to be gathered into some sort of real shelter and fed there generously as long as this weather lasted. As he struggled back toward the house with the filled milk pails, snowflakes hissing into the foam of the warm milk, his mind was again calculating the amount of his stores. If he knew about how long this storm was going to last, he could figure more accurately. He’d better go in the house and get the early morning news and weather report. The radio was certainly a real asset to the isolated farmer. He clumped into the living room in his heavy, snow- burdened boots and turned on the radio dial at a high pitch that the sound might penetrate to Valley’s sleep- ing ears. On such a day it was high time she was up and stirring! Yet when her little figure, wrapped in a thick red bathrobe, her feet in soft bedroom slippers, padded into the room behind him, he was unaware of it. He was too absorbed in listening to the rapid tones of the announcer. The first news he heard was reassuring. Heavy as the BURROS TO THE RESCUE 161 present storm was in the local areas, it was predicted it would not last. Clear skies were promised by night, with bitter cold, the thermometer dropping well below the zero mark, as it inevitably did after a big snow. Except for the cold, weather predictions for other sections of the state were different, however; above all, for those high mining sections located well over into the great mountain ranges to the northwest. As everyone knew, snow had been falling heavily there for days and days. Highways were blocked beyond all power of tractor-driven snowplows to clear them; trains were hopelessly stalled on mountain passes; telegraph lines were down; mining towns were at present cut off from the world except where here and there valiant linemen had succeeded in keeping a single telephone line open. At the announcer’s mention of these towns, an idea flashed through David’s mind. The newscaster signed olf as a long-drawn sigh from Valley revealed her presence. David swung about to face her. “Say, Val, get me a cup of coffee and a snack to eat as soon as you can, will you? The water’s boiling in the kettle. I put the oat- meal you cooked last night on to heat.” She obeyed, battling down curious queries as a mo- ment later she heard her brother ringing up the local central on their rural telephone line and requesting, “Long distance, please. As quick as you can get it.” David was nearly through his hasty meal by the time the call had been put through and he was summoned to the phone. Valley, full of chatter about the storm, had been vexed by his unresponsiveness. But her annoyance vanished as she listened to his side of the long-distance 162 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH conversation. She was hovering behind him again, de- light tingling through her long before the conversation was over. “Oh, Dave, are you really——” He waved her to silence and remained at the phone. He was calling a local number now, that of the freight ofl'ice of the Wagon Rest railroad station. Again Valley listened expectantly in the background, dark eyes grow- ing bigger and brighter with excitement. “Oh, Dave, are you really——?” she repeated as soon as a click told her the receiver was once again back on the hook. “Sure am,” he interrupted with a grin. Even now he had no time for conversation. Lost in thought, he was donning heavy wool zipper jacket and cap. “We’ll have to get in touch with Gramp Perkins somehow.” He spoke as if thinking aloud. “Mut and I are to be gone for several days—weather like this——” Valley was quick to understand. “We’ll get Gramp Perkins and Guy, too. Win and I will, I mean. We can reach their shack this morning—probably best on snow- shoes. The snow’s still too soft for skis. We’ll bring Gramp and Guy back with us. There’s nothing any- body can do around here weather like this but shovel paths and feed. Guy’s grand at the shoveling; he’s so strong. And Gramp Perkins can measure out and mix the feed. With me and Win to help with the actual feeding——” ' This time David’s grin was one of pure gratitude. “You really think——” He was standing, hesitant for a moment, with a hand on the knob of an outside door. Valley nodded decisively. “I don’t think,” she BURROS TO THE RESCUE 163 laughed. “I know.” She was already whisking up the stairs toward her bedroom to get into proper clothes. And David, in his heavy boots, was outside, plodding steadily through the swiftly gathering drifts toward Phantom Ranch. He found Mut already at work in the barnyard. David’s appearance, unexpected this early, was not welcomed. Not so much, David surmised, be- cause Mut was in the act of feeding the burros, as because he was doing it with a decidedly lavish hand. “Can’t let ’em starve,” he muttered at David’s approach. “Got to have enough, too, to keep them warm.” But there was more than fear of David’s reprimand in Mut’s manner; there was the danger to his pride in hav- ing Dave see how those friendly little gray and brown beasts, once so despised, had “got” him. No matter how much a fellow resented having them turned over to his care, he would be less than human, wouldn’t he, if he hadn’t got to liking them after working with and train- ing them all fall? Dave Chisholm needn’t think it was so funny. And Dave didn’t. He was decidedly pleased with the whole situation. “Say, Mut, did you listen to the news and weather reports this morning?” “Hadn’t any time to listen,” Mut retorted. “Got to stay out of school today as it is—even if I could get there—haven’t I? Put in the day shoveling and feeding.” David went on. “Well, I did. And the announcer told plenty. Snow blockades are piling up everywhere in the high country over the range beyond Camp Mule and the Angela. You don’t have to guess twice to know what the situation’s getting to be in Elk Town and Oreton. A 164 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH few days of being cut off from the outside world doesn’t matter much; they had supplies enough on hand for that. But if the blockade keeps up—if the trains don’t run, say, for another week—they’ll be desperate for mighty important things, like fuel and feed and food and mail. Oreton’s the worst off, of course. It gets shut off from the world every year or two even in ordinary winters. But this siege has lasted longer than any they ever had before. And the way things look at present, the end’s still a long way off.” “Well, we aren’t living up there.” Mut still did not look at David. He had taken a handful of oats from a capacious reefer pocket and was letting a brown burro nuzzle it out of his palm while several other little beasts jealously tried to shove their way in toward a share in the treat. He laughed as the brown burro vigorously kicked out first one hind foot, then the other, causing a generous spraying of snow to be whirled into the faces of his interfering companions. All the while he was licking and gobbling greedily himself. All the while, too, Mut was really listening too keenly to David to interrupt. Dave Chisholm wasn’t talking at any such length for nothing. Mut was conscious he had some- thing up his sleeve. “Airplanes are trying to make it, the radio said,” David went on. “Dropping what supplies they can into barricaded towns. But that’s awfully expensive and not very satisfactory. There are too many things they can’t drop safely. Besides, flying up there just now is risky business. It’s awfully cold and most of the time, with the air so full of snow, visibility’s practically zero.” 166 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH town, well, they’ll have to buck worse things than any drifts they’ll find in the Draw, after they leave the rail- road at the other end of the journey. The mail will be able to get as far as Elk Town by train tomorrow, they say. The railroad has managed to open its line that far. But from there on, they’re planning now to carry the most important mail, at least, to Oreton by pack on our burros. It’s nearly twenty miles, all up steep grade, and mostly ice. Think these little mountain birds of ours can make it?” “You bet they can make it. B—b—by golly, Dave!” Mut’s black eyes were as round as an owl’s. David smiled. Leisurely he shifted his weight from one heavily-booted foot to the other. “Want the job?” he queried as carelessly as he could manage. He added before Mut could find tongue to answer, “Told them I had an AI pack train man I could bring along and prob- ably leave to help with the drives if they wanted him. A fellow that my little mules knew and trusted; in fact, the very kid who had trained them to the pack. There’ll be government men on hand to help with the job, of course. If you don’t want to go, though, Mut, I’ll——” There was no need for more. Mut’s teeth were fairly chattering with eagerness. “Dave Chisholm,” he broke forth in one impulsive outburst, “I—I’ll forgive you everything! ” Thought of the amount of school he must lose never even occurred to Horace Lamb. Not only was his long- cherished indignation against David dropping from him, but admiration for David’s swift, timely action breathed through every move of preparation the boy began at BURROS TO THE RESCUE 167 once to make. “Golly, Dave, there’s no slow farm fel- low about you, no matter what anybody may think from looking at you. You don’t let any grass grow under your feet.” David laughed. “Oh, yes, I do. All I can get of it. On the grazing range where we need it.” Such was the lighthearted spirit of companionship in which the two boys put in a hard, strenuous day. At the end of it they and their charges were well on their rattling, swaying, battling way up into the regions of the isolated, snowbound mountain towns. As David rolled into his blankets that night in a caboose bunk, he was thinking, “I’m really finding at last a way to win Mut. What’s more, I owe it to Dad—to one of his un- successful dreams.” After long years of ridicule and precarious existence, the burros were coming into their own. f,\___=—-——-T "--'1??? a / ‘ ‘f‘ /" [$1 //I/i I /L“ A5,/viii‘ ,~+>iiw H‘ /J4 // ( ‘Q1 \~% \'l J // ii ‘ll! é il~ / /S lllj\ l7l.lll!‘iiii“f/lliii|“/é“//p ,.ai\i\\l\ Chapter XVI SPRINGTIME IN THE ROCKIES DAVID lay awake. Mut was already sound asleep in the opposite bunk, worn out from battling drifts. All day, competent and willing, he had worked tirelessly. The air in the caboose was becoming decidedly cold; outside, the thermometer must be dropping fast. David was glad he had brought so many blankets. He snuggled down into them up to his nose, and now that the en- grossing activities of the day were over, let his mind wander over the unspectacular aspects of this adventure into which he and Mut had plunged. About the humanitarian side of it he had no doubts, but second thoughts were beginning to trouble him as to what it might mean to him economically. There was 168 SPRINGTIME IN THE ROCKIES 169 7 always Maggie Herstan s attitude to be reckoned with, or rather, guessed at. Of one thing he felt certain. Her keen eye would be centered on the economic side; if that failed, the humanitarian side would mean little to her. Had he been foolish to take this venturesome plunge when financially things were promising so well for him? If the sale of his seed corn kept up as it had begun, if next summer were another good growing year, he should be able in the fall not only to meet all tax and interest payments but even to pay off a little on the mortgage. Maggie Herstan had been pretty considerate about the mortgage situation, accepting the clause sug- gested by Alex Arkins—that David could pay whatever amount he wished on any interest paying day; she had even put that day late in October after the season’s crops would be assured. David had dreamed of never missing a year without paying something, until Winding Ranch would be completely his. Certainly he did not want to miss a payment this first year. A second long-cherished dream was combined with the first. Making a sizable payment this fall would surely help him in his final chance for the American Farmer degree. It had been a harder experience for him than he would ever acknowl- edge to have Neal prove eligible for that honor before he himself could. One thing was clear to him. If he went behind on the burro venture, there probably would not be any money for a mortgage payment. Was this chance of winning Mut really worth the risk he had taken? Not, perhaps, if there were only Mut and Maggie Herstan to be con- 170 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH sidered. But there was also Mr. Deane, upon whose at- titude the continuance of the Karakul experiment de- pended. To have to abandon the Karakul project would be a long first step toward failure in David’s hopes for Winding Ranch. The thought of ever having to take such a step was not to be endured. There was one way out of the whole situation. He must see to it that the rental and the use of his burros brought enough financial returns to cover all the expense of transporta- tion and shelter at nights away from home. His mind clear on that point, he fell asleep to the screeching of wheels upon ice-covered rails. All that night and part of the next day the pufling engine labored slowly upward, its little train of narrow-gauge freight cars swaying and squeaking over winding, climbing, recently-cleared tracks into an altitude of nearly six thousand feet above that of Wagon Rest. At last it drew into the yards of the mountain burg of Elk Town. There in the midst of a great, strange, utterly white world the boys found themselves and their charges eagerly awaited. Willing hands began at once to help unload and care for the little mules. David left to Mut the responsibility of overseeing all this, while he, him- self, hurried to a meeting with the post office authorities. There he completed arrangements for the use of his pack string, as well as Mut’s accompanying services, for as long as they should be needed. Personally he would accompany the string only on its first upward trek. It was not really necessary for him to go at all. But his natural boyish longing to have some actual share in the SPRINGTIME IN THE ROCKIES 171 first romantic pack mule journey was too strong to resist. The burros behaved beautifully from the first. As if sensing their own importance and appreciating their welcome, they trotted along in brisk obedience, long- eared heads held alert in the cold air, to such quarters as little Elk Town had been taxed to find for them. There was no stint of feed; the boys had brought that with them. Tomorrow the burros’ work would begin. Townspeople, well swathed in protecting clothes, were on the scene the next morning to see the pack train set out, even before the boys had finished driving the string into the wide alley behind the post office build- ing where the loading was to be done. There, one by one, each little beast had his pack adjusted and secured. Although several local hands had been summoned to help with the packing, David and Mut did a large share of the work and took all the responsibility. Meanwhile, the post oflice men delegated to accompany the string were busy with the dividing and tying up of the mail. It would be days, perhaps weeks, before all the accumu- lated undelivered mail of these last three weeks could hope to reach its destination. On this first trip the packs were to carry only the first-class mail and such pack- ages of parcel post as contained the necessities to supply