BLAKE settled himself in the easy chair which his host pushed over to him and crossed his feet on the seat of another, and became the personification of contentment. One of the black Perfectos which a friend in the East kept Shields supplied with, was tenderly nursed by his lips, its fragrant smoke slowly issuing from his nose and mouth, yielding its delights to a man who knew a good cigar when he smoked it, and who knew how to smoke it. At his elbow stood a coffee pot, flanked on one side by a plate piled high with gingerbread; on the other by an apricot pie. His eyes half-closed and his arms were folded, and a great peace stole over him. He had the philosopher’s mind which so readily yields to the magic touch of a perfect cigar. In that short space of time he was recompensed for a life of hardships, perils and but few pleasures.
They sat each lost in his own thoughts, in a silence broken only by the very low and indistinct hum of women’s voices and the loud ticking of the clock, which soon struck ten. The foreman sighed, stirred to knock the ashes from his cigar, and then slowly reached his hand toward the pie. Shields came to himself and very gravely relighted his cigar, watching the blue smoke stream up over the lamp. He looked at his contented friend for a few seconds and then broke the silence.
“Tom,” he said, “what I’m going to tell you now is all meat. I couldn’t say anything about it while the women were around, for they shore worry a lot and there wasn’t no good in scaring them.
“The Cross Bar-8 outfit got saddled with the idea that they wanted a new sheriff, and four of them didn’t care a whole lot how they made the necessary vacancy. I got word that they were going to pay Bill Howland for the part he played, and on the face of it there wasn’t nothing more than that. It was natural enough that they were sore on him, and that they would try to square matters. Well, of course, I couldn’t let him get wiped out and I took cards in the game. But, Lord, it wasn’t what I reckoned it was at all. He was in for hislicking, all right, buthewas thelittlefish–andIwas thebigone.
“They got Bill in the defile of the Backbone and were going to lynch him–they beat him up shameful. He wouldn’t tell them that I was hand-in-glove with The Orphan, which they wanted to hear, so they tried to scare him to lie, but it was no go.
“Well, I followed Bill and, to make it short, that is just what they had figured on. They posted an outpost to get the drop on me when I showed up, and he got it. Tex Williard seemed to be the officer in charge, and he asked me questions and suggested things that made me fighting mad inside. But I was as cool as I could be apparently, for it ain’t no good to lose your temper in a place like that. I suppose they wanted me to get out on the warpath so they could frame up some story about self-defense. It looked bad for me, with three of them having their guns on me, and Tex Williard had just given me an ultimatum and had counted two, when, d––d if The Orphan didn’t take a hand from up on the wall of the defile. That let me get my guns out, and the rest was easy. We let Bill get square on the gang for the beating he had got,by whipping all of them to the queen’s taste. When they got so they could stand up I told them a few things and ordered them out of the country, and they were blamed glad to get the chance to go, too.
“The Orphan didn’t have to mix up in that, not at all, and it makes the third time he’s put his head in danger to help me or mine, and he took big chances every time. How in h–l can I help liking him? Can I be blamed for treating him white and square when he’s done so much for me? He is so chock full of grit and squareness that I’ll throw up this job rather than to go out after him for his past deeds, and I mean it, too, Tom.”
Blake reached for another piece of pie, held his hand over it in uncertainty and then, changing his mind, took gingerbread for a change.
“Well, I reckon you’re right, Jim,” he replied. “Anyhow, it don’t make a whole lot of difference whether you are or not. You’re the sheriff of this layout, and you’re to do what you think best, and that’s the idea of most of the people out here, too. If you want to experiment, that’s your business, for you’ll be the first to get bit if you’re wrong. And it ain’t necessary to tell you that your friends will back you up in anything you try. Personally, I amrather glad of what you’re doing, for I like that man’s looks, as I said before, and he’ll be just the kind of a puncher I want. He’s a man that’ll fight like h–l for the man he ties up to and who treats him square. If he ain’t, I’m getting childish in my judgment.”
