Old Slowpoke

By Howard E. Morgan Author of “Breed of the Wolf,” etc.

Although his dogs had picked up and followed a dozen false trails since morning, Rall Hollidge’s weary body tensed and he broke into a shuffling run as the bell-like baying of Ginger, the leader of the pack, announced the potential discovery of another lion. Business had been poor of late. Lion pelts brought only forty dollars apiece. At an average of one lion a week, this scarcely sufficed to feed Hollidge’s dogs. It was time, he knew, to look for new hunting grounds; but Hollidge disliked to leave the Yargod Hills. The reason for this reluctance was, of course, Jane Saunders.

It was, as usual, Old Slowpoke who told Hollidge that a fresh trail actually had been struck. When on a hot trail, there was a different tone in the old dog’s baying. Hollidge grinned. Old ’Poke, following some distance behind the rest of the pack, as always, was moving laboriously over the rocks toward a brush-littered coulee at the head of the valley.

Hollidge saw the lion then. Far in advance of the pack the tawny beast slipped into the entrance to a wooden draw and disappeared.

Half an hour later, the dogs had treed their quarry. As Hollidge cut across the valley toward the spot where the pack was shrilly announcing its victory, he espied Old Slowpoke, painstakingly following the lion’s trail, apparently oblivious of the fact that the game had already been treed by his companions two miles away on the opposite side of the valley.

Hollidge merely grinned good-naturedly. He never became angry at any of his dogs, least of all at Old ’Poke. Although the fat, hybrid hound ate twice as much as any other of the dogs, and as a hunter was practically useless, Hollidge thought more of him than he did of all the rest of the pack put together. There was a bond of sympathetic understanding between him and the dog. Hollidge was big, slow-moving, ponderous, and deliberation itself in thought and action. It was true of both, however, that they usually got what they set out to get. This often worked out in a somewhat ludicrous manner where the dog was concerned. More often than not, Old ’Poke would reach the end of the trail, which he so carefully and laboriously followed, long after the quarry had been brought to earth and the hunt was over.

Hollidge leisurely approached the treed lion, brought it down with a single well-placed shot and was taking the pelt when Lew Rines appeared.

Rall Hollidge did not like Rines, primarily, of course, because Rines was his rival for the hand of Jane Saunders. The two men were as different as it was possible for two men to be. Rall Hollidge was huge, loose-limbed, slow-moving mentally and physically, and inclined to carelessness in dress; Lew Rines was slim, alert, and invariably dressed in the height of local fashion. So far, the rivalry between them for the hand of Jane Saunders, heiress of the Double S Ranch, had not been definitely settled. It was well known that Rines was the favorite of Joel Saunders, Jane’s father. On the other hand, it was apparent that Jane had very little use for Lew Rines. Just where Rall Hollidge stood in her regard was known only to the young lady herself.

“Well, how’s the mighty hunter today?” Rines greeted, in his usual bantering manner.

Hollidge did not reply. He was looking across the valley toward the spot where Old Slowpoke, nosing his ponderous way among the boulders, was drawing near. Hollidge had promised to be at the Double S Ranch at six o’clock for supper. He would not go on without Old ’Poke. It was already nearly six. If the dog did not hurry, he would be late. Jane was always displeased when he was late. Rines followed the big man’s gaze.

“Old Slowpoke,” he muttered, grinning. “I can’t understand, Rall, why you keep that darned fool dog. Why, he’s absolutely useless to you! I’ll bet he’s never treed a lion since you’ve had him.”

Rall Hollidge shrugged. “He’s a good dog,” he protested mildly.

Rines chuckled. “I’ve got a riddle for you, Rall,” he said.

Hollidge displayed no interest whatsoever. Rines was forever telling riddles and jokes, most of which were beyond Hollidge’s stolid comprehension.

Rines pointed toward a little hill which had extended to the top of a bald-faced ridge. “Why is that hill like a lazy dog?” he asked.

Hollidge shrugged. “Search me,” he muttered disinterestedly.

“Give up?” Rines pursued.

Rall Hollidge nodded. “Sure,” he said; “I give up.”

“Because it’s a slope up,” Rines answered. He laughed at the evident lack of comprehension in Hollidge’s face. “Don’t strain yourself,” he admonished, “it’ll come to you by and by. It’s got somethin’ to do with Old Slowpoke. Maybe that’ll help you figure it out.”

