Chapter IV: Maverick Basin

The trail to Maverick Basin led north up Turkey Creek; and on both sides of the canyon, in caverns and beneath huge crags, the white houses of the cliff-dwellers caught the eye. The mountains rose up in jumbled and shattered terraces, split here and there by dark and jagged chasms which revealed the far heights beyond. These were covered with black pines and Douglas spruce, clinging close to the shelving slopes; and below them the oaks and junipers crept in, while at the bottom there was cactus and mesquite. It was a rough and thorny trail, winding in and out and up over brushy benches, then down again to the creek. Startled deer rose up timorously from their beds along the hillside, wild turkeys ran flapping across the path; and along the bluffs the tracks of mountain lion and bear told of others who prowled by night. But the scarcest track of all was that of man, the conqueror, who claims dominion over the birds and beasts. Like the lions and bears, men traveled by night or kept off the beaten trails.

Meshackatee rode ahead on a buckskin Indian pony which seemed to totter beneath his great weight, and, across the saddle in front of him, he balanced a repeating rifle with a bore like a buffalo gun. Behind followed Hall, still mounted on the blue roan which had so taken Red Scarborough's eye; and, scouting on before them, went Meshackatee's spotted dog, always seeking yet silent as a specter. The canyon opened out into wide, oak-clad flats with sycamores along the banks of the creek; and then the hills fell away to the east, giving a view of lone pinnacles beyond. They rode further and the flats opened out into parks where deer and wild cattle grazed; and the high cliffs to the west came down nearer and nearer, as if to cut off their way. Then the trail left the creek and swung over towards the cliff and at Jump-off Point it climbed the western rim and led north across Juniper Flats. They set off at a gallop, heading for a distant divide, and as the sun was sinking low they topped the last ridge and the Basin lay smiling before them.

It was a wide and grassy valley, circled about with oak-crowned hills; and beyond it like a line the great Rim of the Mogollons stood out blue against the reddening sky. Tall pines, like half-stript sticks, marked the edge of the unseen forest which covered the sloping plains beyond; and under the Rim all the caved-off, lesser rims were smothered in a dense growth of trees. All else seemed shut in, overwhelmed and obscured; but Maverick Basin lay set like a jewel within the curve of the golden-brown hills. It was a cowman's paradise, well watered with meandering streams and sheltered from north winds by the Rim; its grass was all aripple, a wooded river-bottom flanked the east and live-oaks made shade along its slopes. Yet here was where the Scarboroughs had settled down to make a little hell of their own.

Hall looked at it in silence, taking in its placid beauty and the roofs of peaceful houses among the trees, and as he followed down the slope he sighed.

"Gitting tired?" inquired Meshackatee, "well, it ain't far, now. See that long house, off to the west? That's the famous Rock House that the first settlers built to stand off the bloodthirsty A-paches; and now, by grab, it's got a bunch of Texas gunmen that could give 'em cards and spades. It's the Scarborough headquarters, and over to the east is the big log house of the Bassetts. It was built for Injuns too--with loop-holes and all--but it's too doggoned close to that hill. The Rock House stands out in the middle of the plain, where you can't shoot it up from cover; but sure as hell, if they's ever any trouble, the Bassetts are going to git ambushed. They're right on the bank of Turkey Crick, too--where you see all them cottonwood trees--and a bunch of men could slip up through that brush and ketch 'em in the door at dawn. The other house, over north, it's the old Jensen place--they're using it now for a store.

"That's the first real house that was built in the Basin," he went on with garrulous pride, "and it's sure seen doings in its day. Right there is where Jens Jensen made his start in the cow business and give the Basin its name. Them first ones might have been mavericks, but the kind they're gitting now have been stole from as far as New Mexico. Old Jens was an honest old jasper, in a way--as honest as they let 'em git in these parts--but the bunch that come in later would rather steal a cow than have their breakfast in bed. They was so good with a running-iron they could write their names with it, and every one registered a brand that would burn spang over Jensen's. His iron was JJ and the Scarboroughs put pot-hooks on it that made it look like SS; the Bassetts jest altered the last J to JB connected and changed the first J to suit. Sharps Bassett worked it over into an S, like the Scarboroughs, and Winchester changed it to a W; and Bill, the black rascal, burned as pretty a WB connected as you ever see in your life. Oh, these boys git so good they take a pride in blotching brands and figuring out real elaborate bums--like that feller back in Texas that altered XIT into a five-pointed star and a cross. He was offered ten thousand dollars to show how he done it, and now they ain't a cotton-picker this side of Uvalde that can't burn it over in his sleep. But that was back in Texas where the competition is strong--out here they was still in the ABC class, where a man used his initials for the brand. Well, they pulled off of Jens until they got halfway ashamed of themselves, he was such a peaceable old duck; and then Judge Malcolm comes driving into the Basin with fifteen hundred head of cows. The judge had bought this stuff up in the San Juan country somewhere, or traded for it someway with them Mormons; and he come right in here, without 'By your leave' or nothing, and turned them out on the range.

"A-all right, here was where the big doings began, because the Bassetts and the Scarboroughs claimed to control the whole Basin and wouldn't let no settlers come in. That is, not unless they acknowledged their authority and gave 'em a hundred or so; but the Judge--say, he was a freeborn American citizen and knowed it was public land. It was open to anybody and he turned his cows out on it, hiring a gunman or two to take charge--and the whole cussed outfit tied into him. The Scarboroughs and Bassetts was thick as thieves while they was running off the Judge's cows; and the first thing he knowed he couldn't gather five hundred, and not a one of 'em under two years old. Say, the picking was so good they heard about it back in Texas; and ever since that time, going onto two years now, these tough Texicans have been drifting in. Are they tough? They're so bad they'd have me scared if I hadn't seen Billy the Kid; but there was a killer that had 'em all beat--and he come from New York City. Never said nothing either, always smiling and polite; and yet the doggoned little shrimp had them ba-ad Texans all buffaloed when he onlimbered and went to shooting.