Oreton’s most outcrying needs. Bulky packages, each amounting to parcel post’s full weight limit of seventy pounds, loomed conspicuously among the mail designated to go. Piles of these bundles sprawled on cleared stretches of cement flooring at either side of the post oflice building’s back steps. Mut 172 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH glowered at them belligerently as soon as his eye fell upon them. In an angry whisper he muttered to David, “What in thunder’s in those? Is packing stuff like that in the bargain you made? That isn’t mail. It’s freight. And look at the number of them. Fifty—maybe, one hundred.” “Thirty-nine,” David returned; he had counted them. He, too, had been eying them askance. The tall dark postmaster, supervising the scene, over- heard Mut’s remark. “I’m sorry,” he began. “We don’t like handling them any better than you do. But they’ll have to go. They contain something that Uncle Sam has never before attempted to send by mail. Alfalfa hay and chopped cattle feed. Oreton has to have them to save its babies. Those babies are crying for milk. And with nothing left to feed their cows, Oreton’s milk men can’t give it to them—maybe not for weeks—unless Uncle Sam comes to their rescue. Uncle Sam, that is, and you.” Without further protest the boys set to work at the loading. A new respect for Uncle Sam’s dependability arose in David as he swung packs up into pack saddles and pulled the ropes tight with cinch knots. It had be- come exhilarating to be one of the persons responsible for the beginning of such unique transportation. Send- ing this hay, he learned, was a losing deal financially for the post oflice. A ton of hay required fourteen dollars of stamps to send it only part of the way. The transfer by pack burro to Oreton would cost at least an extra five cents a pound, and there was no telling how long such transportation would have to be kept up. SPRINGTIME IN THE ROCKIES 173 Other snatches of talk came to the ears of the boys as they worked, chiefly tales of the havoc wrought by surrounding storms and slides. Many of these the boys had already heard the night before. The details were to come back vividly to their minds more than once, clari- fied to an intensity not always welcome, during the hard slow climb upon which they and the laden burros began at last to embark. A hard grueling trip it proved to be, fraught with danger at every turn. Although heavy snow was no longer falling, the tem- perature had dropped to nine degrees below zero and a high wind was howling, lifting great clouds of snow spray to bite savagely into their faces, to obstruct the onsweeping view at critical moments, to pile ever higher the impeding drifts along the trail in many places, and in others to sweep it clear down to long stretches of glass-smooth ice. More than once the boys were grate- ful for the sure-footedness of their charges. Everywhere the trail was steep, the curves frequent and danger never ceasing. It had taken effort enough to clear the last stretches of the track over which David, Mut and the burros had reached Elk Town. Beyond and above that town fur- ther clearance had been declared impossible. The only hope people living above Elk Town had at present for any touch with the outside world lay in the once despised and discarded Chisholm burros. Even that last telephone line over which Oreton had so desperately sent out word of its plight was now down. Small wonder David was never to forget the glow and satisfaction he felt when his little expedition entered the SPRINGTIME IN THE ROCKIES 175 of oneness with his father’s spirit, such as he had never known during his father’s lifetime, came to David on that trip. It permeated him, even amid his ceaseless, watchful activity, with a queer kind of happiness, that was at the same time partly humility and sorrowful regret. Other things, too, came to David on that eventful trek. One was a new respect for Horace Lamb. Was there for Mut, too, in the isolation of this sinister and yet gloriously magnificent world some force that made of him a different person? Certainly in this competent, steady young pack driver, often exerting all his energy in the cruelly exhausting task of breaking trail, there was small evidence of the stubborn lad from Phantom Ranch who had been nursing against his lifelong neighbor a spite that warped and belittled his manhood. Queer how Mut seemed to need a spectacular responsibility to bring out the best in him. If in this setting Mut could so rise above the unfavor- able sides of his character, David, too, could forget them. There sprang up between the two boys, on those sixteen miles of upgrade travel, a new sense of fellowship that was never again to be completely lost. Now and then the play of humor heightened it. Once, when both boys were struggling against the repeated clogging that made their progress on snowshoes so difficult, Mut remarked whimsically, “Say, Dave, what about you and me writ- ing up this trip as a booster article for some Chamber of Commerce trying hard to attract tourists to the ideal state of Colorado? We could call it ‘Springtime in the Rockies.’ ” The date was the third of March. - SPRINGTIME IN THE ROCKIES 177 that was to mean most to David. A few days later an- other arrived that in his eyes justified the entire burro undertaking and experiment. Yet he neither showed nor mentioned it to anyone else in the Draw. It was written from Oreton, and began, Dear Dave: Wish you were still here to help with the packs. Have to watch these “greenies” all the time they’re at the loading job to keep the burros’ backs from being rubbed. Refused flat to put four burrosin the string today, or any day, until they’re all okay again. Cold as a refrigerator in this room, due to fuel shortage. Fingers too numb to write much. Have already written one letter tonight. You can’t guess who to. That Mr. Deane who let you have the Karakuls. Thought he might like a letter that was carried out by pack mule from this now famous snowbound town. Had to say something in it, of course. So I owned up to him that I was the fellow who sneaked those ten Karakuls of yours off up to Camp Mule last spring. Told him why I did it, too. Because I owed it to you for getting them when I didn’t. ]ust the way I feel now maybe I owe it to you to own up about doing it. Made a clean breast of the whole thing while I was at it. Owned up I lied to your dad that you had sent them up to him to test out the use of the Camp Mule range for Karakuls. I knew, of course, he never wrote home. Told Mr. Deane there wasn’t any steal to it; that I never dreamed the sheep wouldn’t be perfectly safe up there with your dad to look after them. They would have been, too, if your dad hadn’t died. In other words, I gave him the whole works, straight. Thought this was a good time to do it now that I’m way up here on too important a job for him to go prosecuting /LRQ $4 "\ /1 ’lF\$/ Jr /'// fi /4 //4 N“ ‘*5 \/1» n ’ / Chapter XVII A HERO’S UNJUST REWARD FOR more than seven weeks Mut and his string of pack mules worked hard for Uncle Sam in the high, snow-barricaded mountain country. Three days a week, heavily laden, they entered isolated Oreton. On alter- nating days, with no burden but a little outgoing mail, they returned downward over the grade to Elk Town. The last upward journey came early in May. By that time the length of the trip had been cut in half. The rail- road had succeeded in clearing the drifts from eight more miles of track, as far as the next post office town of Needle Point. By that time, too, all the accumulation of second- and third-class mail and parcel post had been cleared from the lower post offices, and other people were helping to carry merchandise into Oreton. 180 A HERO’S UNJUST REWARD 181 On May seventh the padding feet of fifty-odd gray and brown burros once again sounded up the rough winding road into Old Woman’s Draw. They were the same gentle, friendly creatures they had always been, a trifle thinner, but harder, little the worse for their experiences. Horace Lamb was still their chief driver. And there certainly was no shame now in that driving. Long before the burros began filing down out of the stock cars in Wagon Rest’s freight yard, they had be- come a hero string in charge of a hero driver. Soon they were heading for the same run-down ranch from which they had come. But no longer was that old ranch obscure and unknown. Newspaper dubbing and publicity had given it a new name, Burro Ranch. David had adopted it, saying to a protesting Valley, “I like it. Calling the place Phantom Ranch was always a mistake because it ridiculed it. Burro Ranch not only fits it now, but there’s pride in it and a lot of free advertising.” Valley understood what he meant. The once worth- less burros had become an asset. The government had paid adequately for the use of the little mules. Mut, in addition to his share in this sum, had received regular wages for the seven weeks of his service. On the ques- tion of money there had never been any disagreement between David and Mut. But the financial returns to both boys had gone well beyond the government returns. Romantic fame had brought a market demand for the little beasts. Parents were writing to ask if they might purchase a head or two of the burros as pets for their children. Dude ranchers in the hills, recognizing the little mules’ sudden advertising value among prospective 182 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH tourists, were also seeking to buy. David had decided to sell part of the string in such markets. But first he wanted Mut to select the twenty he most desired—his contribution toward the Lambs’ tourist service next summer. There was no longer any doubt of those services being needed. The news stories of the burros’ recent achieve- ments had included mention of the Lambs’ prospective summer tourist business. Inquiries were already arriving from the East in such numbers that it seemed doubtful that Burro Ranch would be able to accommodate all comers, even if its numerous idle outbuildings were transformed into tourist cabins. Mut, voluble everywhere but on the trail, even in let- ters, had written home to his mother glowing plans for the future. Given a good summer and a good turkey crop next fall, he believed college might be possible for him and Winifred the second semester of the next school year. No real agricultural course for him, though. He didn’t like crop raising well enough. He intended to en- roll in forestry. If Mrs. Lamb rented light housekeeping quarters in Fort Collins, Valley could go along, too, and board with them. Although Valley had not rejected the plan, she had responded to it so far only with a shrug. “I’m one per- son,” she had asserted whenever opportunity gave her the chance, “who isn’t going to fall at Mut Lamb’s feet in admiring praise when he gets home.” To David she added, “I at least remember that Mut owes all his good luck to you, even if everybody else in this place seems to have forgotten it, including Mut himself.” A HERO’S UNJUST REWARD 183 There was more truth in her statement than David cared to acknowledge. He was in the welcoming crowd that received Mut and the burros on the day of their return, a depth in the heartiness of his greeting beyond that of anyone else’s. He played a leading part, too, in the final homeward drive. But few people seemed aware of his presence. Not only the home community but also the general public appeared to have forgotten that David had had any connection with the pack train adventure at all. One or two of the earlier newspaper accounts had mentioned him as the burros’ real owner. But all the later, longer, more widely distributed articles had told nothing of his part in the Federal service. Of course, he had been off the scene when they were written, and Mut conspicuously on it. Easy enough to see why the burros were no longer spoken of as the Chisholm burros even around Wagon Rest. Once dubbed “the Lamb Kara- kuls” in derision, they had now become the Lamb burros in pride. A few evenings after his return, Mut gave an illus- trated talk on his experiences. It took place in the audi- ence room of Wagon Rest’s community church, Alex Arkins helping with the lanter n slides. Mut, glowing with enjoyment in his role, created an excellent impres- sion, the naive ingenuousness of his narrative carrying his audience with him. Their proud, enthusiastic ap- plause lifted Mut high on the wave of elation. But at least one of his hearers, Valley Chisholm, refused stub- bornly to share in that applause. So rebellious was her mood on the way home that David teased her about it. “Mut sure did have a good time, didn’t he? And he 184- SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH did a darn good job. Short as he is, he’s got a good plat- form presence. And he certainly can slick himself up. He actually looked handsome up there tonight.” “Handsome!” Valley scoffed. “What he made me think of was a toad, all swelled up with his own import- ance. Ego, ego, ego—that’s all there was to that talk—to every incident in it.” There was some truth in Valley’s statement. Ego the speech had had in plenty; but it had been so ingenuously sincere and unself-conscious that it had given offense to few. Even David had not minded it; he rather admired it. He could not make a speech like that. He could give a practical talk to farmers inter- ested in the same problems in which he was interested, but he sought no claim to popular speaking ability such as Mut’s and knew no envy of it. Mut’s youth helped, too, to make the ego forgivable even locally, just as it had unquestionably added much to the glory of his new fame. “He makes me sick,” Valley tossed her curly black head in indignation, “telling people just as little as he possibly can about owing the whole chance to you. He actually seems to think he’s the person who has put Old Woman’s Draw on the map lately.” “Well, he has.” “According to the newspapers,” Valley agreed with caustic scorn. “Why didn’t he tell those newspaper re- porters the whole idea began with you?” “Probably did, at first. But it complicated the story, and the reporters preferred it simple. And what’s the odds? If I don’t care, why should anybody else?” “The odds are plenty. Do you know what folks are A HERO’S UNJUST REWARD 185 saying around here more and more lately? (Oh, I know you’re always scolding me for listenng to such talk. As if somebody in our family didn’t need to.) They’re saying that Mut made this chance in spite of you. That after you rented Phantom Ranch you tried to snow Mut’s chances there completely under, by the insult of handing him the care and responsibility of those worth- less burros. That instead of balking, Mut showed how smart he was by accepting the insult like a man, train- ing the burros well, then turning the tables on you com- pletely. And a lot of folks are saying, too, that they’re downright glad to see you getting such a come-uppance, because you’ve always been such a reserved and stand- offish fellow, never good for much except work and telling folks about your own accomplishments at public meetings and such, while Mut has always been such a nice friendly chap, always willing to stop and chat with folks about what’s going on wherever he meets them.” “True enough, I guess.” Her brother’s philosophic attitude exasperated rather than soothed Valley. “As if Mut’s flashy adventure com- pares in fineness to what you’ve done! What about your high altitude seed corn? Isn’t that worth something? Of course,” honesty forced her to add, “what you’ve done isn’t nearly so romantic or so spectacular as packing into Oreton in winter—just working and studying until you did what you were trying to do. That’s why, I suppose, petty-minded folks are so jealous of you; because they haven’t got the qualities you have that make you able to do it. But they needn’t carry their jealousy to the 186 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH point of hinting at a lot of unjust things against you. After all, Mut Lamb owes his whole chance to you.” David grinned at her in appreciative, big—brother fashion. Valley plunged on, “I wouldn’t mind Mut’s present fame so much if for a whole year past he hadn’t been sowing a lot of nasty mean seeds of false talk about you, wherever he could find the chance—then standing back, not only to watch them grow but to help them do it.” “He couldn’t have been doing it lately. He’s been off the scene for two months.” The remark punctured Valley’s indignation. “I know it, Dave. That’s what makes it so queer. From what I’ve picked up around school, it seems as if somebody—and if it isn’t Mut, who is it?