Peace medicine

It was late Spring in the valley of the Chinook. The hills were already covered with luxuriant bunch-grass, and the clumps of cottonwood along the Chinook River had leafed to a sparkling green against the dark blue and green of the balsam, fir and pine.

Winding through a V-notched gash in the mountains was the road which led from the town of Pasiooks, through Poncho Pass to Tarp City. This road was barely wide enough for one wagon, and its builders had followed the lines of least resistance in its making.

Chinook Valley was a cattleman’s paradise. Thirty miles in length and averaging seven miles in width, its grazing-land was unexcelled. It had plenty of feed, streams of cold water and an encircling range of mountains which held the herds within its boundaries. Poncho Pass was the only outlet, and this was guarded by a fence and a gate at its narrowest point.

At the lower end of the valley the Chinook River--which was not really a river, but a large stream--gurgled its way through a box-cañon, and twisted and turned in its narrow bed, giving it the title of Crazy Snake Cañon. It was impassable for man or beast.

Pasiooks was the only town in the valley, consisting of a general store, a saloon and a post-office on one side of the street; a blacksmith shop and barber shop on the other side. At one time it had been the location of a French trading-post, and the Indians had called it Pasiooks, which in the Chinook jargon, or trade-language, means French or Frenchmen.

Thirty miles to the north, across Poncho Pass was the town of Tarp City, the terminus of the branch of the C. N. & W. Railroad. South and east of Tarp City stretched the Fossilshell Range along the Fossilshell River. North of Tarp City was Sun Prairie, the sheep country, despised of cow-men.

Cowboys patrolled the Fossilshell Range lines to see that no sheep invaded their domain from Sun Prairie; but the cow-men of Chinook worked secure in the fact that no woolie would or could ever come through Poncho Pass.

Here the ranch-owners ruled with as great a power as any of the feudal barons of old; and wo unto the man or men who broke their word or tried underhanded work on that range.

Nestling down in this snug little valley was the rambling ranch-house of the Cross L--the castle of “Cross L” Marshall, whose word was considered law in Chinook.

Down a long, grassy slope above the ranch-house rode a man and a girl, coming slowly toward the ranch-house. The girl was Jess Marshall, a tall, willowy girl, easy of movement and sitting her horse like a cowboy. Her brown eyes were troubled as she tucked a vagrant strand of brown hair under the brim of her sombrero and looked up at the man beside her.

Clell Danert was handsome--by certain standards. He was tall and well proportioned, regular of feature, with a certain ease and grace seldom found in cow-land. His gray eyes were a trifle small and set a little too close together, and a smile showed a tilt to one side of his mouth--a sign not cared for by those who love an open smile.

His clothes were perhaps a trifle too well tailored and inclined to gaudiness. Just now he leaned closer to the girl and watched the curve of her cheek as he propounded a question.

Jess Marshall’s eyes scanned the country for a moment, and a tiny crease appeared between her eyes as she turned to him.

“I--I think so, Clell.”