CHAPTER III
CORPORAL FAIRCLOTH ARRIVES
As the loading fell to a routine it quickened its pace. Every seven or eight minutes the two loaded cars were replaced by empty ones whose floors had already been strewn with sand. When the outer yards emptied their live freight into the loading pens, the cowboys whose duty it was galloped off into the low hills for more. Sometimes Dakota Fraley rode with them, but for the most part he busied himself hastening the loading operations.
Brand-Inspector West, small, wiry-haired, nervous, with worry in his eyes and a semi-apologetic manner he tried in vain to conceal, had much to struggle against in the performance of his duty. Wherever he got he was in the way, principally Dakota's. From the edge of the gangways near the car doors Dakota brushed him unceremoniously; on the stockade fence near the gangways he was a nuisance to the prodders. Here and there he darted, peering through the bars, reaching over the railing of the gangways, snatching hasty glances at the jumbled herds in the outer pens, as inefficient as he was conscientious.
Cockney Aikens lounged on the roof of the loading cars, where he overlooked everything, moving lazily from car to car as they filled and were shunted back. He saw the bewildered efforts of the brand-inspector, and his eyes followed Dakota from place to place, altering their focus sometimes to the pens and gangways below him. As the largest shipper, his foreman, Dakota Fraley, had charge of the operations, and all but a couple of the cowboys about the yards were from the H-Lazy Z outfit.
Mrs. Aikens and Stamford crossed the tracks and stationed themselves near the gangways.
Many of the cattle were of Texan breed, their long white horns swaying awkwardly up the gangways to catch now and then in car door or fence, momentarily holding up the line. The faster the loading moved, the more disturbing these breaks in the swing of the work. A tremendous steer, its horns projecting over the gangway railing, lumbered up the slope and paused at the car door, doubting the width of the opening. At a vicious prod from Dakota it dashed forward, jammed the point of one horn in the side of the car, withdrew it, and in a panic drove the other horn in the other side.
The line behind, a solid mass, jammed tighter and tighter. Two cowboys leaped to Dakota's assistance, but the steer only closed its eyes to their blows and stood braced.
Cockney, looking down at first with some amusement, saw what was happening back in the gangway and heaved himself upright. Dropping to the side of the gangway, he tossed Dakota and another cowboy to the ground and reached a hand across to either horn. Without apparent effort he forced the steer's head sideways so that its horns ran diagonally with the opening, and, swinging a leg over the railing, kicked the brute forward into the car.
Catching Stamford's admiring gaze he paused only long enough to thrust an unlit cigarette between his lips, before sidling down the outside of the railing to the stockade. There the brand-inspector had stubbornly installed himself, refusing to make way for the prodders and protesting at the speed of the loading. Cockney, holding to the railing with one hand, reached across the backs of the cattle and lifted the little man clear over the gangway, depositing him laughingly on the ground.
"Such a little fellow," he bantered, "yet so much in the way!"
He winked at Stamford and his wife.
West exploded in a typical volley of Western oaths. Cockney waved a finger at him.
"Oh, fie, West! And before ladies! Mary, that's not part of his duties. It's only an accomplishment that has gained him more notoriety than his official capacity. He wants to give the impression of guarding the Great West from cattle-thieving and rustling." He pointed to West's flaming face. "That's not anger. West never gets mad. It's shame at losing control before ladies."
West's hat came off with a sweeping bow to Mrs. Aikens.
"We don't expect ladies at these little affairs," he apologised. "At the same time"—turning to Cockney—"I must insist on being permitted to do my duty—else I'll order the loading to stop."
Dakota came blustering under the gangway.
"West's got his job to do, Mr. Aikens. Let him alone."
Cockney lolled against the railing, looking with twisted lips down into Dakota's sullen eyes.
"Shall I lift him up where he can see everything, Dakota, and protect him from your bullying?"
Something about it made Dakota's eyes drop.
"Don't mind him, West," soothed the foreman. "You come over here and stand on the fence. As long as you don't get in the way about the gangways you're all right."
Stamford failed to see how any one on the fence, except at the gangways, could see more of the cattle than their backs.
Cockney Aikens watched Dakota thoughtfully as the latter pulled himself to the other gangway. Then he climbed to his old perch on the roof and lay on his elbow without lighting his cigarette. And Mary Aikens watched her husband.
"Poor West!" sympathised Stamford. "He leads a dog's life. I can feel for small men."
He saw she was not listening. "I was saying——"
"I'm afraid I wasn't listening, Mr. Stamford," she said apologetically. "What were you saying?"
"I don't believe I remember. I never say much worth while."
"It wasn't—that," she explained uncomfortably.
Stamford yielded to her embarrassment. "West and your husband should change jobs."
A gust of laughter broke from her lips. It startled him, but he went on:
"I don't think Dakota Fraley would stop Cockney Aikens——"
"Do you think Dakota was doing it purposely?"
Stamford stared. "I didn't think of that. Perhaps—— But why should he——"
"Of course," she laughed, "why should he?"
"Your husband would make an admirable brand-inspector, and West's size would be no handicap to a rancher."
"Jim isn't a rancher; he wasn't born with the first qualification.... I don't believe that's to his discredit, do you?"
She was challenging him with her eyes, facing him squarely.
"Cockney Aikens possesses the greatest qualification of all," he replied, "—the capacity for picking the right man to boss the job—and the right woman to make such a job on the Red Deer endurable."
"That is very eastern of you, Mr. Stamford," she smiled. "I have known the social life that sort of thing springs from." Her face went dreamy. "The right man, you say—yes—perhaps he has picked—the right man. I suppose—that is a qualification."
Stamford felt constrained once more to change the subject.
From the corner of his eye he saw Cockney suddenly raise himself and look away to the hills. Stamford turned in the same direction.
A Mounted Policeman was seated motionless on his horse on the crest of a rise, looking down on the station yard. For only a moment Cockney looked, then slid from the roof to the gangway railing, a frown on his handsome face. At the same instant Dakota dropped from the fence surrounding the stockade and whispered to a companion, and the two sauntered away round the corner of the cattle pens.
A moment later Cockney sauntered carelessly after them and peered away into the Saskatoonberry and bulberry bushes that filled a coulee extending from close to the tracks. In long strides he retraced his steps, crossed the tracks to his horse behind the station, and loped off over the prairie toward the herd-filled coulees.