The Orphan Part 16

"Are you The Orphan?" he asked, with no more interest than he would have displayed if he had asked about the weather.

"Yes," replied The Orphan, nonchalantly rolling another cigarette.

"How is the sheriff?" Blake asked.

"Sh.o.r.e well enough, but a little mad about the Cross Bar-8," answered the other as he inhaled deeply and with much satisfaction. "He said there was some good coffee waiting for you to-night if you wanted it," he added.

"Did he?" asked Blake, grinning his delight.

"Yes, and some--apricot pie," added The Orphan wistfully.

Blake laughed: "Well, I reckon I've got some business over in town to-night, so you keep on going 'til you get to the bunk house. Tell Lee Lung to rustle the grub lively--I'll be there right after you. Apricot pie!" he chuckled as he pushed on at a lope.

Jim Carter was washing for supper, being urged to show more speed by Bud Taylor, when the latter looked up and saw The Orphan dismount. His mouth opened a trifle, but he continued his urging without a break. He had seen The Orphan at Ace High the year before, when the outlaw had ridden in for a supply of cartridges, and he instantly recalled the face.

But Bud was not only easy-going, but also very hungry at the time, and he didn't care if the devil himself called as long as the devil respected the etiquette of the range. Besides, if there was to be trouble it would rest more comfortably on a full stomach.

"Give me a quit-claim to that pan, yu coyote," he said pleasantly to Jim.

"Yu ain't taking no bath!"

"Blub--no I ain't--blub blub--but you will be--blub--if yu don't lemme alone," came from the pan. "Hand me that towel!"

"Don't wallow in it, yu!" admonished Bud as he refilled the basin. "Leave some dry spots for me, this time."

Jim carefully hung the towel on a peg in the wall of the house and then noticed the stranger, who was removing his saddle.

"Howdy, stranger!" he said heartily. "Just in time to feed. Coax some of that water from Bud, but get holt of the towel first, for there won't be none left soon."

The Orphan laughed and dusted his chaps.

"Where'll I find Lee Lung?" he asked. "Blake wants him to rustle the grub lively."

"He's in the cook shack behind the house a-doing it and trying to sing,"

replied Jim. "He's always trying to sing; it goes something like this: Hop-lee, low-hop yum-see," he hummed in a monotonous wail as he combed his hair before a broken bit of mirror stuck in a crack. "Hi-dee, hee-hee, chop-chop----"

"Gimme that comb, yu heathen Chinee," cried Bud, "and don't make that noise."

"Anything else yu wants?" asked Jim, deliberately putting the comb away in the box.

"I want to be in Kansas City with a million dollars and a whopper of a thirst," replied Bud as he filled the basin for the stranger. "It's all yourn, stranger. Grub's waiting for yu inside when yore ready."

"Do yu know who that feller is?" Bud asked in a whisper as they made their way to the table, from which came much laughter. "That's The Orphant,"

he added.

"Th' h--l it is!" said Jim. "Him? Him Th' Orphant? Tell another! I'm more than six years old, even if yu ain't."

"That's straight, fellers!" said Bud to the a.s.sembled outfit in a low voice. "I ain't kidding yu none, honest. I saw him up to Ace High last year. That's him, all right. Wait 'til he comes in and see!"

"Well, I don't care if he's Jonah," responded Jim. "Only I reckons you're plumb loco, all the same. But I'm too hungry to care if Gabriel blows if I can fill up before these Oliver Twists eats it all up," he said, revealing his last reading matter.

"He sh.o.r.e enough wears his gun plumb low--and the holster is tied to his chaps, too," muttered Jim as he seated himself at the table. "So would I, too, if I was him. Pa.s.s them murphys, Humble," he ordered.

"You has got to bust that piebald pet what you've been keeping around the house to-morrow, Humble," exulted the man nearest to him. "And it'll sh.o.r.e be a circus watching you do it, too!"

