"That is the only step I have had to take this whole trip," said
the Virginian. He holstered his pistol with a jerk. "I have been
fearing he would force it on me." And he looked at empty,
receding Dakota with disgust. "So nyeh back home!" he muttered.
"Known your friend long?" whispered Scipio to me.
"Fairly," I answered.
Scipio's bleached eyes brightened with admiration as he
considered the Southerner's back. "Well," he stated judicially,
"start awful early when yu' go to fool with him, or he'll make
you feel unpunctual."
"I expaict I've had them almost all of three thousand miles,"
said the Virginian, tilting his head toward the noise in the
caboose. "And I've strove to deliver them back as I received
them. The whole lot. And I would have. But he has spoiled my
hopes." The deputy foreman looked again at Dakota. "It's a
disappointment," he added. "You may know what I mean."
I had known a little, but not to the very deep, of the man's
pride and purpose in this trust. Scipio gave him sympathy. "There
must be quite a balance of 'em left with yu' yet," said Scipio,
"I had the boys plumb contented," pursued the deputy foreman,
hurt into open talk of himself. "Away along as far as Saynt Paul
I had them reconciled to my authority. Then this news about gold
had to strike us."
"And they're a-dreamin' nuggets and Parisian bowleyvards,"
The Virginian smiled gratefully at him.
"Fortune is shinin' bright and blindin' to their delicate young
eyes," he said, regaining his usual self.
We all listened a moment to the rejoicings within.
"Energetic, ain't they?" said the Southerner. "But none of 'em
was whelped savage enough to sing himself bloodthirsty. And
though they're strainin' mighty earnest not to be tame, they're
goin' back to Sunk Creek with me accordin' to the Judge's awders.
Never a calf of them will desert to Rawhide, for all their
dangerousness; nor I ain't goin' to have any fuss over it. Only
one is left now that don't sing. Maybe I will have to make some
arrangements about him. The man I have parted with," he said,
with another glance at Dakota, "was our cook, and I will ask yu'
to replace him, Colonel."
Scipio gaped wide. "Colonel! Say!" He stared at the Virginian.
"Did I meet yu' at the palace?"
"Not exackly meet," replied the Southerner. "I was present one
mawnin' las' month when this gentleman awdehed frawgs' laigs."
"Sakes and saints, but that was a mean position!" burst out
Scipio. "I had to tell all comers anything all day. Stand up and
jump language hot off my brain at 'em. And the pay don't near
compensate for the drain on the system. I don't care how good a
man is, you let him keep a-tappin' his presence of mind right
along, without takin' a lay-off, and you'll have him sick. Yes,
sir. You'll hit his nerves. So I told them they could hire some
fresh man, for I was goin' back to punch cattle or fight Indians,
or take a rest somehow, for I didn't propose to get jaded, and me
only twenty-five years old. There ain't no regular Colonel Cyrus
Jones any more, yu' know. He met a Cheyenne telegraph pole in
seventy-four, and was buried. But his palace was doin' big
business, and he had been a kind of attraction, and so they
always keep a live bear outside, and some poor fello', fixed up
like the Colonel used to be, inside. And it's a turruble mean
position. Course I'll cook for yu'. Yu've a dandy memory for
"I wasn't right convinced till I kicked him off and you gave that
shut to your eyes again," said the Virginian.
Once more the door opened. A man with slim black eyebrows, slim
black mustache, and a black shirt tied with a white handkerchief
was looking steadily from one to the other of us.
"Good day!" he remarked generally and without enthusiasm; and to
the Virginian, "Where's Schoffner?"
"I expaict he'll have got his bottle by now, Trampas."
Trampas looked from one to the other of us again. "Didn't he say
he was coming back?"
"He reminded me he was going for a bottle, and afteh that he
didn't wait to say a thing."
Trampas looked at the platform and the railing and the steps. "He
told me he was coming back," he insisted.
"I don't reckon he has come, not without he clumb up ahaid
somewhere. An' I mus' say, when he got off he didn't look like a
man does when he has the intention o' returnin'."
At this Scipio coughed, and pared his nails attentively. We had
already been avoiding each other's eye. Shorty did not count.
Since he got aboard, his meek seat had been the bottom step.
The thoughts of Trampas seemed to be in difficulty. "How long's
this train been started?" he demanded.
"This hyeh train?" The Virginian consulted his watch. "Why, it's
been fanning it a right smart little while," said he, laying no
stress upon his indolent syllables.
"Huh!" went Trampas. He gave the rest of us a final unlovely
scrutiny. "It seems to have become a passenger train," he said.
And he returned abruptly inside the caboose.
"Is he the member who don't sing?" asked Scipio.
"That's the specimen," replied the Southerner.
"He don't seem musical in the face," said Scipio.
"Pshaw!" returned the Virginian. "Why, you surely ain't the man
to mind ugly mugs when they're hollow!"
The noise inside had dropped quickly to stillness. You could
scarcely catch the sound of talk. Our caboose was clicking
comfortably westward, rail after rail, mile upon mile, while
night was beginning to rise from earth into the clouded sky.
"I wonder if they have sent a search party forward to hunt
Schoffner?" said the Virginian. "I think I'll maybe join their
meeting." He opened the door upon them. "Kind o' dark hyeh, ain't
it?" said he. And lighting the lantern, he shut us out.
"What do yu' think?" said Scipio to me. "Will he take them to
"He evidently thinks he will," said I. "He says he will, and he
has the courage of his convictions."
"That ain't near enough courage to have!" Scipio exclaimed.
"There's times in life when a man has got to have courage WITHOUT
convictions--WITHOUT them--or he is no good. Now your friend is
that deep constitooted that you don't know and I don't know what
he's thinkin' about all this."