-is determined to see that you shan’t get any credit for the burro stunt. Not only that, but they seem to want everybody to keep right on hav- ing it in for you about something; if not one thing, then another. They’re still sniping a lot about the Karakuls.” David grew thoughtful. What would Valley think if she knew about Mut’s confession? Had he or had he not made a mistake in leaving it to Mut to tell of that publicly? Certainly, Mut had shown no sign of doing so since he’d got home. Not that he blamed him much, with the reception Mut was getting. “Look here, Val.” David spoke seriously now. “You’ve got to stop sputter- ing about Mut Lamb to everybody, even me. ’Cause why? Because he and I have got to work together all summer. What if Mut is getting a little more credit than he deserves? I’m not sure it isn’t a mighty good thing; I A HERO’S UNJUST REWARD 187 both our ranches ought to profit by it. Anyway, pleas- ing Maggie Herstan’s mighty important for the future of Old Woman’s Draw. So you and I have got to be sensible and philosophic about little things that, after all, don’t really matter so very much. Please try to re- member that.” “All right.” Valley’s faith in her brother’s judgment made her acquiesce. “Funny, wasn’t it, that Maggie didn’t come out to hear Mut tonight?” Then she added her woman’s last word, “I’ll try to remember, too,” she dimpled roguishly, “that famous young Horace Lamb has a sister named Winifred. But that’s all right, Dave. I’ve always approved of that.” Being sensible and philosophic was not going to prove any too easy for David, himself. He realized that the next evening when the Wagon Rest chapter of the Future Farmers of America had its last meeting of the school year. As he drove Mut down to the meeting in the jalopy, a certain unacknowledged hope was rising in his heart with every traveled mile. The Wagon Rest stock judging team, three high school boys, had won the state sheep judging contest that spring. The winners were to accompany Mr. Arkins to the national convention of the Future Farmers of America at Kansas City in October. But there were funds enough on hand to permit the payment of a generous share of the expenses of one more boy on the trip. David’s great secret hope was that the election would fall upon him. Although he was no longer a high school boy, having been graduated two years before, he still had one more school year of eligibility to active 188 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH Future Farmer membership. And certainly through raising his seed corn, he had accomplished more agri- culturally this last year than any other boy of the Wagon Rest chapter. David took his seat in the high school chapter room, nodding here and there to some of the blue-jacketed boys. He no longer knew many of them well; fewer than ever this last year since Neal had been away. Even the older boys in the group seemed to him a little young. But they respected him, he thought, as much perhaps for being the brother of a national officer as for his own achievements. Reserved by nature, he realized rather wistfully that he had always left leadership and the social side of things a little too much to Neal. It was hard to get over missing Neal, so deep already.in the duties of his national office that he would probably not be home much this coming summer. As soon as he entered the chapter room, Mut had been swept away from David into a group of younger boys still eager for firsthand accounts of the packing ex- perience. David did not mind. Such tributes were keep- ing Mut in an agreeable frame of mind toward David’s Burro Ranch plans. ‘ The older boy had no forewarning of how unreas- onably and illogically far popularity could sway even the most sensible and practical-minded lads. Before the meeting was over David knew. Horace Lamb, who for four years had barely mustered a passing grade in his farm program and agricultural projects, had been chosen by a two-thirds majority of the chapter members pres- ent, as the one who, in addition to their team, should A HERO’S UNJUST REWARD 189 attend the Kansas City national convention in the fall. Alex Arkins and a few of the older boys were far from pleased at the decision. But this was the boys’ own organization; the control of its affairs was entirely theirs. l\/Ir. Arkins’ position was that of adviser only. Tonight’s election had fallen strategically at a time when Mut’s romantic, popular fame was at its high tide, and prac- tical judgment had been submerged. The boys forgot tonight the long story of Horace’s slipshod agricultural accomplishment. They remembered only his success with the once despised burros. He had put Wagon Rest on the national map. Wagon Rest must do him compen- sating honor. “You’ve still a chance, Dave,” Alex Arkins remarked to the disappointed older boy when the meeting was over. David knew what the teacher meant. Any boy who had a clear chance this fall at election to the national degree of American Farmer would be sure to be sent to the national convention by his state organization. But there was no great degree of conviction in the tone in which Alex Arkins uttered this hope. Why? David wondered afterward. It was no conceit on David’s part to be aware that no other state Farmer had accomplished anything comparable to what he had done in the matter of his corn. Could it be that all the disparaging gossip about him had really been taken seriously enough to have genuinely damaged his reputa- tion? If so, he understood Alex Arkins’ troubled atti- tude. For according to all standards of the national code, no honor of any kind, no matter what might be his financial and agricultural achievement, could come to 190 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH a Future Farmer of America who had failed to live up to the organization’s ideals and requirements of character. Yet Horace Lamb, who last year had robbed David of his chance at American Farmer election by his vin- dictive underhanded trick with the Karakuls, had to- night been honored because of a chance which David, himself, had brought to the other boy. The situation was more than ironical. It was bitter. All the more so, because had the boys known of the Karakul confession, Mut would have failed of eligibility on the character requirement. Had he made a mistake to insist Mr. Arkins keep Mut’s confession a secret? he wondered. If so, telling now certainly wouldn’t help. It would only make a bigger mess of things than ever. David rode home that night with a heavy heart. Com- fort in his mother’s code of ignoring and living above any notice of gossip and jealousy had failed him. Fend- ing off Valley’s reports of town talk with his practiced assumption of indifference was going to be harder now than ever. Little Val had full faith in him, though, he thought gratefully. And Winifred. And Alex Arkins. So, for that matter, had Horace Lamb. Well, that was something. From now on he would have to try to make the most of it. But the resolution could not make the ride home with his triumphant companion a pleasant experience, even though Mut was, fortunately, too elated to be aware of the other boy’s mood. As he listened abstractedly to Mut’s flow of chat, his hands on the steering wheel guiding the old car upgrade and around familiar curves, David’s mind was at work. His current year’s endorsed Future Farmer agricultural /Qa Chapter XVIII A STRANGE THEFT riilfns season began well. Nobody on Winding Ranch or Burro Ranch knew an idle minute. Not only was there all the work of the field crops—plowing, harrowing, planting, cultivating—as well as the spring lambing and shearing of the Karakuls, but the new poults, too, re- quired unending care. Winifred devoted herself to those on Burro Ranch. Valley, doing all she could in out-of- school hours, promised to assume full responsibility of the Chisholm flock as soon as school was out. Mut’s situation was much like Valley’s except that his present school burden was heavier. He had plenty of back work to make up to be able to graduate the first week in June. l\"ot that he took it very seriously. He 192 A STRANGE THEFT 193 breezed along, confident that his recent achievements would insure his success. And for once he really seemed interested in farm work, especially that concerned with hay for the burros and garden products for summer and fall tourists. He decided, too, to grow a field of David’s new variety of seed corn. David was pleased; that, he felt sure, would meet with Maggie Herstan’s favor. Once again David’s own greatest interest centered on a five-acre field of seed corn. But other things promised well, also. A certain number of the new Karakul lambs were now legally his, payment for his winter care and feeding of the flock. Old man Perkins had proved re- liable help during the lambing season. The quiet slow gentle old man had asked for the herding job that surn- mer, saying he would work for small pay as it was the sheep he cared for rather than the money. David had gratefully accepted his offer. But weather worry is always with the farmer, whether his land lie in an irrigated section of the West or in a natural rain belt. Thus it happened that ten days after the Wagon Rest Future Farmer meeting, David and Mut, clad in the heavy hip boots of the irrigation farmer and armed with long irrigating shovels carried rifle-wise over their shoulders, trudged over the humps of soggy pasture land toward the Draw’s private reser- voir, now filled to capacity. Unlike ahnost all the other irrigated farms of the locality, the two ranches up the Draw depended for water upon no big irrigation system, but on a miniature private one of their own, built long ago by David’s grandfather. “We’ve been lucky so far,” Mut commented with 194 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH cheerful confidence. He felt flattered this morning that David had yielded to his suggestion to run enough water out of the reservoir to flood the neighboring burro pastures. Just as a safeguard against possible overflow, Mut had urged. A week or ten days of heavy steady rainfall was due any time now. With water conditions what they already were, such a rain would mean flood. “I only hope this isn’t waste,” commented David. “Waste!” Mut scoffed. “If we happen to have a hot dry summer, it may mean these pastures’ salvation.” “And consequently the burros’,” David returned as he grinned ruefully. Couldn’t Mut ever foresee possi- bilities beyond his own immediate interests? “Give us a summer like that and the pastures would likely be all that would be saved.” Little did he dream how prophetic those words were to prove. "~ That year the expected rain did not come. Not a drop of water fell after the middle of April. And before the smnmer was half over it was desperately longedlfor. For it was a summer of such hot winds and persistent heat as had not been known in that section of Colorado for fifty years. The season that had started out high with hope and plentiful of promise was to end in disaster for many a valley farmer and rancher. By July thoughtful farmers were no longer assuaging the thirst of fields as completely as they would have liked. Before August arrived there was little hope left of assuaging it at all. The once flourishing fields had be- come parched and dust-covered, many of them hope- lessly so. Irrigation ditches, as well as local reservoirs, were dry. A STRANGE THEFT 195 In David’s heart, however, hope was still high. So far his corn had thrived. As long as water from the private Draw reservoir was plentiful, hot sunshine and warm nights were an asset. Even so he had had to work especi- ally hard to get his results, stinting the run of water to other crops that the corn might not suffer, but the extra work had paid well. It looked as though his yield might almost equal last year’s. That, too, at a time when almost every other farmer’s attempt to grow a crop from David’s seed corn would scarcely be worth salvage. He had been lucky, too, with the Karakuls, thanks to the Camp Mule grazing rights he had inherited from his father. David had gone to the higher range twice this summer and had been pleased to note the healthiness of the flock under the two Perkinses’ care. Even Burro Ranch had proved an asset. That was entirely because of the tourist business. David’s share of that would pay the rent for the place. Surely Maggie Herstan was shrewd enough to see that in a bad agri- cultural season, Mut was right to neglect his crop grow- ing, since he could so much more profitably use his time as guide to the sportsmen tourists. Too bad, of course, he had wasted money on seed in the spring. But what farmer around had not? And so far he had really kept up the big vegetable garden that helped so bountifully to set his mother’s table, and the spring-inundated burro pastures had proved adequate for the reduced burro herd. All this David wrote occasionally late at night to Neal. Back of the details burned the hope he never really expressed in words. That surely, with the promise of his A STRANGE THEFT 197 not his, he wanted to be sure of what he was going to do when his turn did come. If it would only rain! He looked up, as he was con- tinually doing these days, to scan the overhead sky. He met only the glare of a brilliant cloudless blue. But if he saw no cloud, he did see something else. Over a high ridge, well into the rolling distance to the side of the Draw, six little mules were plodding—three with riders, three with packs. “Mut,” David thought with mixed emotions. “Off on another camping and fishing excursion. With today his day for water. He ought to put in the whole day on that corn of his, if he hopes to save any of it.” David was vexed. Mut’s neg- lected cor n certainly did not look like David’s. Mut’s could not hope to make grain, except for a few nubbins; but with a good irrigation today it should make much needed silage for the cows. “Like as not he turned his water into the big vegetable garden instead of the corn. Maybe he was wise, at that. But surely he wouldn’t leave the distributing and follow-up work for his mother. She hasn’t any time for it; besides, it’s too hard.” He checked Cockle’s trot and swung off the horse’s bare back, leaving the animal