“I sent him to you,” the sheriff continued, “because I wanted to get him in with a good outfit and under a man who would be fair with him. I knew that you would give him every chance in the world. And then Helen takes such an interest in him, being young and sympathetic and romantic, that I wanted to please her if I could, and I can. She’ll be very much pleased now that I’ve given him a start in the right direction and there ain’t nothing I can do for her that is not going to be done. She’s a blamed fine girl, Tom, as nice a girl as ever lived.”
“She shore is–there ain’t no doubt about that!” cried the foreman, and then he frowned slightly. “But have you thought of what all this might develop into?” he asked, leaning forward in his earnestness. “It’s shore funny how I should think of such a thing, for it ain’t in my line at all, but the idea just sort of blew into my head.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Helen, being young and sympathetic and romantic, as you said, and owing her own life and the lives of her sister and friend, not to mention yours, to him, might just go and fall in love with him, and I reckon that if she did, she would stick to him in spite of hell. He’s a blamed good-looking, attractive fellow, full of energy and grit, somewhat of a mystery, and women are strong on mysteries, and he might nurse ideas about having some one to make gingerbread and apricot pie for him; and if he does, as shore as God made little apples, it’ll be Helen that he’ll want. He’s never seen as pretty a girl, she’s been kind and sympathetic with him, and I’m willing to bet my hat that he’s lost a bit of sleep about her already. Good Lord, what can you expect? She pities him, and what do the books say about pity?”
The sheriff thought for a minute and then looked up with a peculiar light in his eyes.
“For a bachelor you’re doing real well,” he said, still thinking hard.
“Being a bachelor don’t mean that I ain’t never rubbed elbows with women,” replied the foreman. “There are some people that are bachelors because they are too darned smart to get roped and brandedbecause the moon happens to be real bright. But I’ll confess to you that I ain’t a bachelor because I didn’t want to get roped. We won’t say any more about that, however.”
“Well,” said Shields, slowly. “If he tries to get her before I know that he is straight and clean and good enough for her, I’ll just have to stop him any way I can. First of all, I’m looking out for my sister, the h–l with anybody else. But on the other hand, if he makes good and wants her bad enough to rustle for two and she has her mind made up that she’d rather have him than stay single and is head over heels in love with him, I don’t see that there’s anything to worry about. I tell you that he is a good man, a real man, and if he changes like I want him to, she would be a d––d sight better off with him than with some dudish tenderfoot in love with money. He has had such a God-forsaken life that he will be able to appreciate a change like that–he would be square as a brick with her and attentive and loyal–and with him she wouldn’t run much chance of being left a widow. Why, I’ll bet he’ll worship the ground she walks on–she could wind him all around her little finger and he’d never peep. And she would have the bestprotection that walks around these parts. But, pshaw, all this is too far ahead of the game. How about that herd of cattle you spoke of?”
“I can get you the whole herd dirt cheap,” replied the foreman. “And they are as hungry and healthy a lot as you could wish.”
“Well,” responded the sheriff, “I’ve made up my mind to go ranching again. I can’t stand this loafing, for it don’t amount to much more than that now that The Orphan has graduated out of the outlaw class. I can run a ranch and have plenty of time to attend to the sheriff part of it, too. Ever since I sold the Three-S I have been like a fish out of water. When I got rid of it I put the money away in Kansas City, thinking that I might want to go back at it again. Then I got rid of that mine and bunked the money with the ranch money. The interest has been accumulating for a long time now and I have got something over thirty thousand lying idle. Now, I’m going to put it to work.
“I ran across Crawford last week, and he is dead anxious to sell out and go back East–he don’t like the West. I’ve determined to take the A-Y off his hands, for it’s a good ranch, has good buildings on it, two fine windmills over driven wells,good grass and shelters. Why, he has put up shelters in Long Valley that can’t be duplicated under a thousand dollars. His terms are good–five thousand down and the balance in installments of two thousand a year at three per cent., and I can getoverthree per cent, while it is lying waiting to be paid to him. He is too blamed sick of his white elephant to haggle over terms. He was foolish to try to run it himself and to sink so much money in driven wells, windmills and buildings–it would astonish you to know how much money he spent in paint alone. What did he know about ranching, anyhow? He can’t hardly tell a cow from a heifer. He said that he knew how to make money earn money in the East, but that he couldn’t make a cent raising cows.
