and one of their number had quietly

Morning dawned on a scene of active operations. The two wagons were started fully an hour in advance of the cavalcade, which was to follow, driving a remuda of over two hundred saddle horses. Sponsilier and I expected to accompany the outfit, but at the last moment our plans were changed by an incident and we remained behind, promising to overtake them later. There were a number of old buffalo hunters in town, living a precarious life, and one of their number had quietly informed Sheriff Wherry that they had been approached with an offer of five dollars a day to act as an escort to the herds while passing through. The quarantine captain looked upon that element as a valuable ally, suggesting that if it was a question of money, our side ought to be in the market for their services. Heartily agreeing with him, the company of guards started, leaving their captain behind with Sponsilier and myself. Glendive was a county seat, and with the assistance of the sheriff, we soon had every buffalo hunter in the town corralled. They were a fine lot of rough men, inclined to be convivial, and with the assistance of Sheriff Wherry, coupled with the high standing of the quarantine captain, on a soldier's introduction Dave and I made a good impression among them. Sponsilier did the treating and talking, his offer being ten dollars a day for a man and horse, which was promptly accepted, when the question naturally arose who would stand sponsor for the wages. Dave backed off some distance, and standing on his left foot, pulled off his right boot, shaking out a roll of money on the floor. "There's the long green, boys," said he, "and you fellows can name your own banker. I'll make it up a thousand, and whoever you say goes with me. Shall it be the sheriff, or Mr. Retallac, or the proprietor of the Stock Exchange?" Sheriff Wherry interfered, relieving the embarrassment in appointing a receiver, and vouched that these two Texans were good for any reasonable sum. The buffalo hunters approved, apologizing to Sponsilier, as he pulled on his boot, for questioning his financial standing, and swearing allegiance in every breath. An hour's time was granted in which to saddle and make ready, during which we had a long chat with Sheriff Wherry and found him a valuable ally. He had cattle interests in the country, and when the hunters appeared, fifteen strong, he mounted his horse and accompanied us several miles on the way. "Now, boys," said he, at parting, "I'll keep an eye over things around town, and if anything important happens, I'll send a courier with the news. If those shorthorns attempt to offer any opposition, I'll run a blazer on them, and if necessary I'll jug the pair.

it won't surprise me a little bit

He saw your herds and tells me you are driving the guts out of them. So if there's anything in that old 'ship-fever theory,' you ought to be quarantined until it snows. There's a right smart talk around here of fixing a dead-line below somewhere, and if you get tied up before reaching the railroad, it won't surprise me a little bit. When it comes to handling the cattle, old man Don has the good hard cow-sense every time, but you shorthorns give me a pain." "What did I tell you?" said Radcliff, the elder one, to his partner, as they turned to leave. On nearing the door, Mr. Field halted and begrudgingly said, "See you later, Quirk." "Not if I see you first," I replied; "you ain't my kind of cowmen." Not even waiting for them to pass outside, Sponsilier, from his elevated position, called every one to the bar to irrigate. The boys quit their games, and as they lined up in a double row, Dave begged the bartenders to bestir themselves, and said to his guests: "Those are the kid-gloved cowmen that I've been telling you about--the owners of the Texas cattle that are coming through here. Did I hang it on them artistically, or shall I call them back and smear it on a shade deeper? They smelt a mouse all right, and when their cattle reach Cabin Creek, they'll smell the rat in earnest. Now, set out the little and big bottle and everybody have a cigar on the side. And drink hearty, lads, for to-morrow we may be drinking branch water in a quarantine camp." The arrival of Field and Radcliff was accepted as a defiance to the local cattle interests. Popular feeling was intensified when it was learned that they were determined not to recognize any local quarantine, and were secretly inquiring for extra men to guard their herds in passing Glendive. There was always a rabble element in every frontier town, and no doubt, as strangers, they could secure assistance in quarters that the local cowmen would spurn. Matters were approaching a white heat, when late that night an expected courier arrived, and reported the cattle coming through at the rate of twenty miles a day. They were not following any particular trail, traveling almost due north, and if the present rate of travel was maintained, Cabin Creek would be reached during the forenoon of the 7th. This meant business, and the word was quietly passed around that all volunteers were to be ready to move in the morning. A cowman named Retallac, owner of a range on the Yellowstone, had previously been decided on as captain, and would have under him not less than seventy-five chosen men, which number, if necessary, could easily be increased to one hundred.