"If there's to be any gun-play," put in the excellent Shorty,
"I'll stand in with him."
"Ah, go to bed with your gun-play!" retorted Scipio, entirely
good-humored. "Is the Judge paying for a carload of dead punchers
to gather his beef for him? And this ain't a proposition worth a
man's gettin' hurt for himself, anyway."
"That's so," Shorty assented.
"No," speculated Scipio, as the night drew deeper round us and
the caboose click-clucked and click-clucked over the rail joints;
"he's waitin' for somebody else to open this pot. I'll bet he
don't know but one thing now, and that's that nobody else shall
know he don't know anything."
Scipio had delivered himself. He lighted a cigarette, and no more
wisdom came from him. The night was established. The rolling
bad-lands sank away in it. A train-hand had arrived over the
roof, and hanging the red lights out behind, left us again
without remark or symptom of curiosity. The train-hands seemed
interested in their own society and lived in their own caboose. A
chill wind with wet in it came blowing from the invisible draws,
and brought the feel of the distant mountains.
"That's Montana!" said Scipio, snuffing. "I am glad to have it
inside my lungs again."
"Ain't yu' getting cool out there?" said the Virginian's voice.
"Plenty room inside."
Perhaps he had expected us to follow him; or perhaps he had meant
us to delay long enough not to seem like a reenforcement. "These
gentlemen missed the express at Medora," he observed to his men,
What they took us for upon our entrance I cannot say, or what
they believed. The atmosphere of the caboose was charged with
voiceless currents of thought. By way of a friendly beginning to
the three hundred miles of caboose we were now to share so
intimately, I recalled myself to them. I trusted no more of the
Christian Endeavor had delayed them. "I am so lucky to have
caught you again," I finished. "I was afraid my last chance of
reaching the Judge's had gone."
Thus I said a number of things designed to be agreeable, but they
met my small talk with the smallest talk you can have. "Yes," for
instance, and " Pretty well, I guess," and grave strikings of
matches and thoughtful looks at the floor. I suppose we had made
twenty miles to the imperturbable clicking of the caboose when
one at length asked his neighbor had he ever seen New York.
"No," said the other. "Flooded with dudes, ain't it?"
"Swimmin'," said the first.
"Leakin', too," said a third.
"Well, my gracious!" said a fourth, and beat his knee in private
delight. None of them ever looked at me. For some reason I felt
exceedingly ill at ease.
"Good clothes in New York," said the third.
"Rich food," said the first.
"Fresh eggs, too," said the third.
"Well, my gracious!" said the fourth, beating his knee.
"Why, yes," observed the Virginian, unexpectedly; "they tell me
that aiggs there ain't liable to be so rotten as yu'll strike 'em
in this country."
None of them had a reply for this, and New York was abandoned.
For some reason I felt much better.
It was a new line they adopted next, led off by Trampas.
"Going to the excitement?" he inquired, selecting Shorty.
"Excitement?" said Shorty, looking up.
"Going to Rawhide?" Trampas repeated. And all watched Shorty.
"Why, I'm all adrift missin' that express," said Shorty.
"Maybe I can give you employment," suggested the Virginian. "I am
taking an outfit across the basin."
"You'll find most folks going to Rawhide, if you re looking for
company," pursued Trampas, fishing for a recruit."
"How about Rawhide, anyway?" said Scipio, skillfully deflecting
this missionary work. "Are they taking much mineral out? Have yu'
seen any of the rock?"
"Rock?" broke in the enthusiast who had beaten his knee. "There!"
And he brought some from his pocket.
"You're always showing your rock," said Trampas, sulkily; for
Scipio now held the conversation, and Shorty returned safely to
"H'm!" went Scipio at the rock. He turned it back and forth in
his hand, looking it over; he chucked and caught it slightingly
in the air, and handed it back. "Porphyry, I see." That was his
only word about it. He said it cheerily. He left no room for
discussion. You could not damn a thing worse. "Ever been in Santa
Rita?" pursued Scipio, while the enthusiast slowly pushed his
rock back into his pocket. "That's down in New Mexico. Ever been
to Globe, Arizona?" And Scipio talked away about the mines he had
known. There was no getting at Shorty any more that evening.
Trampas was foiled of his fish, or of learning how the fish's
heart lay. And by morning Shorty had been carefully instructed to
change his mind about once an hour. This is apt to discourage all
but very superior missionaries. And I too escaped for the rest of
this night. At Glendive we had a dim supper, and I bought some
blankets; and after that it was late, and sleep occupied the
attention of us all.
We lay along the shelves of the caboose, a peaceful sight I
should think, in that smoothly trundling cradle. I slept almost
immediately, so tired that not even our stops or anything else
waked me, save once, when the air I was breathing grew suddenly
pure, and I roused. Sitting in the door was the lonely figure of
the Virginian. He leaned in silent contemplation of the
occasional moon, and beneath it the Yellowstone's swift ripples.
On the caboose shelves the others slept sound and still, each
stretched or coiled as he had first put himself. They were not
untrustworthy to look at, it seemed to me--except Trampas. You
would have said the rest of that young humanity was average rough
male blood, merely needing to be told the proper things at the
right time; and one big bunchy stocking of the enthusiast stuck
out of his blanket, solemn and innocent, and I laughed at it.
There was a light sound by the door, and I found the Virginian's
eye on me. Finding who it was, he nodded and motioned with his
hand to go to sleep. And this I did with him in my sight, still
leaning in the open door, through which came the interrupted moon
and the swimming reaches of the Yellowstone.
THE GAME AND THE NATION--ACT SECOND