standing in the deep dust beside the road while he himself walked across to the head of his corn field. Surprise gripped him before he had reached the spot. Once there, he stood still and stared. He had expected to find the ditch bone dry, its soil baked to a cracked crust since the last time he had run water through it. Instead, it was richly dark with satura- tion and seeping moisture. As far as his eye could reach, 198 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH the furrows of the field were richly wet. His corn had had a thorough irrigation. Sometime during the night someone who knew all about the Draw’s irrigation sys- tem, its headgates and its ditches, must have let a gener- ous flow run down from the low water still in the res- ervoir. Who? Mut, of course. It could not have been any- body else. Plain enough now why Mut was not irrigat- ing today. He had used the water on David’s corn. That meant that David could use his own share for the late potatoes that so badly needed it. David rode back up the Draw pondering Mut’s reasons for the act. They were not hard to imagine. Mut had done it partly, perhaps, to excuse himself for neg- lecting his own crops. Undoubtedly, too, he had another motive in diverting that water: gratitude to David for not having tarnished his Oreton glory by revealing the Karakul confession and for easing up on required hours of work when tourists were at hand. “It was mighty darn generous of the kid, any way you look at it,” David thought gratefully. Maybe, though, he ought not to ac- cept it, not so much for Mut’s sake, as for Maggie Her- stan’s ranch. Actual water, of course, could not be re- turned, but he could use his own forthcoming share on the needs of Burro Ranch. No, he decided, to do that would be tactless and un- appreciative. The only thing for him to do was to accept the gift in the spirit in which it was given. He would not even mention the matter unless Mut did first. It wasn’t exactly like Mut to keep silent long about a thing like that. Likely, though, Mut had consulted Alex A STRANGE THEFT ~ 199 Arkins about how to turn that water over to David before he had done it. That would help to excuse his own Future Farmer crop record for the summer. During the succeeding weeks David saw very little of Mut. The boy was at home only two full days during the next fortnight and David seized that opportunity to make another inspection trip up to Camp Mule, leaving Mut to attend to Winding Ranch chores. It was under- stood that while David was gone, Mut was to use nearly all the water left to irrigate his mother’s big vegetable garden. His mother was depending on that garden for much of her table supplies during the fall tourist season. Mut was gone again when David got back, having set out with an already packed outfit the moment David’s approach was assured. Because he knew Mut would be awaiting him, David did not stop to look at his corn while coming up the Draw. But he Went back to it at his first opportunity. The weather these last two weeks had been hotter than ever. He knew that field would show its need of one more irrigation at least. Silly of him to go to look at it when he knew perfectly well it could not have it. He ought to be thankful that things were as good as they were. I But once again, on reaching the field, he met with a surprise. If not quite as great a one as before, it was one that touched him more and filled him with greater gratitude. For again that field had had a fair irrigation- from the looks of it, only the night before. Whose water? He did not have to be told. But to make sure, he rode up to Burro Ranch to see. Yes, the vegetable gar- den was bone This time Mut’s generosity troubled 200 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH him. It meant a genuine sacrifice and not altogether a wise one; the tourist business needed that garden. As soon as Mut was home again he would speak to the boy about the water diverting. Probably he had made a mis- take not to have done so before. But before Mut was back, Valley arrived at home one day from the turkey camp. As soon as she reached Winding Ranch, Valley sought out David to announce that she had left Winifred with both flocks because she, herself, simply had to take a trip to town. “What for?” David inquired in good-natured curi- osity. “Because,” she replied with determination, “I’ve got to find out what Win’s worrying about. She simply won’t tell me.” She knew how to pique David’s real interest. “But it isn’t hard to figure out that it’s some- thing about you. That’s why I’m going to town. Don’t think I don’t know enough spiteful, gossipy busy- bodies who will be tickled to death to tell me everything that’s been going on about us.” Sarcasm edged sharply into her voice as she added, “Of course they’ll tell me entirely for our ‘own good’, because we Chisholms freally ought to know.’ That’s the excuse by which I always get it.” When she drove the jalopy back into the barnyard late that afternoon the fire of indignation was bright in her dark eyes. She announced at once that she in- tended to stay at home all evening. But after she had prepared supper and called David in to eat, she talked of trivial things. The only significant remark she made during the meal was, “Alex Arkins got home yesterday.” ~=;=ij-~ , A STRANGE THEFT 203 did Mut get his share of it? I should say not. Look at his crops. Don’t you suppose that more than one farmer around here was all primed to pick up any nasty suspi- cious talk he could get about you and your corn? Espe- cially when it helped work up sympathy for Mut, the great public hero? Can’t you just hear a lot of the town cats putting their heads together and whispering about it? Oh, not really saying much at first, just lifting eye- brows and shrugging shoulders as much as to say, ‘Dirty work, somewhere.’ Well, I can hear them, if you can’t.” She gave a peremptory toss of her head to forestall interruption, and hurried on to voice the question she had read in David’s bearing. “How did I tumble to all this, out on the turkey range? Through Win and her mother, that’s how. Mrs. Lamb’s boarders do get to town, and they pick up things and talk about them afterward at the table. Seem to think a lot of what they hear is mighty amusing, so country-town-characteristic that it’s awfully funny. And sometimes Mrs. Lamb over- hears them. Then once in a while when she rides up to the camp to bring us food, she tells about them. Oh, not to me. To Win, while I’m rounding up turkeys or kill- ing a snake. The last time, after her mother had gone, I could see Win was worried desperate, and I just knew it was about you—and some way, too, connected with Mut. So I said straight to Win——-” David’s blue eyes suddenly flashed in the way Val- ley’s dark ones so often did. “What have you been saying to Win?” he demanded. “I just asked her what she was so worried about. Did 204 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH she think that young upstart brother of hers was getting jealous of you again?” “Did \Vin_——” David began hesitatingly. “Say that was what was the matter with her? No. She’s too loyal. So I told her she could take care of both turkey herds for one day. That I was going to town to find out. Well, I went. And I found out plenty.” Valley’s hands ceased working. She had just given the separator parts their thorough scalding and was putting the steaming kettle back upon the stove. Her active little figure suddenly stood very still. Her big dark eyes focused directly upon her brother’s face. “Dave,” she began solemnly, as if forcing herself to an utterance from which she had been shrinking ever since her return, “they’re saying all over town that you’re a- a water rustler.” As if for relief she broke suddenly into mimicry of the nasal, maliciously insinuating tone of a busybody every- one knew in the valley. “So young Dave Chisholm has got a real cor n crop, has he? And how did he get it? By stealing water that belongs to another ranch—that’s how. Talk about double-crossin’! Ain’t no meaner way o’ doin’ it than over water. A thief! That’s what that there smart young Dave Chisholm is—a water rustler. Who wants to raise champion seed corn when that’s the way it’s got to be done? Talk about hoss thieves and cattle rustlers! Hung, they was out in this here West in the early days by the vigilantes. That’s what folks thought of thieves in this here country in them days. It’s what they think of ’em now. Only there’s a dirtier thieving going on these times. The fellow who’ll steal water LOST HOPE 207 but state champion seed corn producer. That was what the stolen water, plus the extra work he had done to promote night irrigating, had done for it. The thought was bitter with irony. The extra work had proved a boomerang; all it had done had been to build up damaging circumstantial evidence against David as a water thief. He had not the slightest doubt of Mut’s having done the diverting. But that Mut had done it with evil intent was not so easy to believe. True, he had kept complete secrecy about it, but that, after all, was not unlike Mut when it concerned a generous act of his own. It was altogether possible that Mut had done the diverting neither from generosity nor with evil pur- pose, but solely as an excuse for his neglect of his own fields. For Mut was wise enough to know that many a Wagon Rest Future Farmer whose vote had helped to give him the prospective trip to the convention at Kan- sas City, now greatly regretted that vote. At the same time, Mut certainly had no intention of foregoing the tri . ICould Mut possibly have been mean enough to want to hurt David’s chances at the same trip he was to have himself? Especially as David would gain it through eli- gibility to an honor for which Mut himself had not the slightest chance? David was ashamed of the thought before it had finished passing through his mind. Mean- ness would never deliberately go as far as that with Mut Lamb. Mut might have done what he did for his own self-protection, perhaps even dropped the hints that had started the town gossip against David, never once stopping to think what the repercussions would come to 208 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH mean. But the damage was the same whether the act was mere thoughtlessness or vindictiveness. Arrived in front of Alex Arkins’ house at the outskirts of Wagon Rest, David turned off the ignition and stepped out of the jalopy with unusual reluctance. For the first time in five years he was uncertain as to how Mr. Arkins would receive him. For David was bringing to him the complete, accurately kept accounts and rec- ords of a full farm program that was the ultimate result of his years of vocational and agricultural planning. The gradually enlarging scope of each project had estab- lished him at last in the business of farming. In the light of what Valley had told him last night, would he be putting Alex Arkins in a difficult position by submitting his record? With troubled and discour- aged heart David had debated the question before leav- ing home. “I must submit it,” he finally decided. “Be- cause if I don’t, it will look like an acknowledgment of uilt.” g He walked around the house slowly. Yes, there was Alex Arkins, pushing a hand cultivator down between rows of sweet corn in his drying vegetable garden, do- ing what he could to conserve moisture that was really no longer there. Seeing David, he paused at an upper row and leaned on the cultivator handle. He smiled at the boy in welcome. After an exchange of greetings, he took the folder David handed him. David sensed his troubled mood at once. “I understand all right, Mr. Arkins. I know I can’t expect anything from this. But I wasn’t going to dodge submitting it anyway, when there’s no reason why I should. But I don’t expect LOST HOPE 209 any endorsement from you, or from the others. That wouldn’t be fair, I know, the way things stand. Not until I can prove the truth.” His direct, straightforward glance was centered on the teacher. Distressed sympathy was in the teacher’s face as he fingered the folder. Personal relief was there, too, as if he had received from the boy an understanding he had scarcely expected. “So you know,” he said. He at- tempted encouragement. “We’ll ferret it out yet, Dave.” The boy’s face brightened. Alex Arkins, then, still had full faith in him. “Of course we will. I’m not going to give up until I do. But I’m not fooled about it. It will be too late then for this.” He nodded toward the folder in the other’s hands. “I’m fated, I guess.” He attempted a smile, as if he were the one seeking to ease the situation for the other. “Last year it was the loss of the Karakuls. And this year——” He squared his shoulders, truth ringing through his tones. “I’m no water rustler, Mr. Arkins. No more than I was a Karakul thief.” “I know it, Dave.” Conviction was equally strong in the teacher. He crossed both forearms on the top of the cultivator handle and leaned his chin upon them. “Let me have your story of the whole situation,” he said and listened intently as David gave it. “I thought Mut was giving me the water and was awfully grateful,” David ended. “I never spoke to you about it because it seemed like telling on Mut about something he didn’t want told. I thought it not unlikely, though, that he’d told you, himself.” “I never heard of it. Of course, I’ve been away. As for the gossip against you—Dave, is that Horace, too?” 210 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH Between the two, unspoken, lay the thought of many things. To David they were Mut’s false accusation against him about the Karakuls in an attempt to clear himself, Mut’s later silence about his own Karakul confession, Mut’s failure to give newspapermen a full account of David’s part in the burro transactions. Things that it was petty to notice, of course. Yet, after all, a boy weak enough for all that might be guilty of worse things. If so, the recollection of his summer friendliness only heightened the bitterness. In David’s present mood the faith he had had in Horace Lamb was becoming less and less easy to maintain. Yet somehow that summer friendliness had always rung true. Aloud he was an- swering the teacher’s last question. “I can’t believe so—at least, intentionally.” He re- peated all his late conjectures, concluding, “Mut’s out on trail in wild country with three tourist fishermen. Nobody knows just where. They’re making one-night camps. So it’s no use trying to hunt him up. But the minute that kid gets home——” Determination blazed in David’s eyes as he stated grimly, “I’m going to learn at once every last thing he knows about this whole situa- tion. Only,” his tone shifted back to hopelessness as again he nodded toward the folder, “it can’t be in time for that. You told me yourself before you left that today was the very last day that could be sent in.” The merest hint of rebuke was in the tone. If Alex Arkins had not been away, David would have handed in his records a week ago. Not that it would have made any difference, perhaps. Still, he would have learned earlier of the accusations against him. Or at least the 212 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH David thought he had come to Mr. Arkins this morning without hope, with the old aspiration smoth- ered under rebellious resignation in his heart. As he turned away, he knew it was only now that hope had really died within him. I “Between us we’ll fight this