The Sheriff of Badger Part 7

"Me and you both," Jim said heartily.

They rode onward toward the Lazy L headquarters, one whistling, the other smiling over memories.

CHAPTER VII

JOHNSON IS ELECTED SHERIFF OF BADGER

For you or for me a certain embarra.s.sment would attach to a return to work at a place we had sworn to avoid forever. Nothing of the sort appeared to trouble Buffalo Jim. A month previous he had left the Lazy L, scornful of cow work, vowing that he would live like a gentleman all his days. Now, penniless and unrepentant, he came back as a matter of course.

Indeed, Shortredge put his horses into the corral at headquarters as a man might who had reached home from a long trip. And there was not a vestige of surprise on Floyd's face when he greeted Jim. He did it casually, and shook hands with Lafe and said that he was glad to see him. Then he gave Buffalo certain orders for the morrow, touching the matter of salt for the cattle, just as though Jim had never been off the ranch. The cowboy merely said: "You stayed a week longer'n we figured on, Buf'lo."

So Buffalo Jim went to work at daybreak and Johnson loitered at headquarters. Mrs. Floyd was unaffectedly glad to see him and was not too inquisitive as to why he happened to be there. Indeed, she appeared to take his arrival as quite natural, which spared Lafe much confusion.

He played with Tommy most of the time, and on the third day of his stay he sounded Floyd on the subject of a job. The boss had expected it, and surmising that Lafe was hard up, attempted to drive a hard bargain. A prudent man, such was his practice. It may be, too, that the boss did not especially relish the notion of Johnson being permanently on the place.

"Oh, no," said Lafe, "I couldn't take that."

He was never one to accept anything handed him merely because his situation looked desperate. That policy of compromise might befit the weak, but Johnson was made of sterner stuff. No matter in what straits his mistakes landed him, he forever kept his own valuation at a certain figure. And usually other men accepted his estimate.

"That's the best I can do," Floyd ended. "I've got a range boss already, and a top hand ain't worth over fifty a month, Lafe."

"All right. I'll be drifting."

"Stick around a bit, anyhow. We might strike a trade later. Say, come up to the house. The missus wants you to stay with us instead of down here at the bunkhouse."

"Thanks," said Lafe, "but your cook's been sick since that weddin'. No, I reckon I'd best hang round with the boys down here."

He remained at the Lazy L a week, half expecting that Horne would send a message to bespeak his services again. In paying him off, the cowman had intimated that he would shortly have other deals to be put through.

A message arrived, but not from the cattle buyer. The bearer came, he said, from Turner, the storekeeper and justice of the peace of Badger.

After listening for a moment, Lafe led him behind the barn for further converse.

"They want me to run for Sheriff of Badger," he told Buffalo Jim that night.

"Go to it," said Jim. "It'll make the town a heap pleasanter for us.

We'll feel safer. The boys'll sure be pleased."

It would appear that Johnson's bloodless defeat of Moffatt had made a deep appeal to the citizens of Badger. They reasoned that a man who dared make a fool of a notorious character should be able to make short work of lesser fry. Accordingly, their message was that the law-abiding residents of the town were desirous of securing Mr. Johnson's services; and would he come forthwith? To this Lafe answered that he would return to Badger in a day or two, and the messenger departed. And for two solid days Johnson dawdled about headquarters, absolutely idle. He had an idea that to show eagerness would be to weaken his position. This surmise proved correct.

Badger leaped at once to the conclusion that they could not get him.

Yes, he had seemed reluctant, said the messenger. Now, the average man does not want a thing badly until he is persuaded he can obtain it only by strenuous effort. And ma.s.ses are like individuals, in this respect.

That was why, as Lafe approached the town, he met a small party of hors.e.m.e.n headed for the Lazy L. It was a deputation of citizens, set out to cajole him into accepting the office. Briefly and earnestly they explained how things stood in Badger.

"All right," said Lafe, "I'll run. But remember this--when I'm elected, you-all look alike to me. I won't play favorites. There'll be law and order in Badger."

"Sure," the committee agreed. "That's the ticket, Lafe. Well, let's have a li'l' touch, just for luck."