“If The Orphan attends to his new deal I’ll put him in charge and the rest lies with him. I’ll provide him with a good outfit, everything he needs and, if he makes good and the ranch pays, I’ll fix it so he can own a half-interest in it at less than it cost me, and that will give him a good job to hold down for the rest of his life. It’ll be something for him to tie to in case of squalls, but there ain’t much danger of his becoming unsteady, because ifhe was at all inclined to that sort of thing he would be dead now.
“This ain’t no fly-away notion, as you know. I’ve had an itching for a good ranch for several years, and for just about that length of time I’ve had my eyes on the A-Y. I was going to buy it when Crawford gobbled it up at that fancy price and I felt a little put out when he took up his option on it, but I’m glad he did, now. Why, Reeves sold out to Crawford for almost three times what I am going to pay for it, and it has been improved fifty per cent. since he has had it. But, of course, there was more cattle then than there is now. You get me that herd at a good figure and I’ll be able to take care of them very soon now, just as soon as I close the deal. But, mind you, no Texas cattle goes–I don’t want any Spanish fever in mine.
“I’m thinking some of putting Charley in charge temporarily, just as soon as Sneed gets some men, and when The Orphan takes it over things will be in purty fair shape. I won’t move out there because my wife don’t like ranching–she wants to be in town where she is near somebody, but I’ll spend most of my time out there until everything gets in running order. Oh, yes–in considerationof the five thousand down at the time the papers are signed, Crawford has agreed to leave the ranch-house furnished practically as it is, and that will be nice for Helen and The Orphan if they ever should decide to join hands in double blessedness. You used to have a lot of fun about the high-faluting fixings in your ranch-house, but just wait ’til you see this one! An inside look around will open your eyes some, all right. It is a wonder, a real wonder! Running water from the windmills, a bath-room, sinks in the kitchen, a wood-burning boiler in the cellar, and all the comforts possible. If Crawford tries to move all that stuff back East it would cost him more than he could get for it, and he knows it, too. It’s a bargain at twice the price, and I’m going to nail it. I can’t think of anything else.”
“Well,” replied Blake, “I don’t see how you could do anything better, that’s sure. It all depends on the price, and if you’re satisfied with that, there ain’t no use of turning it down. I know you can make money out there with any kind of attention, for I’m purty well acquainted with the A-Y. And I’ll see about the cattle next week, but you better leave The Orphan stay with me a while longer. My boys are the best crowd that ever lived in abunk-house, and if he minds his business they’ll smooth down his corners until you won’t hardly know him; and they’ll teach him a little about the cow-puncher game if he’s rusty.
“You remember the time we had that killing out there, don’t you?” Blake asked. “Well, you also remember that we agreed to cut out all gunplay on the ranch in the future, and that I sent East for some boxing gloves, which were to be used in case anybody wanted to settle any trouble. They have been out there for two years now, and haven’t been used except in fun. Give the boys a chance and they’ll cure him of the itching trigger-finger, all right. They’re only a lot of big-hearted, overgrown kids, and they can get along with the devil himself if he’ll let them. But they are hell-fire and brimstone when aroused,” then he laughed softly: “They heard about your trouble with Sneed and they shore was dead anxious to call on the Cross Bar-8 and make a few remarks about long life and happiness, but I made them wait ’til they should be sent for.
“They know all about The Orphan–that is, as much as I did before I called to-night. Joe Haines is a great listener and when he rustles ourmail once a week he takes it all in, so of course they know all about it. They had a lot of fun about the way he made the Cross Bar-8 sit up and take notice, for they ain’t wasting any love on Sneed’s crowd. And it took Bill Howland over an hour to tell Joe about his experiences. So when The Orphan met the outfit they knew him to be the man who had saved the sheriff’s sisters, which went a long way with them. Say, Jim,” he exclaimed, “can I tell them what you said about him to-night? Let me tell them everything, for it’ll go far with them, especially with Silent, who had some trouble with the U-B about five years ago. He was taking a herd of about three thousand head across their range and he swears yet at the treatment he got. Yes? All right, it’ll make him solid with the outfit.”
