Free the Drift Fence (1992) by Zane Grey Page A

he could not feel that he would have desired to have met it in any other way. But neither his uncle nor Ring Locke could understand his feelings. Jim himself found them rather complicated. He had been furious, then frightened, then cold. And now, instead of wanting to go home to Missouri, he surrendered still more to Arizona.

    Chapter SEVEN
    Late on Sunday afternoon, while Jim sat on the porch, his uncle called attention to a cowboy approaching from a direction in which he could not be seen from the bunkhouses.
    "Bud Chalfack," announced Traft, with a chuckle.
    "Who's Bud?"
    "You'll see pronto. He's the peacemaker of the outfit. Bud's a diplomat, the slickest, coolest hand on the range. Whenever anyone is in wrong, Bud is elected to set him right."
    "Ahuh," returned Jim, dubiously. He watched the cowboy stroll up the lane and down the path to the porch. Bud appeared to be a little fellow, but sturdy, bow-legged, and otherwise suggestive of long association with horses. He was smoking a cigarette, which he threw away as he reached the steps. He had an open, guileless countenance and he reminded Jim of a rosy-faced cherub.
    "Good evenin', Mr. Traft, an' howdy, boss!" he said, cheerfully. "May I set down?"
    "Shore, Bud," replied Traft, genially. "Reckon you look sort of weak.
    What ails you? Too much town?"
    "Weak? I couldn't fork a bench at a feast, let alone a hoss. We been wrastlin' all day with Hack. But you ought to see the other fellars.
    They're laid out."
    "Is Hack here?" asked Jim, quietly.
    "He's down at the bunkhouse. I been sent fer him."
    "Why didn't he come himself?"
    "Wal, lust off he wouldn't come an' I reckon now, he ain't able."
    Bud's grave infantile face was averted for a moment, during which Jim shot a quick glance at his uncle, to be rewarded by a wink. Matters were progressing favourably. Jim drew a breath of relief and gave in to the fun of the situation.
    "What ails him? Did he get drunk last night? Sick this morning?"
    "Boss, I reckon both. But it ain't them. We was sorta put out with Hack.
    Shore we didn't mean to let him bust up the Diamond. An' he was daid set on thet. So after arguyin' all day we got tired, an'--wal, Hack's in bed."
    "I see. Then he can't come over to apologize and get his job back. Or did he want to do it?"
    "Wal, Hack shore wanted the job back all right, but he hated the terms.
    He said, 'Jest tell the boss I'll apologize if he'll swear I won't have to dig no holes fer fenceposts.'"
    Jim had difficulty in restraining a shout.
    "Bud, I'm afraid Hack will have to dig holes along with the rest of us. I sure expect to," replied Jim, gravely.
    The cowboy looked incredulously to Mr. Traft for corroboration of that statement.
    "Bud, it's up to Jim. You'll have to fight it out together. You can tell the boys, though, that Jim will not give them anythin' he won't tackle himself."
    "All right, sir. Thet's shore fairer'n any foreman I ever rode under... But Hack won't never dig no fence post-holes. We had it out with him an' so I may as well tell you. He yells at us, 'Hell! if I gotta dig holes, let 'em be graves fer thet Cibeque bunch of calf thieves.'"
    "Wal!" the old rancher exclaimed, and glanced from Bud to see how his nephew would take that. Jim did not feel like shouting with laughter over it. Nevertheless, he concealed his consternation.
    "Bud, wasn't Hack just raving?" he asked.
    "Shore he was ravin'. An' he'd reason, too. Boss, shore your uncle has told you what this drift fence will do?"
    "He hasn't told me anything," replied Jim.
    "Wal, some of us will have to, then," said Bud. "I ain't quite agreed with Hack an' the other boys of the Diamond. But I've only been ridin' hyar fer a couple of years. Hack swears we'll have to fight. He knows Seth Haverly an' his outfit of the Cibeque. Bad hombres, he called them.
    An' Slinger Dunn don't need no introduction 'round Flag. You can see his trade-mark in more'n one place... Some of the boys agree with Hack. We'll have hell buildin' thet