Rines sat on a fallen log, lit a cigarette, and watched his companion skinning the lion. Some ten minutes later, Hollidge began to laugh.

“Ho, ho, ho!” he chortled. “Slope up. A slow pup. Pretty good at that, Lew. Ha-ha-ha!”

Lew Rines shook his head sadly and rose. “You’re gettin’ worse instead of better, Rall,” he said. He flung his cigarette away. “Well, so long,” he grinned. “I’ve got a date at six o’clock.”

The smile left Hollidge’s face when he saw that Rines was heading toward the Double S Ranch. He was, for a moment, tempted to call his dogs and go on with Rines; but a glance into the valley showed him Old Slowpoke nearly a mile away. He would not go without Old ’Poke. That was all there was to it.

It was after seven o’clock when Rall Hollidge reached the Double S Ranch. Joel Saunders and Rines had finished supper. Jane had waited for him. He was vastly relieved to find that she was not angry. She was distressed, though. He tried, in his clumsy way, to find out what was wrong; but she merely shook her head in response to his questioning. There were red rings around her eyes, he noticed, as though she had been crying. They finished supper in silence.

It was not until he started outside to join Saunders and Rines that she gave him an indication of what the trouble might be. “Dad is going to talk to you, Rall,” she whispered. “Promise me you won’t get mad. Everything will turn out all right.”

Hollidge nodded. “I won’t get mad,” he promised.

He was still wondering what she had meant, when Joel Saunders, his pale-blue eyes gleaming purposefully, stamped across the porch. Hollidge heard the screen door open and shut behind him, and Jane stood at his side.

“Hollidge,” the old ranchman began, “I’ve got somethin’ right important to say to you. Somethin’ personal. Go into the house, Jane!”

But Jane Saunders did not move. Her lips were set in a thin line and her eyes were blurred with tears. She shook her head. “No,” she said, “I won’t go. I know what you’re going to say, and----”

Joel Saunders’ eyes flashed. He took a step forward then stopped.

“All right,” he finally said, “listen in if you want to.” He faced Rall Hollidge then. “You an’ Jane are gettin’ too thick to suit me,” he snapped. “That’s what I want to talk to you about, Hollidge. I don’t aim on havin’ you for a son-in-law. Is that clear?”

As usual, Rall Hollidge could find nothing to say. He merely shuffled uneasily.

“I’m gettin’ along in years,” the ranchman went on quickly. “The Double S is a prosperous, goin’ concern. I’ve got quite a wad o’ cash money laid by. All Jane knows is ranchin’. She likes it. I want her to keep the Double S Ranch goin’. She’s gotta have a man what is a man; one who knows ranchin’, an’ who can keep things movin’. You ain’t that man, Hollidge. As a matter o’ fact, I’m gettin’ plumb sick o’ the sight of you an’ them houn’s o’ yourn. I don’t want you hangin’ aroun’ here no more.”

After this bitter ultimatum, the old man turned on his heel. But Jane Saunders caught her father by an arm, and clung to him tightly. She was not crying now. “You had no right to say that, father,” she protested. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know Rall Hollidge. You----”

Joel Saunders swung angrily, about, and pushed his daughter gently but firmly away. “All right,” he said, through set teeth; “if that’s the way you feel about it, young lady, you can take your choice--me, or him! I won’t have him and his mangy hounds hangin’ aroun’ this ranch. If you prefer the company of him and his dogs to me, why----”

The old man shrugged expressively and turned away. Jane caught his arm again, but this time he did not stop. She followed him into the house. Hollidge could hear them arguing. Lew Rines rose, and, grinning, sauntered toward the corral.

Rall Hollidge, more upset than he had ever been in all his easy-going existence, sat on a flat rock and watched miserably a fleecy white cloud drift before the moon. Old ’Poke came and lay between his master’s feet, looked up into the man’s face and whined lugubriously.

Rall Hollidge had no idea how long he sat there, staring. Suddenly, a light flared in Jane’s bedroom window. Hollidge could see her moving about.

The big man came slowly to his feet again. She was going to bed. This meant that she had decided to stay with her father. He shrugged despondently, and without a backward glance, called softly to his dogs and plodded away.