“Tell them anything you want about him,” said the sheriff, “but don’t say anything about the A-Y. I want to keep it quiet for a while.”
Shields poured himself a cup of coffee and then glanced at the clock: “Too late for a game, Tom?” he asked, expectantly.
The foreman laughed: “It’s seldom too late for that,” he replied.
“Good enough!” cried his host. “What shall it be this time–pinochle or crib?”
The foreman slowly closed his eyes as he replied: “Either suits me–this feed has made me plumb easy to please. Why, I’d even play casino to-night!”
“Well, what do you say to crib?” asked the sheriff. “You licked me so bad at it the last time you were here that I hanker to get revenge.”
“Well, I don’t blame you for wanting to get it, but I’ll tell you right now that you won’t, for I can lick the man that invented crib to-night,” laughed the foreman. “Bring out your cards.”
Shields placed the cards on the table and arranged things where they would be handy while his friend shuffled the pack.
The foreman pushed the cards toward his host: “There you are–low deals as usual, I suppose.”
“Oh, you might as well go ahead and deal,” grumbled the sheriff good-naturedly. “I don’t remember ever cutting low enough for you–by George! A five!”
Blake picked up the cards and started to deal, but the sheriff stopped him.
“Hey! You haven’t cut yet!” Shields cried,putting his hand on the cards. “What are you doing, anyhow?”
Blake laughed with delight: “Well, anybody that can’t cut lower than a five hadn’t ought to play the game. What’s the use of wasting time?”
“Well, you never mind about the time–you go ahead and beat me,” cried the sheriff. “Of all the nerve!”
Blake picked up the cards again: “Do you want to cut again?” he asked.
“Not a bit of it! That five stands!”
“Well, how would a four do?” asked the foreman, lifting his hand. “It’s a three!” he exulted. “All that time wasted,” he said.
“You go to blazes,” pleasantly replied the sheriff as he sorted his hand. “This ain’t so bad for you, not at all bad; you could have done worse, but I doubt it.” He discarded, cut, and Blake turned a six.
“Seven,” called Shields as he played.
“Seventeen,” replied Blake, playing a queen.
“No you don’t, either,” grinned the sheriff. “You can play that four later if you want to, but not now on twenty-seven. Call it twenty-five,” he said, playing an eight.
Blake carefully scanned his hand and finally played the four, grumbling a little as his friend laughed.
“Thirty-one–first blood,” remarked the sheriff, dropping the deuce.
While he pegged his points Blake suddenly laughed.
“Say, Jim,” he said, “before I forget it I want to tell you a joke on Humble. He thought it would be easy money if he taught Lee Lung how to play poker. He bothered Lee’s life out of him for several days, and finally the Chinaman consented to learn the great American game.”
Blake played a six and the sheriff scored two by pairing, whereupon his opponent made it threes for six, and took a point for the last card.
“As I was saying, Humble wanted the cook to learn poker. Lee’s face was as blank as a cow’s, and Humble had to explain everything several times before the cook seemed to understand what he was driving at. Anybody would have thought he had been brought up in a monastery and that he didn’t know a card from an army mule.”
Blake pegged his seven points and picked up his cards without breaking the story.
“But Lee had awful luck, and in half an hour he owned half of Humble’s next month’s pay. Now, every time he gets a chance he shows Humble the cards and asks for a game. ‘Nicee game, ploker, nicee game,’ he’ll say. What Humble says is pertinent, profane and permeating. Then the boys guy him to a finish. He’ll be wanting to teach Lee how to play fan-tan some day, so the boys say. Lee must have graduated in poker before Humble ever heard of the game.”
Shields laughed heartily and swiftly ran over his cards.
“Fifteen two, four, six, a pair is eight, and a double run of three is fourteen. Real good,” he said as he pegged. “Passed the crack that time. What have you got?”