saw the auto climb it and fall backward

“Em-bank-ment,” she replied. “Just a bank. A steep little hill, eight feet high. Bout’s high’s the ceiling.” He and Catherine saw the auto climb it and fall backward rolling and come to rest beside their father. Umbackmut, Catherine thought; em-bank-ment, Rufus said to himself. “What’s instintly?” “Instantly is—quick’s that”; she snapped her fingers, more loudly than she had expected to; Catherine flinched and kept her eyes on the fingers. “Like snapping off an electric light,” Rufus nodded. “So you can be very sure, both of you, he never felt a moment’s pain. Not one moment.” “When’s ...” Catherine began. “What’s...” Rufus began at the same moment; they glared -at each other. “What is it, Catherine?” “When’s Daddy coming home?” “Why good golly, Catherine,” Rufus began. “Hold your tongue!” his Aunt Hannah said fiercely, and he listened, scared, and ashamed of himself. “Catherine, he can’t come home,” she said very kindly. “That’s just what all this means, child.” She put her hand over Catherine’s hand and Rufus could see that her chin was trembling. “He died, Catherine,” she said. “That’s what your mother means. God put him to sleep and took him, took his soul away with Him. So he can’t come home ...” She stopped, and began again. “We’ll see him once more,” she said, “tomorrow or day after; that I promise you,” she said, wishing she was sure of Mary’s views about this. “But he’ll be asleep then. And after that we won’t see him any more in this world. Not until God takes us away too.

she demonstrated what she saw

“They’re pretty sure how it happened,” she said. “The auto gave such a sudden terrible jerk”—she jerked so violently that both children jumped, and startled her; she demonstrated what she saw next more gently: “that your father was thrown forward and struck his chin, very hard, against the wheel, the steering wheel, and from that instant he never knew anything more.” She looked at Rufus, at Catherine, and again at Rufus. “Do you understand?” They looked at her. After a while Catherine said, “He hurt his chin.” “Yes, Catherine. He did,” she replied. “They believe he was instantly killed, with that one single blow, because it happened to strike just exactly where it did. Because if you’re struck very hard in just that place, it jars your whole head, your brain so hard that—sometimes people die in that very instant.” She drew a deep breath and let it out long and shaky. “Concussion of the brain, that is called,” she said with most careful distinctness, and bowed her head for a moment; they saw her thumb make a small cross on her chest. She looked up. “Now do you understand, children?” she asked earnestly. “I know it’s very hard to understand. You please tell me if there’s anything you want to know and I’ll do my best to expl—tell you better.” Rufus and Catherine looked at each other and looked away. After a while Rufus said, “Did it hurt him bad?” “He could never have felt it. That’s the one great mercy” (or is it, she wondered); “the doctor is sure of that.” Catherine wondered whether she could ask one question. She thought she’d better not. “What’s an eightfoot embackmut?” asked Rufus.

they could comprehend it at all

They couldn’t be happy any more if He hadn’t, his mother had said. They could never get well. Hannah wondered whether they could comprehend it at all and whether she should try to tell them. She doubted it. Deeply uncertain, she tried again. “He was driving home last night,” she said, “about nine, and apparently something was already wrong with the steering mech—with the wheel you guide the machine with. But your father didn’t know it. Because there wasn’t any way he could know until something went wrong and then it was too late. But one of the wheels struck a loose stone in the road and the wheel turned aside very suddenly, and when ...” She paused and went on more quietly and slowly: “You see, when your father tried to make the auto go where it should, stay on the road, he found he couldn’t, he didn’t have any control. Because something was wrong with the steering gear. So, instead of doing as he tried to make it, the auto twisted aside because of the loose stone and ran off the road into a deep ditch.” She paused again. “Do you understand?” They kept looking at her. “Your father was thrown from the auto,” she said. “Then the auto went on without him up the other side of the ditch. It went up an eight-foot embankment and then it fell down backward, turned over and landed just beside him. “They’re pretty sure he was dead even before he was thrown out. Because the only mark on his whole body,” and now they began to hear in her voice a troubling intensity and resentment, “was right—here!” She pressed the front of her forefinger to the point of her chin, and looked at them almost as if she were accusing them. They said nothing. I suppose I’ve got to finish, Hannah thought; I’ve gone this far.