thing clear and clean yet, Dave, never fear.” David was grateful for the words. He knew how sin- cerely they were meant, and with all his heart he ac- quiesced in their decision. There certainly was no thought of patient submission in him. He would fight now until his name was cleared. Only as a citizen of Happy \Vagon Valley, though. Never again would there rise within him the hope of attaining high honor in the Future Farmers of America, the national organ- ization of farm youth that for five years had been his guiding star—whose ideals had made of him at last a Happy Wagon Valley rancher and farmer on his own. Yes, the ideals, he thought now defiantly. Public opinion had condemned him, in the most contemptible and unforgivable way, as false to those ideals. By so doing, it had ruthlessly robbed him of all chance to receive the honors he deserved. False accusations, false propaganda could rob him of the honors. But they could not rob him of the ideals, themselves, nor of the inspira- tion that came to him from them. In his heart of hearts he knew well that he had always lived true to them. Whatever others might say about him, whatever they might accuse him of, he would hold his head high, do his own job on his home farm and in his home com- munity, still staunchly true to those ideals and guided l l LOST HOPE 217 awful!” His mood had suddenly become all sympathy. And all David’s doubt of him had vanished, to his own great relief. A few moments later the two were seated close together on the back steps of the house, going over all the puzzling details of the situation. “But you must have known your corn was getting my water on the sly for at least a month. How come you never got worked up about it until these last few days?” Mut asked. “Because I thought it was only a matter between you and me. I never dreamed anybody else even knew about it, much less that folks were talking about me. From the first I took for granted you were doing it, but until lately I never thought there was any meanness in it. I thought it was mighty darn generous of you. Thought I’d just play your game by not speaking to you about it any more than you did to me.” “And I wasn’t generous enough even to think about it. As it sure wouldn’t have hurt me to do.” Shame shadowed Mut’s interested face. “Except for Mother’s garden, I didn’t care what you did with the water. My crops were no good, anyhow. Besides, after the way Maggie Herstan treated us last August, I didn’t care a hoot about trying to work this place of hers back into shape, anyhow—not if I could find any other way to make a living.” His shame intensified and was genuine. “It was awful selfish of me, Dave. I see now I’d ought to ’a thought more about your side of it. Just the same, I never did one single thing to black your eye in public. And from now on I’m going to tell every gossip and 218 ~' SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH jealous windbag in this whole dar n place what I think of the fellow who is doing it.” “Thanks, kid. It’ll help some for folks to know you didn’t care about the water. But it won’t prove I haven’t been diverting it. And the way folks seem to have got it in for me—until we do have proof——” “Who is doing it, Dave? Somebody trying to get you in bad with Maggie? Blast your chance with her as a renter, maybe, so as to get a hold on this place himself, cheap?” Mut was so entirely unconscious that his own be- havior of the summer might well have played into the hands of any such person, that a smile wavered over David’s serious face. But there was no amusement in his voice as he said, “Or blast my reputation and all my chances as a Future Farmer?” “By golly, Dave, it has done that, hasn’t it? It’s so late now that even clearing your name—'—” “Sure is,” David cut in so as not to have to hear the rest of the sentence. “I’m sorry, Dave! I’m terribly sorry!” In his impetu- ous way Mut was thinking out loud. “It cuts off every leg of a chance you had to get to Kansas City in Oc- tober, doesn’t it? I really haven’t any business to go, the flop I’ve been as a farmer. Even the fellows who voted me the chance last spring know that now. I ought to step out—hand my chance over to you——” Sincere as the words were, their inflection showed how hard any such handing over would be. David interrupted by saying, “It wouldn’t do me any good if you did. The way things are, I wouldn’t be 220 . SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH David walked home, still deep in his troubles, but comforted, too, by Mut’s innocence and sympathy. One fact stared him in the face. Whoever diverted that water must have been well aware of what the cost would be to him. VVho, of allthe people around, could have been so jealous of him as to have gone as far as that? The question seemed unanswerable. A SURPRISE SUMMONS 223 most proprietary in it. It amused David whenever he gave it any thought. He was far too deep in his own concerns to give much attention to Mut. He was over- whelmingly busy and glad of it. There was the third cutting of alfalfa, paltry though it was, and so dry that the cherished leaves fell from the stunted stalks with the cutting. There were the late potatoes to be dug; had water been available for the late irrigating they would have made an excellent crop; as it was, they did not amount to much. Such harvesting was dispiriting work. Bringing the Karakul flock down from Camp Mule, however, was really heartening. The Karakuls had thrived in the cool heights under old man Perkins’ af- fectionate care. Where Happy Wagon Valley’s local flocks of sheep had grown thin and weak and dejected of wool on lower pasture lands, the Karakuls, designed by nature to stand up under drought, had needed little of the stored fat in their great blobs of tails. David’s one great worry about them had been that wild animals would prey on them. But Guard had been with them from the first and Guy Perkins’ ready marksmanship at marauders had made him worth more than his board and small pay. Before September had advanced far, David was gath- ering seed corn in the field and storing it to dry in his big granary. There was certainly no cause for discour- agement in that crop. His own bred variety of seed corn for high altitude irrigated country had proved itself again. Seth Norton, the county agent, was confident that this year David would be not only county but state 224 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH champion seed corn producer. An even greater triumph came on the day when Mr. Norton and Alex Arkins brought to Winding Ranch other visitors, two men from the agricultural experiment station at Colorado State College. As a result of that visit, the state agricul- tural experiment station was to take over a quantity of David’s seed and test it for five years on its own experi- mental farms, previous to adopting it as Colorado’s own variety. No achievement of quite this kind, David knew, had ever before been carried out by a Future Farmer of America in any state, even in one of the many in which the work and accomplishment of the Future Farmer or- ganization had been developed to a far larger scale than had yet been the case in comparatively laggard Colo- rado. Yet such were the conditions under which that achievement was believed by many to have been pro- duced that, for the boy who after long years of struggle and hard work had accomplished it, there could only be more heartache than triumph. He needed no reports from Valley to inform him that among his nearest neighbors his success was heightening the bitterness of the feeling against him and increasing the vindictive and even vitriolic talk. He knew, too, that he had staunch defenders. One was Mut, but Mut was away from home too much to count greatly. Others were Alex Arkins and his friend and associate, Seth Norton; and more influen- tial still among the older farmers, Alex Arkins’ father. David was grateful. Such defense saved him from the wrecking depths of self-pity. But he knew well that A SURPRISE SUMMONS 225 these friends had only faith with which to defend him, no proof. Since proof now seemed impossible to obtain, there was, he had decided, only one thing to do—to live down, by his own work and his own steadily maintained integrity in all the affairs of his life, the stain which had so falsely and unjustly been laid upon his name, either accidentally, or deliberately, by some secret agent. Ac- complishing this might take years. Still, it could be done! And right here in his home community he meant to do it! The loyalty of good friends, of Valley, and above all, of Winifred, helped him to keep staunch the faith that in time he could do it. . Steadily, too, he knew, he must sustain his resolve never to let what people believed of him cause him to avoid human contacts and social activities. Nevertheless, he was glad all that fall that the pressure of work kept him closely at home. As September passed and October entered upon its succession of golden days, he was glad of the work for another reason. It would help to assuage his disappointment in not being able to attend the Fu- ture Farmer national convention. The letters that came from Neal, full of convention preparations, made resig- nation far from easy. Fortunately rain came at last early in October, just the right kind of rain. He could now put in the time of the whole convention week in long days of fall plowing. The convention was scheduled for the third week in October. On the Thursday before, Mut Lamb came home to begin his preparations for going. As usual he had not been home long before he was out again, riding hurriedly down the Draw toward town. On his return 226 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH trip he stopped at Winding Ranch to hunt out David. He found him riding the planter on a hill field he was sowing to winter wheat. Mut hailed him across an ex- panse of beautifully powdered ground. “Come here, Dave. I’ve got to speak to you.” David hesitated before obeying. “What is it?” he demanded, keeping one anxious eye on the team he had left standing. Mut was excited. “Put up that team,” he burst out. “Let your planting go. Mr. Arkins wants to see you in town as soon as you can get there. He told me to tell you.” “What for?” “Search me.” Mut wheeled his horse and bolted down a slope toward the Draw road. If he knew, he was escap- ing from the temptation to tell. More deliberately, David did as he was bid. He un- hitched the team and led it from the half-sown field. Soon he was chugging down the Draw in a fast-moving jalopy, curiosity and speculation mounting in him. He presented himself in Mr. Arkins’ high school oflice. The teacher greeted him cordially. “Sit down, Dave. Glad you got here promptly. I’ve no class this hour so I have time to put a proposition up to you that it would be just like your pride to turn down. And you mustn’t do it. Accepting will take courage and some independence of spirit. But nothing like as much as you’ve been showing lately. You’ve held your head high and gone on your undisturbed way re- gardless of the false feeling and accusations circulating about you everywhere. Now—well, I’ve found a way to show the public the completeness of my faith in you. I V / I I -t- f f"’"3i5-5| &/"f“%/7/‘Z” ; l r-Y%:$;; Z 1 :“»~*»~ -e"“._..- ~ (/ / A-2 //’ Z 2 V 5;‘ 1 7“ /T ?\ J / W [I 1’: . ~1 -§\ Chapter XXI THE VVESTERN SPECIAL DAVID, suitcase in hand, stepped off the street car and crossed over toward the long front of the Denver railroad station that faced the city. The scene into which he moved was a busy one. His eyes lighted with the glow of eager interest and his heart leaped in re- sponse to the band music that filled the surrounding air. Not until he had pressed through the crowds of on- lookers and listeners that lined the curbing could he see the performers, but the music they played told him who they were. It was the marching song of the Future Farmers of America, and the gusto with which they played it made him want to take off his hat and cheer. A martial quickness sprang into his advancing step. A 229 THE WESTERN SPECIAL 231 going, and how railroads from every section of the United States—New England, the South, the Pacific Coast—were running special trains carrying the Future Farmers to their convention for amazingly low fares. The big red-faced man was much interested. “I’m a rancher, myself,” he said. “What’s your name, son?” he asked cordially. “David Chisholm, sir. From Wagon Rest.” Keen, kindly eyes turned on the boy in sharpened in- terest. “You don’t say. Champion seed corn producer. Shake.” He put out a strong hand. “I’m proud to meet you, lad. Not only a Future Farmer of America but a real one.” David responded with _a shy, pleased smile, shifting his suitcase to his left hand. How enjoyable it was to have a little fame. Not that it would go beyond Colo- rado, of course. And even there—— Shadows eclipsed the pleasure almost as soon as it was felt. This man had not yet heard of the heavy clouds of dishonor now clustering about the corn champion’s name. But he would soon. And when he did—— David conquered the cowardly impulse toward a hur- ried escape. This—and far worse—was what he was go- ing to have to stand up against all through the coming convention. He must steel himself to doing it, holding his head high as it rightly deserved to be held, regardless of every false accusation. Soon the band boys brought their playing to a pre- cipitous close. The train announcer’s tones shrilled through the amplifier, calling the Future Farmer special to Kansas City. The crowds on the platform faced about THE WESTERN SPECIAL 233 through the window, now the boys who were his fellow travelers. It was fun discovering things about them from quiet observation. As for Mut, he was soon out of his seat, mingling with them, coming back every now and then to tell David what he had learned. David listened, enjoying it all. What a friendly chap Mut was. The boys liked him, too. To David many of these boys seemed young. Most of them were still in high school, of course, and he had been out for two years. But he was somehow even older than that. He sighed a little, in envy; yet his dark blue eyes smiled and his heart was happy. Those boys would show they could do things, he knew, when they had reached Kansas City and settled down to responsible work. David liked them—even the youngest among them. He liked the openness of their clean, honest faces, the good-natured chat that flowed back and forth among them throughout the car; he liked, too, their mild wrestling and punching that never went to the point of disorder, but was mere expression of their ani- mal spirits. And he liked their spirit of natural but re- spectful comradeship with the few teachers in the car. He wished that Alex Arkins might have been one of these. Mut was not in his seat much; he was too busy buzz- ing about. Little by little David became aware that Mut was directing the other boys’ attention to him. At first it troubled him. Could Mut be telling——? Angry at himself, he dismissed the thought even before he overheard, accompanying glances in his direction, the words, “Brother of Neal Chisholm, one of the national 234 . SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH vice-presidents.” That kind of an introduction exactly suited him. He had come to indulge himself in that. Perhaps it was because of Neal that a large, friendly, rather fleshy man, a state administrator