THE RANCHERS 



BY HAROLD BINDLOSS 



T was a dark night when 

 Jack L)le and I tramped 

 homewards down the slop. 

 py trail forest. Our ranch 

 was ten miles from the 

 settlement, but Jack^ who 

 had been clearing land in 

 that vicinity for eight 

 years or so, was packing 

 in a month's provisions 

 his back and only 



upon 

 stopped to express his opinion of a 

 parsimonious government with virulent 

 fluency when he sank in a mud-hole to 

 the knee. 



"And I am supposed to be making my 

 fortune by the folks at home who sent 

 you out to worry me," said he. "This 

 is, as its natives say, a grand country, 

 and so devoid of restriction upon one's 

 liberty that there's nothing to prevent 

 the man who can't afford a horse team 

 from turning himself into a drome- 

 dary." 



"Horses wouldn't be much use here ; 

 they can't fly," said I. "Anyway, you 

 may as well pitch out Charlie Tomson's 

 sugar." 



Jack dropped the sack into the 

 mud, and while I held up the lantern 

 crammed a burst cotton bag into a box 

 nailed to a tree. 



"It seems a little light for ten 

 pounds," said I. 



Jack straightened his back with a ges- 

 ture of resignation. He was a big 

 bronzed, athletic young fellow of good 

 education, though one would not always 

 have surmised as much from his conver- 

 sation and appearance. 



Just then he wore a blue shirt, rent 

 at the back and buttonless at the throat, 

 a wide hat apparently purchased when 

 he first entered that country, and canvas 

 overalls patched with flour bags. Un- 

 derneath was the frame of a gladiator 

 toughened by hardship and strenuous 

 labor, and a heart in keeping with it. 



"You are as bad as Charlie, and he's 



284 



confoundedly particular about his meas- 

 ure," he said. "Hold the condemned 

 bag up and I'll shake the rest of it into 

 my hat." 



It was done, though I picked several 

 odds and ends out of the sloppy sugar, 

 "There is," I said, "no need to give 

 him our tobacco and matches in." 



Then I blew out the lantern and we 

 went on again. The bush was very si- 

 lent, and out of its shadow came the 

 song of a river. Now and then a wolf 

 howled, or there was a rustle in the fern, 

 but a great hush followed, and no one 

 could fancy that we were groping 

 through the black stillness of an unfin- 

 ished world. 



There was pristine purity in the heal- 

 ing scent of balsam and cedar that 

 brings tranquillity to the mind of man 

 and sound sleep to the jaded body. 



"Sing!" said Jack, suddenly. "Don't, 

 worry about the tune, but sing any- 

 thing," and I saw a light apparently 

 wandering unattached in the air flick- 

 er athwart a strip of thinner forest. 

 Rancher Tomson, who had complained 

 of a bad leg, had apparently gone out 

 pitlight shooting in place of carrying 

 his sugar, and Tomson had an unpleas- 

 ant habit of shooting promiscuously. 



Before I lifted up my voice the light, 

 however, went out suddenly, and there 

 was" a great rustling in the undergrowth 

 as though an elephant were charging 

 through it. It was followed by the bang 

 of a rifle, and presently a dark figure 

 came panting down the trail. It, how- 

 ever, slackened its pace at our approach, 

 and I laughed when Rancher Tomson 

 came towards us leisurely. 



"Hello, Charlie, a panther?" said I. 

 "No," said Tomson, stolidly. "Have 

 you brought my sugar?" 



"Taking exercise then," said Jack, 

 grinning, and Tomson answered sulk- 

 ily: 



"If nothing else will do, it was Apple- 

 by's bull. It would be a blessing if 