"Oh, the Judge? Well, he was a lawyer, all right. When he see he couldn't stop 'em, and a couple of his gunmen got shot, he took the matter into court; but the whole Basin rode down there, drunk and disorderly and loaded for bear, and swore out a warrant for _him_. That made the court judge sore, because the county was poor and he see it was a neighborhood row, so he dismissed all the charges against everybody. This county is about as big as the state of Pennsylvania and mileage fees pile up quick: and the whole doggoned outfit was nothing but a bunch of cow-thieves, so what was the use of it, anyhow?

"Well--so far, so good--the wild bunch comes home and Malcolm he takes the big think. He's a lawyer, like I says, and them are the boys that know how to pull the right string. He sends for the Scarboroughs and offers 'em a hundred head more, if they'll turn state's evidence and railroad the Bassetts. Well, the Bassetts are Injuns--and they'd made a little trouble when the Scarboroughs tried to run off some cows--so Isham and Red seen their chance to git shut of them and they took the hundred cows. They went down to Tonto and turned in their testimony, enough to send the Bassetts plumb to hell; but they talked so much they incriminated themselves and the judge throwed the case out of court. But by now the Bassetts had got blood in their eyes and they come back a charging, spent all their money on a lawyer, and had the Scarboroughs up for perjury. That sent Tonto County broke and court adjourned, but before they left town the judge or somebody gave the Maverick Basin crowd a quiet tip: the county was bankrupt, it was three days' hard hiring for an officer to come up from Tonto, and the idee was they'd better keep out of court and settle their little differences with a Winchester."

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Hall, "surely they didn't say that!"

"Mebbe not," shrugged Meshackatee, "but they's one thing I know--there hasn't been an officer up here since."

Hall shook his head sadly and they rode on in silence, Meshackatee with his eyes on the Rock House far below them and Hall with his head bowed in thought. In his mind he was picturing the two contending factions and the battle that seemed certain to come, and when he looked up there was a strange light in his eyes and he gazed far away across the plain.

"But the other people," he suggested, "there are other settlers, too--could nothing be done with them?"

"What d'ye mean?" inquired Meshackatee, and Hall threw out his hands in a gesture of sudden appeal.

"Can't you see?" he cried. "This quarrel must be stopped before it has gone too far!"

"Oh--them!" responded Meshackatee, tossing his head contemptuously, "they're afraid to call their souls their own. All that lives to the west, mostly, are friends of Isham's; and to the east and up Turkey Crick they're for the Bassetts; but they ain't ary one of 'em would stand up for his own rights, let alone throw a skeer into Isham. Because Isham is the man that's behind all this devilment--he's got ten hired gunmen, right now--and unless he's connected up with the United States mint he'll have to start something pretty soon."

"Yes, but what about the Bassetts? How can they expect to resist him unless they, too, hire more men?"

"They're broke," explained Meshackatee, "the lawyers got their money, and they ain't had the nerve to steal more. And then, being Injuns, they don't worry. They're three danged snakey _hombres_, to tell you the truth, and I don't want no trouble with none of 'em. Sharps is slow, but he's sure; and Winchester is quick and sure; and Bill, he's a fighting fool. He's whiter than the rest of 'em and he's jest naturally bad, proud of it and don't care who knows it. That boy would fight a buzzsaw with his hands tied behind him, if you'd listen to what _he_ says. But ain't you heard the news--they've throwed in with Grimes, the big sheepman from up over the Rim. He's a holy, fighting terror that ain't afraid of nobody, or he wouldn't be up on that range. The Slash-knife outfit has got cows there by the thousand, but that don't make no difference with Grimes. Every time he meets a cowboy or a bunch of these here rustlers he drops down off his mule and commences to shoot and--well, anyhow, he's promised to come down. He's going to bring his sheep and a bunch of fighting Mexicans and sheep these bad Teehannos plumb out. Well, you wait; and if he comes he'd better come a-shooting, because we got no use for _sheep_!"

He shut his jaws down grimly and it was easy to see that he shared the cowman's prejudice against sheep.

"He ought to be kept out!" exclaimed Hall, after a silence, and Meshackatee nodded approvingly.

"That's the talk!" he praised, "I knowed you had it in you. Come on, and we'll turn the woollies back."

"No, I don't mean that," protested Hall, "what I mean is, a man has no business to stir up trouble by deliberately invading a new range."

"W'y sure!" agreed Meshackatee heartily, "I'm with you, as big as a wolf. We'll jest go up that way to-morrow and talk reason to Mr. Grimes, and maybe he'll decide not to come. No, I mean it, by grab--and say, down at the house, I'll tell 'em you're jest a new man. They're ranicky as the devil when they ketch some outsider--and of course you ain't a Texan--so I'll jest tell Miz Zoolah, that's Isham's wife, that you've come up to help with the sheep."

He spurred up his lagging mount and went galloping across the plain, but as they drew near the Rock House he reined in suddenly, yet with his pony dancing nervously to go.

"Your name was Hall, wasn't it?" he inquired with a flourish. "All right, I'll fix it up. And say--where you going, horse?--what's you say that other name was? You know, that feller you was looking for?"

"I didn't say," replied Hall and, meeting his calm eyes, Meshackatee broke into a grin.

"Oh, that's right!" he exclaimed. "My mistake--excuse _me_!" And he jumped his dancing pony into a lope.