in one of Colo- rado’s neighboring states, paused in the aisle for a few words with him, then asked if he would not like to accompany him through the long train of coaches. David complied with alacrity, following the older man through car after car filled with boys from the Wester n and Pacific states. Here and there was an older man, to whom his companion stopped to speak and introduce David. One and all, David liked them. Curiously enough, they seemed interested in him, too, and with no touch of censure. He was too modest to have any idea how winning was the shy dignity of his response and the quiet, expressive thoughtfulness of his face. Through coach after coach he followed his com- panion into the baggage car at the front. Half the car was filled with cases containing the instruments of the sixty-odd boys of the Utah band, every one of whom was a Future Farmer of good standing in some high school chapter of his state. The rest of the car was filled with food contributed by the Future Farmers toward the huge banquet which would climax the convention’s coming week of activities. For the most part this food had actually been produced by the boys themselves as a result of their own farm programs. There was case after case of ice cream contributed by Utah boys of dairy cattle and creamery interests. There was crate after crate of Arizona grapefruit, other fruits from Cali- fornia, potatoes from Colorado. Eastern, Central and 236 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH After a good dinner, furnished them very inexpen- sively by the railroad, weary boys relaxed as best they could in their swung-back seats, heads resting against the white-cased pillows the railroad had provided for their comfort. Lights were lowered to dimness in the car. Talking ceased to an occasional drowsy hum or mur- mur. Here and there cramped bodies stirred a little rest- lessly. For the boys from Oregon, Washington, and California this was the second night without a bed and they were tired. David did not expect to sleep. Not that he cared; this whole experience was too interesting; he meant to enjoy a night of drowsy watchfulness. But his young body was far too healthy to permit that. Ahnost before he knew it, he was awaking to daylight again, cramped muscles a little stiff; his best suit, so carefully pressed before he left home, showing wrinkles; and the boys be- ginning to buzz in anticipation of pulling into the station in Kansas City. And then they were there, swarming out of the train, through the station’s waiting rooms, into, the restaurant, out into the streets, mounting into street cars, filling the sidewalks; eager, a little bewildered, trying to appear casual, yet full of underlying excitement. Mut seemed glad to stay close to David this morning; something in his manner brought back to David’s mind the fateful day of their companionship at the scene of their fathers’ tragedies. Together they lost themselves in the throng making its way to the huge city auditorium where the convention was to be held. Boys, most of them wearing Future Farmer insignia, were pouring THE WESTERN SPECIAL 2 39 find it engraved on a slab on a corner of the auditorium across the street. I happen to be the architect who planned that building.” Mut slopped the coffee in the cup he was raising to his lips, put it down again and exploded, “A big man like that! Chumming with us kids. And he was nice! Like—like—folks.” David’s sensitive spirit writhed at Mut’s tactless out- spokenness. Suppose the man overheard. He had, for he turned back toward the boys with an amused grin and lifted a hand in a friendly farewell. What the boys did not know was that in his heart he was thinking that rarely did he meet with so honest and pleasing a tribute. David and Mut turned back to the breakfast. They were almost too excited to eat. Before long they found themselves back in the audi- torium hall approaching their turns at the registration desks. Alex Arkins had been there leaving word that a cot for Mut had been put in the hotel room occupied by the Wagon Rest sheep judging team. Mut hurried off to find the place. A wave of loneliness submerged David for a moment as he watched Mut wind his way through the still oncoming crowds about the long, counter-like desk. Then a clerk was addressing him. “If you are David Chisholm from Wagon Rest, Colorado, I’ve a message for you. Your brother, Mr. Neal Chisholm, left 1t.” David had no need for the message. From back in the crowd a hand was reaching forward to slap his back. Presently an arm whose very feeling he recognized THE WESTERN SPECIAL 241 this morning; there was time for only a brief exchange of courtesies. Besides, Neal wanted David to meet at once some of the older men, the boys’ mature and ex- perienced advisers from the Vocational Division of the office of Education at Washington, D. C. All these men, David knew, had once been farm boys themselves. In their hearts and faith they were still farmers, although life had brought them into administrative positions. The first was a frail, worn-looking old man with thinning white hair whom David recognized from pictures he had seen of him in Future Farmer magazines. He was the national chief, affectionately called “Dad” by those Future Farmers who, like Neal, had won posi- tions that brought them into close personal touch with the man. Unconsciously Neal used the informal word of address now. David understood why when the man grasped him cordially by the hand and the true warmth of fatherly interest shone out from his face, casting into eclipse the first impression of the man’s physical frailty. But there was more than a pleasant meeting for David in that introduction. It lay in the way Neal had said, “Dad, this is the brother I’ve told you so much about. Without him I would never have had my chance.” In Neal’s attemptedly casual voice vibrated something more than pride-something deeper, which David was afraid to think about, it brought such a lump to his throat. He welcomed another introduction. This time it was to a man of very different type: much younger, little more than forty, tall, blond, vigorous, alive with enthusiasm, executive efficiency and an optimistic faith 242 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH in the boys that called forth from them the giving with- out stint of the best of their powers. He was the national executive secretary, a natural leader of boys, born for the job. He, too, shook hands with David in a way that won him. His next remark, though, spread a shadow over David’s enjoyment. “David Chisholm from Wag- on Rest, Colorado,” he repeated. “I was raised a Colo- rado farm boy myself, you know. Aren’t you one of this year’s applicants for the American Farmer degree?” “I’m afraid not, sir. I—I’ve no chance at it.” To David’s relief someone summoned the man away abruptly at this point, so that no explanations were nec- essary. Neal had to go, too, and once more David was alone in the midst of crowds. It did not matter; his spirit was content. For Neal was proud of him; no doubt of that—im- mensely proud. Yet Neal knew thoroughly the whole situation at home. It was plain he intended to ignore it completely. Moreover, there was something both so winning and so dominating about the way Neal evi- dently chose to cast the whole matter aside that it buoyed David into something of the same mood. Other staunch friends David had. But no one whose faith had quite the quality of Neal’s. Neal had developed a lot- this time the pride was David’s—since his schoolboy days at home. David moved on through the surging throngs of boys. Well over the sea of heads, some magnetic force drew his gaze to a distant corner. He saw instantly what the force had been. Two of the Wagon Rest boys were surrounded by several others, all strangers, to whom 246 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH were arranged in three sections, with aisles between. Behind the backs of every two chairs there was a blue and yellow placard designating a state, the names being arranged in alphabetical order. In these chairs would sit the two delegates from each state chosen to conduct the business of the convention. Already boys were walking about, greeting, consulting, chatting, getting acquainted with brother delegates from other states. David settled himself in a seat well toward the front from which he would have a good view of Neal dur- ing convention proceedings. Like every other Future Farmer over the land he Imderstood the meaning of the arrangements around the delegates’ chairs. Small, high platforms were placed at the sides and to the back of the seats for the delegates, each with its chair, its desk and its emblem of the office. All during the convention pro- ceedings the national oflicers would occupy the chairs on these platforms. They would face the main platform where the young national president of the Future Farm- ers of America would preside for the following five days. On the rostrum of the first vice-president, beside the huge plow that was the oflice’s emblem, the back of Neal’s neat blond head would be within clear range of David’s vision. Pride stirred through David anew. To be elected to a national office in the Future Farmers of America was no light honor and it could come to no boy who had not proved himself worthy of it in char- acter, ability, accomplishment and promise. What those character requirements were was made clear to all convention attendants by the immense ban- ners stretched along both sides of the room below the ALONE IN A CROWD 247 balcony railing. No true Future Farmer like David Chisholm need look at them to know what was there. On one side of the room the Future Farmer motto stood out in its ripe corn-yellow lettering against the national blue of its background: Learning -to do Doing to learn Earning to live Living to serve The other banner listed the qualities every Future Farmer of America must possess to be true to his or- ganization’s ideals: Leadership Cooperation (,7-;ara¢i-er F Scholarship AGRICULTURE A CITIZENSHIP T/1,-if-1; F Service Regreation Pa.tr'io'1:ism All about David now boys in the blue, yellow- trimmed jackets, with the names and insignia of the states and chapters from which they came stamped on the backs, were seating themselves. Many an older man, too, was in their midst: teacher trainers, state super- visors, state directors of the vocational agriculture work, interested farmers, stockyard oflicials, fathers—David was surprised at the number of these older people and the glow of the interest they showed. The Future Farmers of America, a small and little-known organiza- tion only a few years ago, was evidently winning a 248 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH widely recognized place for itself among the nation’s friends of agriculture. At last the delegates ceased their friendly or business- like talk in scattered groups and sought their oflicial places. The national oflicers were mounting their ros- trums to take their positions. David’s eyes centered on Neal’s tall figure, easy in movement in spite of the hard work Neal had done as a farm-raised boy. How good-looking Neal was, David thought. Better still, how manly and straightforward and fine. No hint of smudge on Neal’s character anywhere. Emotion and brotherly pride swelled David’s heart to overflowing. Deep grati- tude to the Future Farmer organization went with it. What a man it had helped to make of this youngest son of James Chisholm! As he stepped up toward his chair, Neal’s glance found David. The blue eyes lighted. Over the fair face, far less sunburned now than it used to be in the days at home, spread a glad smile of recognition. He turned his back and settled himself at his post, face to the front. David’s attention followed Neal’s. Boys on either side of David were speaking. He answered them courteously enough, but scarcely knew what he said. The nineteen- year-old national president of the Future Farmers of America was mounting the big platform in the company of two older men. The platform’s edge was lined with small flags of the diflerent states. At each end rose a large flag. One, of beautiful silk, was the national flag of the United States. The other was the flag of the Future Farmers of America. Toward the back of the wide main platform there stood another pattern of a ALONE IN A CROWD 251 consciousness of self. Thus it was that he was so com- pletely unaware of the older men around him who were watching him with penetrating scrutiny. The speech was over. David drew a long sigh and leaned back. “Swell, wasn’t it?” the boy at his side asked. David answered with a heartfelt, “You bet.” \i\ Hi Illllnmvl \ \ _. \,§--‘ \~\,\ ‘ ‘\‘\ \~\§§“ \ \ -:: \‘\ Chapter XXIII ONE OF THE CROVVD AT LAST V.l]:-ins began for David a week so full of interest it was impossible to take advantage of all that was offered. At the stockyards, where the American Royal Stock Show was in progress, the Future Farmer national stockO judging contests were still going on. They had begun the previous Saturday; that was why the other Wagon Rest boys and Alex Arkins had not been able to come on the “special.” At the stockyards, too, were to be viewed all the exhibitions of wonderful stock in which the Future Farmers of America were taking no mean place. In fact it was a steer, Lucky Boy, entered by a seventeen-year-old Future Farmer from Texas, which 252 ONE OF THE CROWD AT LAST 25 3 1 won the blue ribbon as the grand champion of the en- tire American Royal. David had no intention of missing such sights. But they could wait until the other Wagon Rest boys were less completely taken up with stock show interests. After what had happened that morning in the audi- torium foyer, he had no desire to encounter them again. Anyway, because of Neal he meant to devote himself chiefly to attendance at convention meetings. Thus Monday afternoon found him in almost the same seat he had occupied in the morning. A man was on the platform when he came in, talking of the far vision of the Future Farmer organization and of its international courage. Before the speaker had finished David’s eyes were filled with dreams. Practical, hard-working farm boy that he was, the romantic Highland Scotch part of his heritage had always made him capable of long visions. Now he was thinking of Neal. David had al- ways shared sympathetically Neal’s dreams of agricul- tural leadership. But never had those dreams gone be- yond his own United States. Now they had gained a more far-reaching vista. - Something of this wider vista had already come to him from watching the neat, gracefully trim figures of the two Hawaiian lads who occupied their places as delegates on the convention floor. That morning he had seen them place leis around the necks of all the Future Farmer delegates. But now David’s dreams were reach- ing farther, beyond American territory. Perhaps, some day, Neal, with his dreams of leadership—— David lost himself in his imaginings. ONE OF THE CROWD AT LAST 255 The young president was standing on the platform, a paper containing the names of the successful candidates for the degree in his hand. “Will the following persons please come to the front of the room and mount to the platform where we can all see them?” “Alabama.” He named three boys and the chapters from which they came. “California.” Evidently, David thought, there was no American Farmer this year from Arizona. Well, it was a sparsely populated