felt his face get warm and he looked

Now I’ll know when he is coming home, Catherine thought. All through breakfast, Rufus had wanted to ask questions, but now he felt so shy and uneasy that he could hardly speak. “Who hurt him?” he finally asked. “Why nobody hurt him, Rufus,” she said, and she looked shocked. “What on earth made you think so?” Mama said so, Catherine thought. “Mama said he got hurt so bad God put him to sleep,” Rufus said. Like the kitties, Catherine thought; she saw a dim, gigantic old man in white take her tiny father by the skin of the neck and put him in a huge slop jar full of water and sit on the lid, and she heard the tiny scratching and the stifled mewing. “That’s true he was hurt, but nobody hurt him,” her Aunt Hannah was saying. How could that be, Catherine wondered. “He was driving home by himself. That’s all, all by himself, in the auto last night, and he had an accident.” Rufus felt his face get warm and he looked warningly at his sister. He knew it could not be that, not with his father, a grown man, besides, God wouldn’t put you to sleep for that, and it didn’t hurt, anyhow. But Catherine might think so. Sure enough, she was looking at her aunt with astonishment and disbelief that she could say such a thing about her father. Not in his pants, you dern fool, Rufus wanted to tell her, but his Aunt Hannah continued “A fatal accident”; and by her voice, as she spoke the strange word, “fatal,” they knew she meant something very bad. “That means that, just as your mother told you, that he was hurt so badly that God put him to sleep right away.” Like the rabbits, Rufus remembered, all torn white bloody fur and red insides. He could not imagine his father like that. Poor little things, he remembered his mother’s voice comforting his crying, hurt so terribly that God just let them go to sleep. If it was in the auto, Catherine thought, then he wouldn’t be in the slop jar.

between her teeth when she hurt herself

He was coming home last night but he didn’t come home and he wasn’t coming home now either, and her mother felt so awful she cried, and Aunt Hannah wasn’t saying anything, just making all that noise with the toast and big loud sips with the coffee and swallowing, grrmmp, and then the same thing over again and over again, and every time she made the noise with the toast it was almost scary, as if she was talking about some awful thing, and every time she sipped it was like crying or like when Granma sucked in air between her teeth when she hurt herself, and every time she swallowed, crrmmp, it meant it was all over and there was nothing to do about it or say or even ask, and then she would take another bite of toast as hard and shivery as gritting your teeth, and start the whole thing all over again. Her mother said he wasn’t coming home ever any more. That was what she said, but why wasn’t he home eating breakfast right this minute? Because he was not with them eating breakfast it wasn’t fun and everything was so queer. Now maybe in just a minute he would walk right in and grin at her and say, “Good morning, merry sunshine,” because her lip was sticking out, and even bend down and rub her cheek with his whiskers and then sit down and eat a big breakfast and then it would be all fun again and she would watch from the window when he went to work and just before he went out of sight he would turn around and she would wave but why wasn’t he right here now where she wanted him to be and why didn’t he come home? Ever any more. He won’t come home again ever any more. Won’t come home again ever. But he will, though, because it’s home. But why’s he not here? He’s up seeing Grampa Follet. Grampa Follet is very, very sick. But Mama didn’t feel awful then, she feels awful now. But why didn’t he come back when she said he would? He went to heaven and now Catherine could remember about heaven; that’s where God lives, way up in the sky. Why’d he do that? God took him there. But why’d he go there and not come home like Mama said? Last night Mama said he was coming home last night. We could even wait up a while and when he didn’t and we had to go to bed she promised he would come if we went to sleep and she promised he’d be here at breakfast time and now it’s breakfast time and she says he won’t come home ever any more. Now her Aunt Hannah folded her napkin, and folded it again more narrowly, and again still more narrowly, and pressed the butt end of it against her mouth, and laid it beside her plate, where it slowly and slightly unfolded, and, looking first at Rufus and then at Catherine and then back at Rufus, said quietly, “I think you ought to know about your father. Whatever I can tell you. Because your mother’s not feeling well.”