the Drift Fence (1992) by Zane Grey Page B

he aimed steadily at the rope above his head and shot. He cut the rope. As he gasped, the bed-roll fell with a heavy thump. Jim flipped the gun in a way he had learned through a week's practice, and carelessly tossed it over to his pack. Then approaching the cowboys he said, seriously, "I sure hope none of you hombres make me throw a gun on you."
    They seemed to be a wide-eyed and stricken group.
    "Boss. I shore ain't goin' to do thet little thing," spoke up Curly.
    So they had to score another for the tenderfoot. That night around the camp fire they were thoughtful, and whispered behind Jim's back. He went to bed knowing the war was on, and that he was in for utter rout. Ring Locke had said cowboys when pressed would do anything under the sun. Jim had thought it all out, and he could only regulate his conduct according to theirs. The main issue for him was to earn their respect.
    Nothing happened that night nor the next day, but on the following night he was awakened by a terrible crash and jar. He lay there shaking. The stars above showed more numerously. The pine tree must have been struck by lightning, for its branches no longer sheltered him. It had fallen.
    But there could not have been a stroke of lightning, because the sky gave no sign at all of storm. The cowboys bad provided the lightning. Probably they had sawed the tree nearly through during the day, when he was absent, and at night they had pulled it down. The tips of one of the branches lay across Jim's feet, which he moved after some effort. Nice gentle cowboys! Not for a long while did Jim go to sleep after that.
    By the end of the week they had finished the drift fence town-ward to where it joined Traft's ranch. They had also about finished Jim. Saturday night he spent alone in camp, except for the cook, who plainly showed a solicitude for Jim. Sunday he was to have gone in to see Uncle Jim, but he never left the camp. Late afternoon the cowboys began to straggle back in twos and threes, some of them still pretty drunk. Jim resented that.
    He watched them come, careful to see who were the sober ones. Bud returned, holding Hack Jocelyn in his saddle; and Curly performed a like office for Cherry Winters. Drink manifestly was Hack's besetting sin, for he presented a sombre and ugly figure. On the other hand, Cherry was funny. Curly handled him roughly, even to tripping him up twice; still, in spite of it Cherry succeeded in getting to Jim.
    "Bosh, ish all ri'," he said, waving a deprecatory hand. "Ben lookin' at redeyes, but I'm sober's jedge. An' I wanna tell you. Lash night--"
    Curly dragged him away. At sunset Jim took a long walk, which in a way mitigated his mood. The supper gong recalled him. As he neared camp his keen ears caught Curly saying: "Wal, it's shore eatin' into my gizzard. I reckon he's pretty decent, considerin'."
    "Curly, somethin' shore is eatin' you," returned Hack Jocelyn, sarcastically. "He's got no kick comin'. Ain't we buldin' this drift fence? What the hell!"
    Jim wondered if this talk referred to him or his uncle, and after a moment's consideration decided it was about himself. Curly, then, as Jim had grasped before, was leaning a little toward championing him. It was the one bright spot in a gloomy week-end.
    On Monday at dawn they broke camp and drove south to the edge of the timber, perhaps another five miles. Here the camp site delighted Jim. It was on a grassy bench just where the pines began, and near a beautiful spring. The bare despoiled land they had traversed was no longer visible.
    This drive, of course, included the dropping of bales of wire along the way; and that, with the unpacking and making camp, constituted the day's work.
    At this camp matters came to a pass where Jim grew beside himself with rage. And the incident that capped the climax was where Curly Prentiss, after gradually and perceptibly leaning toward friendship for Jim, suddenly became alienated. Jim laid this to influence of a clique of four in the Diamond