Johnson's opponent in the election was simply nowhere. The tale of Lafe's prowess grew with every telling. Tim Haverty a.s.serted on his hopes of heaven that Lafe could take a six-shooter and drive the nails into the shoes of a running horse. Personally, I suspect Mr. Haverty to have been guilty of some slight exaggeration. Still, there was ample evidence that Johnson could handle a gun, and n.o.body on the Border doubted his courage. Led by Turner, the respectable element voted for him as a unit. The others--the hard drinkers, and the gamblers, and men of no steady means of support--ranged with Lafe, too. They had known him as a "good fellow," a man liberal with his money and equally liberal in his views. Therefore they antic.i.p.ated no trouble to themselves from his election.

In this manner was Lafe Johnson elected sheriff of Badger. When made acquainted with the result, he took a long breath and grew very solemn.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I thank you for your support. And I'll sure do my duty."

The opportunity was afforded him that same night. Some of them who had worked most ardently for Lafe were gathered in the Cowboys' Rest, and there was considerable drinking. A dispute arose, and in the course of it the landlord laid out one of the disputants with a chair. A panicky person fired a gun. That brought Lafe into the Rest at a quick run.

"Stop it," he shouted. "The very first man who pulls a gun goes against me. Tommy, give me that six-shooter. Now, you get out and wait for me."

He broke Tommy's gun and motioned him outside. Then Johnson examined the injured man on the floor. He was badly hurt.

"You'll have to come along with me," he told the landlord.

"Go along with you? Go along--why, Lafe, I just had to hit him." The landlord could hardly believe his ears. Had he not repeated three times for Lafe in the election?

"You can explain that to the judge. Come on, now. Get moving."

The landlord gaped a moment and then announced that he hoped to be d.a.m.ned if he went. If Lafe thought he could double-cross him in that manner, he had a few things to learn. The sheriff made a step forward and the landlord reached under the bar for his .45. Before he could raise it, Johnson gripped his wrist and with his free hand struck him over the head with the b.u.t.t of Tommy's gun. The landlord gave a grunt and dropped into the sheriff's arms like a sack of meal. Five minutes later he went before the justice of the peace very quietly, along with Tommy.

"Understand me"--the new sheriff faced the crowd that followed, some of them murmuring--"I'd arrest my best friend if he broke the law. Remember that."

"h.e.l.l, Lafe," they protested, "this is running it over us."

"We're going to have order here in Badger. Come on, you two," said Johnson.

Then he went bail for his prisoners.

CHAPTER VIII

A FEUD AND WHAT CAME OF IT

They had hanged a man in the Willows. He was swinging from a lower limb of a tree sixteen feet in diameter--the natives call it the Mother of Cottonwoods. The sheriff of Badger and I cut him down, and because the time was summer and the flies were bad, we buried him with all haste in the sand, beside a chiming stream. Then, that no prowler might despoil, we piled rocks above, and got to horse without delay.

"He don't look like nothing now," said Lafe, "but it's Tom Rooker. You remember ol' Rooker? He always b.u.mmed his drinks, Tom did."

We rode through a pleasant grove, where it was eternally twilight by day. A squirrel chattered above us and the stream whispered here in a sandy bed. At a bend, we came upon three cows wading belly-deep in the current and eating of watercress. Some birds cheeped in a leafy thicket beside the trail. The Willows was a paradise. Then a black shadow flitted in front, as we emerged into a glade where the light was stronger, and a bleary buzzard settled leisurely on the topmost branch of a tree. He gazed at us with calm insolence. I looked hastily away, remembering what we had laid out.

After a while, the sheriff said: "I shouldn't have left town, Dan. I shouldn't have gone."

"You had to go."

"They wouldn't have got away with it, if I'd been home. Poor ol' Tom--he was awful good-natured when he was sober."

We left the Willows behind and traversed open country, heading up the San Pedro Valley. As we went, the sheriff talked of the hanging. He spoke in a hushed tone, as though there were ears to hear; or, it may be, he could not get the dead man out of his thoughts.