The blankets which divided the bunk house into two rooms were pushed aside and The Orphan entered, carrying his saddle and bridle, which he placed beside the others on the floor. Then he unbuckled his belts and hung them, Colts and all, over the pommel, which was etiquette and which gave a.s.surance that the guest was not hunting anyone. Then he seated himself at the table in a chair which Humble pushed back for him. His entry in no degree caused a lull in the conversation.

"Well, you hasn't got no kick coming, has you?" asked Humble. "Hey, Cookie!" he shouted into the dark gallery which led to the cook shack.

"Rustle in some more fixings for another place, and bring in the slush!"

Then he turned to his tormentor: "You has allus got something to say about my business, ain't you, hey?"

"Sic 'em, Humble!" said Silent Allen. "Go for him!"

From the gallery came sounds of calamity and then a mongrel dog shot out and collided with the table, glancing off it and under the curtain in his haste to gain the outside world. A second later the cook, his face fiendish, grasping a huge knife, followed the dog out on the plain.

Those eating sprang to their feet and streamed after the cook, yelling encouragement to their favorite.

"Go it, Old Woman!" "'Ray for Cookie!" "Beat him out, Lightning!" and other expressions met Blake as he came up from the corral.

"Cook got 'em again?" he asked, elbowing his way into the house. "I told you to keep liquor away from him."

"'Tain't liquor this time; it's th' kioodle," replied Docile Thomas as he led the way back to the table. "Him an' th' dog don't mix extra well."

Blake swept aside the blanket and saw The Orphan standing by the window and laughing. Turning, he disappeared into the gallery and soon returned with a tin plate, a steel knife, a tin cup and the coffee pot.

"Sit down--good Lord, they would let a man starve," he said, roughly clearing a place at the table for the new arrival. "I don't know how you feel," he continued, "but I'm so all-fired hungry that I don't know whether it's my back or stomach that hurts. Take some beef and throw those potatoes down this way. Here, have some slush," filling The Orphan's cup with coffee. "This ain't like the coffee the sheriff drinks, but it is just a little bit better than nothing. You see, Cook's all right, only he can't cook, never could and never will. But he's a whole lot better than a sailor I once suffered under."

"What's the matter between you and Lightning, Lee?" asked Bud as the cook pa.s.sed by the table on his way to the shack.

"Wouldn't he drink yore slush? I allus said some dogs was smart," laughed Jack Lawson.

Lee's smile was bland. "Scalpee th' dlog," he a.s.serted as he disappeared.

"No dlamn good!" wafted from the gallery.

"Say, Humble," said Silent Allen in an aggrieved tone, "the beef will wag its tail some night if you don't shoot that cur!"

"That's right!" endorsed Jack. "I'll shoot him for a dollar," he added hopefully. "The boys will all chip in to make up the purse and it won't cost you a cent, not even a cartridge."

"Anybody that don't like that setter can move," responded Humble with decision. "He's a O. K. dog, that's what he is," he added loyally.

"Well, he's a setter, all right," laughed Silent. "He ain't good for nothing else but to set around all day in the shade and chew hisself up."

"He ain't, ain't he?" cried Humble, delaying the morsel on his fork in mid-air. "You ought to see him a-chasing coyotes!"

"I did see him chasing coyotes, and that's why I want you to have him killed," replied Silent, grinning. "His feet are too big. Every time he shoves his hind feet between the front ones he throws hisself."

"What did he ever catch except fleas and the mange?" asked Blake, winking at The Orphan, who was extremely busy burying his hunger.

"What did he ever catch!" indignantly cried Humble, dropping his fork.

"You saw him catch that gray wolf over near the timber, and you can't deny it, neither!"

"By George, he did!" exclaimed Blake seriously. "You're right this time, Humble, he did. But he let go awful sudden. Besides, that gray wolf you're talking about was a coyote, and he would have died of old age in another week if you hadn't shot him to save the dog. And, what's more, I never saw him chase anything since, not even rabbits."