state, with a minimum of agricultural land; more excuse for it than for Colorado. “Colorado.” David started with surprise. “Who—?” he started to think. Then he froze into his seat as the name was spoken. “David James Chisholm, Wagon Rest chapter.” A congratulatory grin and nudge from the blue- jacketed boy next to him, to whom he had told his name, somehow got him to his feet. He moved forward in slow uncertainty, almost like an automaton, until some magnetic force drew his glance to the opposite side of the room where Alex Arkins sat with his sheep judging team. The teacher’s face was beaming. He gave the be- wildered boy a quick nod of assurance across the wide sea of intervening heads. The nod opened the headgates in David’s stream of consciousness. He moved on toward the platform and mounted it naturally and at his usual pace. There was really not any mistake about that an- nouncement then. He was actually to become an Ameri- can Farmer, after all. 256 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH Wave after wave of relief surged through him as he stood in the group of fine young farmers gathering on the platform. His spirit was lifted up on those waves as if by a life buoy. His head felt a little light, while grati- fication beyond anything he had ever anticipated rose to a song in his heart. The roll call of the states was going on, but he scarcely heard it. Nor was he aware of the huge roomful of eyes focused on the group of which he was one. But by the time Wyoming’s successful candidates had been called and the ceremonies begun, he had come back to a keener sense of reality. He drank in the words of the ritual and spoke his own initiation vows with sincerity. When the handshakings and congratulations were over and David was once more back in his seat, he knew that the relief and rejoicing within him came from far more than the honor he had won. They came from the knowledge that no longer did the taint of dishonor cling to his name. For had it not been so, the American Farmer degree could not have come to him. It was Alex Arkins’ doing, all right. In some way the teacher who had for so long and so staunchly been his friend must have succeeded in clear- ing the stain from his name. Had he known or only hoped he could do it when he had insisted that David attend the convention? No matter now; David would find out about that later. Enough that he wore on his coat, pinned there on the platform by Neal, of all people, the gold key surmounted by an eagle that was the insignia of an American Farmer. It meant more to him, coming now, than any insignia he could ever hope 258 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH is until we’re all back home again. So please don’t ask anyone for an explanation while we’re in Kansas City. If you do, you’ll get me in decidedly bad. Everything’s absolutely okay, though. Just try to take my word for that and put all your own effort into enjoying yourself.” There was no possible escape from complying with a request like that. Nor did David try. He was too happy in the situation as it was. No longer was he a solitary spirit. He was a good fellow among other good fellows who were no longer resentful or critical of him. Their pride in him even triumphed over the rather shy aloof- ness they had felt toward him in the past. Mut was not with the group on the way to the cafeteria. But when, after filling their trays, they sought out a table where there was just room enough for them, Mut suddenly breezed up from somewhere calling out, “Here, I be- long with this bunch. Shove up, can’t you, and make room for me to pull up a chair?” The boys complied, making a place for Mut, as if by common consent, right next to David. As the meal pro- ceeded amid lively chatter, Mut made a point of nodding and speaking to numerous other blue-jacketed Future Farmers coming and going through the cafeteria aisles. David was secretly amused. It was plain Mut was proud of being seen in his company. There was more than pride, though, in Mut’s bearing. To an even greater degree than David had felt it while they were on the train, there was a secret proprietary triumph, as if some credit for David’s present position was due to Mut himself. The meal over, the Wagon Rest boys took a walk ONE OF THE CROWD AT LAST 259 around Kansas City’s business streets; then trooped back to the auditorium as one loyal and congenial crowd to listen to the five candidates who had won their way to the finals in the national yearly Future Farmer speaking contest. Once again David found Mut seated next to him, acting as if he had the proud right to be there. If David’s amusement mounted, with it also went apprecia- tion. For if Mut’s attitude was a “little funny,” the generous sincerity of the feeling that prompted it was unmistakable. That Winifred’s brother should feel that way toward him, David found highly pleasing. David enjoyed the speaking contest. The eagle- mounted gold key on the lapel of his blue corduroy jacket gave him a feeling of sharing in all that was going on with a completeness he had not known earlier in the day. Mut evidently felt the difference in his companion. For the younger boy chatted on about the audience, about the boys he had been meeting, about the speakers on the platform with a friendliness no longer handi- capped by David’s own inner attitude. To a degree, too, Mut shared David’s intense sym- pathy with all those five boys on the platform. David knew what they must be feeling, what this occasion must mean to them, how hard they had worked for it. A Western boy won first place and the accompanying $250.o0 award, plus a gold Future Farmer medal. All received some compensation, though. Even the boy rated fifth by the three judges had his fifty-dollar award plus a bronze medal for winning and representing his region. After the contest, Neal claimed David and led him 260 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH off, declaring there were a lot of people around who wanted to meet him. David complied with a shy, pleased grin. Neal fairly swelled with pride as he introduced him to one prominent man after another. They shook hands with David cordially, eying him and talking to him with more than casual adult interest. Because he was an American Farmer, of course. He warmed to their cordiality and became so interested in conversing with them that he completely lost his self-consciousness. Most of all he enjoyed talking with the young na- tional president of the Future Farmers. He certainly liked that modest, friendly, efficient, tactful lad—already an acknowledged leader and bright as they make ’em, by golly. Not one touch of “side” about him, either. No wonder he held the delegates of the convention meet- ings in the hollow of his hand. David was sorry when Neal interrupted their talk by bringing up an older man for an introduction. The new- comer proved to be an editor or reporter of some sort. For no reason that David could ferret out he invited the Wagon Rest lad to be his guest at luncheon the next day in one of the city’s finest hotels. There was nothing to do but accept, of course. It would be an interesting experience, but secretly David would far rather have gone to the cafeteria with some of the boys. He did go off to a restaurant that night with Neal and a group of his fellow officers. It was fun for David. Not that he talked much, but he liked Neal’s friends, enjoyed “ganging up” with them. They seemed older, a little more his thinking kind than the kids from home, fine as the Wagon Rest fellows were. He was happy, 262 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH sudden passing pang of homesickness. After all, it was that home which had brought him this day. Life there, working and developing the place, year after year, into a better ranch and a better place to live had long been the thing in life he had most wanted. But if he had needed anything to convince him of the soundness of that desire, this one happily eventful day in this crowded, noisy, bustling city had done it. His eyelids drooped wearily but he did not fall asleep at once. Not excitement but the distracting, unfamiliar noises of the outside street kept him awake. Mentally he contrasted the scenes they typified with the peace and quiet of a moonlight night up the Draw at home. No rattle and clanging of passing street cars there. No rum- ble of loaded trucks. No humming whirl of continually passing cars. No high-pitched laughter and talk of passers-by, feet tapping noisily over concrete pave- ments. Only the peace and beauty of true restfulness, the just reward of the day’s arduous labor in the world of a real—not a city-made-out-of-doors. Then deep sleep and an early awakening to the best, because they were the most beautiful, hours of the day—hours that city dwellers never knew, wasting them in sleep and inactivity. Only this morning he had noted to his amaze- ment that Kansas City was not really stirring to the day until nine o’clock and after; even the main stores had not yet opened their doors. He did not doubt, though, that the noises in the streets would begin to intensify early. There was plenty of early morning noise at home, but how different. The chatter and choruses of birds ONE OF THE CROWD AT LAST 263 breaking through the clear sweet clean bracing air at sunrise. The crowing of cocks in the chicken yard. The lowing of cattle eager to be fed and milked. The quavery, eager baaing of the awakening Karakul lambs, nuzzling their sleepy mothers. The stamping of the work horses in the bam, ready for another day of toil in the great outdoors. Trust the animals. They knew far better than any city dweller what part of the day was best for reinvigoration and for work. A long sigh of contentment that it had been his heritage to be born a country boy surged through his stalwart body as it re- laxed at last into healthful sleep. IN THE ARENA 265 even for a boy coming from a beef producing state. It must have been that, he thought now as he watched his dapper companion walk away, that had so loosened his tongue. Easy, genial, the man had put to David question after question to which courtesy demanded that the boy reply. “What he wanted with a country fellow like me,” he told himself, “is more than I can figure out. And the way he turned me into a regular gab——” David was not at all sure that he liked it. “There isn’t much he doesn’t know about me now from the time I first joined a 4H Club. Oh, well,” he dismissed the subject with a philo- sophical grin, “he’s welcome to the knowledge if he has any use for it.” He joined the throng of Future Farmers passing through the entrance gate. A boy next to him remarked, “Being in things down here, we aren’t going to see as much of the program as we could if we were up in the grandstand.” The speaker was a solid, tow-headed boy from South Dakota. David agreed with his comment. Yet not for worlds would either boy have relinquished his place. As Ameri- can Farmers it was their privilege to march in the big parade around the entire stockyards arena. This was annual Future Farmer day at the great American Royal Stock Show. The boys who were not to be in the parade were swarming up into seats given them by the stockyards association as a compliment to the organization. There were more than six thousand of them, their blue jackets with corn-yellow lettering making them stand out among the thousands of other interested spectators IN THE ARENA 267 the American Farmer group and called, “David James Chisholm of Colorado.” David stepped forward. Beckoning to him, the man placed him at the very forefront of the American Farmer line and emphatically bade him stay there. There was no time for a query from mystified David. The same man was repeating his summons to four other American Farmers whom he placed directly behind David. They began to mark time with their feet, then slowly to move forward to the music of the band. ]ust ahead of them the national officers were entering the arena. Leading them, step firm and steady, was Neal, chosen because of his height. David could not see his brother’s face, but he itnew how it looked, alight with feeling. Neal’s hands held in their strong, labor-hardened grip the pole of the nationa can flag, fluttering grac A few steps back of N ing the national flag of The other oflicers fol tween them, horizontal Future Farmers. . organization’s large silk Ameri- efully above his uncovered head. 'eal came another tall boy, carry- the Future Farmers of America. owed two by two, bearing be- ly outspread, the banners of the The American Farmers began to follow. The guiding oflicial laid his hand on David’s arm to check their ad- vance until a space of ten or twelve feet had widened be- tween the national oflicers and David. The man released his grip. “Now. Move forward.” The American Farm- ers obeyed, moving two by two in line except for David, who marched alone at their head as he had been bidden. IN THE ARENA 271 David stood absolutely still. Applause thundered forth from everywhere in that huge pavilion. David scarcely heard it. The man was still talking, outlining, he learned afterwards, his own Winding Ranch story. Now he was too stunned to realize what was being said. Then the speaker handed the Kansas City Star’s check for five hundred dollars to the fine-looking man with the quiet, firm face who was this year’s president of the Ameri- can Vocational Association, asking him to bestow it upon the winner. The man accepted it, added a few in- spiring words of his own, then held the check out toward David. David did not know, himself, just when he moved for- ward. He did it automatically in response to a whisper of, “Wake up, brother,” from an Oklahoma American Farmer directly in back of him. The person who ac- cepted that check was somehow very vividly himself and yet not David James Chisholm at all. A voice which in the same way did not seem to belong to him mur- mured a courteous, “Thank you.” The handshake of congratulation which accompanied the check was so warmly sincere that the feeling it aroused tingled through him down to his feet. He heard from some- where the question, “Have you anything to say?” and the same queer voice that was his and yet did not belong to him at all responded, “Only, sir, that as long as I live—I’ll—I’ll do my best—to try to live up to it.” Then he was back in his place again among his fellow American Farmers. The other awards were being made —two to regional Star Farmers, two to Star Farmers of individual states. A few closing remarks by one of the IN THE ARENA . . 273 “Put it into my place, sir. Don’t know just how yet. Probably pay off on the mortgage.” The daze was lift- ing. That was his own voice which had replied to the editor. The man looked pleased. “Good sense.” His nod seemed to say that it was for such uses his paper liked its awards to go—to help rural boys build for the future. The arena was clearing with remarkable rapidity for the horse show that was to follow. David moved with the crowd, hoping to keep with Neal. But already fellow oflicers were calling Neal away to attend to some press- ing convention business. Then David found himself being claimed by a hand upon his arm and a comforta- bly familiar voice saying in his ear, “The boys would like it if you’d join us, Dave. We’ve a fine place to see from and we’ve saved a seat for you.” How like Alex Arkins, David thought. He sank back into his own plain self at the comfort of those words. Sit with the Wagon Rest boys? You bet he would. That was where he belonged. They meant home to him; he’d cling to them. Queer how that twinge of homesickness could go through him so sharply at a moment like this. It was only a flash, of course, gone by the time he had seated himself next to Alex Arkins. The boys around pressed forward to greet him with heartfelt outbursts of, “Bully for you, Dave!” “You’ve sure put us on the map.” “Gosh, and are we proud of you!” “Won’t we Wagon Rest fellows have to sweat from now on, not to shame you?” David had appreciated all the kindly congratulations that had come his way but none quite warmed his heart 274- SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH like these from the boys from home. In a way they knew, as no one else could, what he had done. Just a good job, to the best of his ability, as everyone should do in life wherever he was put, if he were worth his salt. After all, that was all there was to it. And these fel- lows knew it. David grinned at them in comradely boy fashion. But there was something more that made these con- gratulations such a comfort and that was the knowledge that somehow the burden of accusation against him had been completely removed. Just how it had been done he knew he could not yet ask. He was too dazed to try to figure it out for himself. Enough for the present to know the relief was there. Only one person here could fully sense what that relief must be—Alex Arkins—and he was sitting next to him. So far Mr. Arkins had said very little. He did not need to. His face said it for him better than words. “Glad you came, Dave?” The boy turned to meet the teacher’s smile. “You knew I had a chance. That’s why you made me come.” Alex Arkins nodded, face alight. “And when we’re home again, you’ll lear n all about it. I promise you that. As for now, everything’s absolutely all right, you know. And always has been. And everybody either does or will know it, too.” It was the last bit of assurance David needed to con- vince him he was not living in a dream. The teacher was talking on, in a tone of quiet amuse- ment, while the boys beyond him were becoming ab- sorbed in the beautiful horses trotting into the arena ‘ V T_~P i»- a, a . I ;.§\-as = ’\ ‘ s ~\ §\ L ‘ *\ w /I’ >7”? . -ii’?/I it I );"\".§l _ v /_‘ Iii; W ;/"I '1 /W5 . \ ‘ "'.?-';\1\3\g\1u\\~' 1 yr! |'I Chapter XX V. LAST HOURS ]i[)Av11>’s photograph was in all the evening news- papers and even more plentifully in those of the next day. His life story was there, too. He knew now why a newspaperman had taken him to lunch. Scenes from the arena program sprinkled the pages of the press: David receiving his five hundred dollar check, the other boys receiving their awards, the massed pavilion crowds. The Kansas City Star carried a picture of “the Chisholm home, known as Winding Ranch.” Neal or Alex Arkins or perhaps Mut must have furnished that. Well, it was only fair the paper should have it, if it wanted it, after what the Star had done for him. Newspaper publicity was only one feature of David’s >O-. ‘P I ' ’ j ' I . {Ir J p _/,,.—.gg? -./ . . .@ .e // 4 '\ ~ ' wl _ I paw//~"' ‘ 276 280 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH Most of these awards were gifts from private and pub- lic sources interested in the development of American agriculture. David knew now better than he had before what it must mean to those boys to have honors come their way. He felt sorry for the boys who had tried hard and missed. Among these was the Wagon Rest sheep judging team; he had gone to the banquet with those boys and expected to sit with them. But scarcely had they settled themselves when he was summoned by an usher to occupy the seat reserved for the Star Farmer at the speakers’ table, placed at the very forefront of the room, where it faced the long vista of two thousand boys and teachers. David left the home boys with regret. He would have preferred to sit with them rather than in the conspicuous place assigned to him. A fellow like Mut Lamb might like the spotlight, but personally he would rather be a little more out of it. And this was a kind of spotlight that would abash even Mut, he thought, as he obediently took his seat. Except for the national president, David was the only active Future Farmer at that long table. The other oc- cupants were mature men, the speakers of the evening, the organization’s distinguished friends and guests. They included presidents of the railroads who had given the Future Farmers their low rates, donors of awards, head stockyards oflicials—one and all prominent men of affairs of the American world, who believed in this or- ganization and in the future promise of its work. David soon lost his shyness in his interest in the talk about him. He had been wrong about not wanting this place; it was a privilege to sit among these men and listen to their con- %% \\ / aé,” rfll / l/// i//~///’ V jj////N -5' Chapter XXVI THE SHADOW SHOWS ITS HAND Ev GOLLY, Dave, look at the gang.” The afternoon passenger train was pulling into Wagon Rest station, and David and Mut, suitcases in hand, were leaning out eagerly from a car platform. The station had none of the deserted appearance com- mon to it since the early days of rapidly developing automobile and bus travel. It was as filled with people as if once more the arrival of the daily train had become an outstanding event in the community life. Eager groups surged toward the alighting boys as the train slowed to a stop. Foremost were the Future Farm- ers who had not gone to Kansas City, and other high school lads. Intermingled was a generous number of high 284 THE SHADOW SHOWS ITS HAND 285 school girls. Older persons followed in the young peo- ple’s wake: high school teachers, several of the town’s leading citizens, including farmers, businessmen and booster officials. One and all they advanced to meet David, hands extended in congratulation. They almost ignored Mut, a fact that he himself seemed not in the least to mind. He stayed at David’s elbow in smug satis- faction, as if the credit for this welcome, which was plainly taking David by surprise, was in some way due to him. “How could they have known about it?” David had muttered. And Mut had exulted hastily in his ear, “Through Mr. Arkins’ wire, of course. And the Kansas City papers. Wasn’t your mug, and you in the spotlight in convention meeting views, blazed all over ’em? Mr. Arkins and I, you bet, sent every one of those articles home air mail. Couldn’t let the home folks wait, could we, until your sweet face and your whole story began to show up in the weeklies?” Much of this speech was lost upon David because of welcomers’ demands upon his attention. But Mut soon had plenty of other listeners and continued to take ad- vantage of the fact, seeking the spotlight only to direct it toward his companion. If David had no chance to note Mut’s attitude, there were those in the crowd who did. To one of these observers it brought a satisfaction far beyond what it could to a more impartial onlooker. She was a person whom David had sighted in the crowd long before he had stepped down from the train, but as yet no words of greeting had passed between :4 288 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH David hesitated. To leave the scene in the abrupt fashion she indicated seemed anything but courteous. But to his relief the surrounding people who had over- heard Mrs. Herstan’s words showed apparent approval. Perhaps the others would agree. His glance traveled over toward Winifred in a reluctant uncertainty that Mrs. Herstan noted. It brought from her one of her deep- throated chuckles. “She’ll have to wait a while. I’m your girl at present. You’re even going to have to take me to the dinner in your honor tonight. Alex Arkins arranged that. Before he left for Kansas City.” David tried not to show his mystification at her state- ment. He knew her delight in creating dramatic sur- prises, above all of an unpleasant kind. He was glad, though, he had that Kansas City check in his pocket. Much as he resented her putting this blight upon the present moment, he would be glad to have the matter of the mortgage payment settled up. Just the same, he hoped she was overheating some of the comments that followed them as they turned off into a street leading up- town: “Trust Maggie not to waste any time getting her clutch on Dave’s money.” “So that’s why the old lady joined the welcoming crowd.” She gave no evidence of hearing them, however, and David himself had the feeling that she was trying to hurry him off before he had a chance for real con- versation with anyone among the welcomers. He for- got such notions when he found himself seated beside her before the huge, old-fashioned, roll-top desk in her high-ceilinged sitting room. She had planted her gaunt, large-framed figure in the swivel chair. “Well, you’ve THE SHADOW SHOWS ITS HAND 289 77 done it, she commented, adding with unmistakable satisfaction as she twirled the chair to face the desk, “I always had a sneaking notion you might.” “Done what?” David could not resist the question. She laughed; this time her deep-throated chuckle was magnetic. She reached up to the top ledge of her desk for a neat pile of copies-of a popular and widely cir- culated farm magazine. After shufliing the copies out on the desk board, she opened several to pages she had marked. . David saw at a glance what these pages contained. A series of articles he already knew well. They had been written by the national executive secretary of the Future Farmers of America about the follow-up careers of the boys who, during the organization’s slightly more than a decade of life, had won the yearly Star Farmer awards. They were inspiring reading to any young farmer, as David had learned. It was no surprise to him that Mag- gie should be a subscriber to the magazine. He won- dered, though, if Alex Arkins might not have called her attention to these particular articles. “At least, you’ve done part of it. A lot of that you owe to me. Now, see to it that you do the rest.” “I intend to,” he responded with a note of belliger- ence. Why in the world, he asked himself inwardly, did he owe any part of the Star Farmer award to Maggie Herstan? Hadn’t she always been one of the big stum- bling blocks that had stood in his way? He was not go- ing to give her the satisfaction of asking what she meant, just the same. She had had all the surprise effects she was going to get for the present. He turned at once to the 290 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH business at hand, and she responded promptly, as if pleased with him for the shift. The matter was soon settled. David understood, far better than he had a year ago, how to handle the situa- tion. Again Maggie Herstan seemed to approve of his behavior. “Now,” she concluded, “nothing to do but trot down to John Peters, the notary public, and get our signatures certified. It’s after office hours, but he knows we’re com- ing. I saw to that.” So all this haste was a deliberate plan on her part. And Alex Arkins must have connived in it, directing David straight into Maggie’s clutches. Perhaps the teacher had felt it best to get the mortgage situation settled while Maggie was in a favorable mood. “After that,” Maggie continued in her masterful way, “you can come back here and wash up. You’ve your good suit on already. Then we’ll pick up Winifred and all go to the dinner. I told you before you had to be my escort. It’s more suitable than you think.” She chuckled again as if she were highly pleased with herself. Then she stood up and reached for the antiquated hat she had tossed upon a neighboring chair seat when they had first entered the room. But she did not pick the hat up. Instead she suddenly sat down again, peremptorily mo- tioning David to do likewise. “No. John Peters can wait. ’Til morning if necessary. I’ve some things I’ve got to say first.” Meanwhile David uttered the bewildered query, “What dinner?” 1 She proceeded to answer. “The one in your honor, a 292 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH compromised. I agreed that if he’d keep his mouth com- pletely shut until today and see to it that young Lamb did too—— By the way, that youngster’s got a lot more guts than I ever used to give him credit for. He sure stood up to me about you good and plenty the night he caught me.” Whatever her reference was, the recollec- tion of it renewed her chuckle. “Anyway, I promised that I’d confess to you alone beforehand, instead of trying to bowl you over in public tonight at your benefit dinner. I still think it would be a lot more interesting the other way. But I always keep my word. So here oes.” g It did not “go” at once. She sank into a silence that David stubbornly refused to break. Instead of resenting his attitude, she appeared delighted with it, as if they two were playing a game she found highly stimulating. “I’m going to tell everybody just what I did to you and exactly how I did it. I’m going to do quite a lot of tongue-lashing, too, on the side—to folks that need it mighty badly. I’ll sure enjoy it. It may do some good to the idle tongue-waggers and spiteful busybodies around here. But it won’t to the worst of them. They’ll go right on saying, ‘That Maggie Herstan always was a little cracked.’ Maybe they aren’t so far wrong at that.” Again she chuckled, then queried tartly, “Well, don’t you want to hear what it is I’m going to confess? If you don’t, I’ll just keep it for my speech.” Then David succumbed. “Of course I do,” he re- plied sincerely. “Well, then, first of all, I happen to be the water rustler. ’Twas me that saved your corn for you.” 294 SHADOW OVER WINDING RANCH half, not entirely on her own part, but with the use of others as her agents. She had dropped the hint of the Karakul disappear- ance into Mut’s receptive ear, and he had acted upon it. At every opportunity she had planted seeds of rumor and jealousy against David’s outstanding successes and helped them to grow and multiply. She had seen to it that he got precious little of praise and publicity, such as this crazy world of today was giving to any silly person who accomplished any feat at all. None of that for young Dave Chisholm, she had decided. Far better to poison his chance for it completely than to let him have it. She had even gone so far as to build up the ac- cusation against him as a water thief, damaging his rep- utation to the point where it seemingly frustrated his long-cherished ambition for eligibility to the Ameri- can Farmer degree. “That young Arkins was the first to be suspicious of me. He couldn’t get anything on me until I was ready to have him. And that wasn’t until last month after the date when your agricultural record had to be in. I told you, I always like things dramatic. Well, I got ’em that way, I guess. Just in time—I owned up, to young Arkins. Got him busy at clearing things up for you. And he sure did it—I’ll say that for him—with a vim and a will. He was so mad at me it was good for him; it sure made him hustle.” She leaned back in her swivel chair like a man, and concluded, “Well, it all worked.” David gasped. She meant it had worked because of what it had made of him, and he knew it. In the gray eyes he had so long feared, the shrewdness was cast into . .. - ._. _— — .1; . - I -.“__ W_ __ _ _ ' . P‘._. . --n -ml-. . ‘_-.__ - . -i 1 JPN .Schm57 S3 , Schmidt, Sarah Lindsay Shadow over Winding Ranch JUL 1 0 2006 _, _ _¢“_— ~