The foreman put his cards down, found three sixes and then turned the crib face up. “Pair of tens and His Highness,” he grumbled. “Only three in that crib!”
“That’s what you get for cutting a three,” laughed the sheriff.
The game continued until the striking of the clock startled the guest.
“Midnight!” he cried. “Thirty miles beforeI get to bed–no, no, I can’t stay with you to-night –much obliged, all the same.”
He clapped his sombrero on his head and started for the door: “Well, better luck next time, Jim–three twenty-four hands shore did make a difference. Right where they were needed, too. So long.”
“Sorry you won’t stay, Tom,” called his friend from the door as the foreman mounted. “You might just as well, you know.”
“I’m sorry, too, but I’ve got to be on hand to-morrow–anyway, it’s bright moonlight–so long!” he cried as he cantered away.
“Hey, Tom!” cried the sheriff, leaping from the porch and running to the gate. “Tom!”
“Hullo, what is it?” asked the foreman, drawing rein and returning.
“Smoke this on your way, it’ll seem shorter,” said the sheriff, holding out a cigar.
“By George, I will!” laughed Blake. “That’s fine, you’re all right!”
“Be good,” cried the sheriff, watching his friend ride down the street.
“Shore enough good–I have to be,” floated back to his ears.
THE Sunday morning following Blake’s visit to Ford’s Station found the Star C in excitement. Notwithstanding the fact that on every pleasant night after the day’s work had been done it was the custom for the outfit to indulge in a swim, and that Saturday night had been very pleasant, the Limping Water was being violently disturbed, and laughter and splashing greeted the sun as it looked over the rim of the bank. Cakes of soap glistened on the sand on the west bank and towels hung from convenient limbs of the bushes which fringed the creek.
Silent, who was noted among his companions for the length of time he could stay under water, challenged them to a submersion test. The rules were simple, inasmuch as they consisted in all plunging under at the same time, the winner being he who was the last man up. Silent had steadfastlyrefused to have his endurance timed, which his friends mistook for modesty, and no sooner had all “ducked under” than his head popped up–but this time he was not alone. Humble, whose utmost limit was not over half a minute, grew angry at his inability to make a good showing and craftily determined to take a handicap. The two stared at each other for a space and then burst into laughter, forgetting for the time being what they should do. Other heads bobbed up, and the secret was out. Only that Silent was the best swimmer in the crowd saved him from a ducking, and as it was he had to grab his clothes and run.
After being assured that he was forgiven for his trickery he rejoined his friends and his towel.
More fun was now the rule, for dressing required care. The sandy west bank sloped gradually to the water’s edge, and it was necessary to stand on one foot on a small stone in the water while the other was dipped to remove the sand. Still on one foot the other must be dried, the stocking put on, then the trouser leg and lastly the boot, and woe to the man who lost his balance and splashed stocking and trouser leg as he wildlysought to save it! Humble splashed while his foot was only half-way through the trouser leg, and The Orphan fared even worse. Then a race of awkward runners was on toward the bunk house, where breakfast was annihilated.
“Hey, Tom, what time do we leave?” asked Bud for the fifth time.
“Nine o’clock, you chump,” replied the foreman.
“Three whole hours yet,” grumbled Jim as he again plastered his hair to his head.
“I’ll lose my appetite shore,” worried Humble. “We got up too blamed early, that’s what we did.”
“Why, here’s Humble!” cried Silent in mock surprise. “Doyoulike apricot pie, and gingerbread andrealcoffee?”
“You go to the devil,” grumbled Humble. “You wouldn’t ’a’ been asked at all, only she couldn’t very well cut you out of it when she asked me along.I’m the one she really wants to feed; you fellers just happen to tag on behind, that’s all.”
“Going to take Lightning with you, Humble?” asked Docile, winking at the others.
“Why, I shore am,” replied Humble in surprise.“Do you reckon I’d leave him and that d––-d Chink all alone together, you sheep?”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t,” pessimistically grumbled Docile, but here he smiled hopefully. “Suppose you take Lee Lung and leave the dog here?” he queried.
“Suppose you quit supposing with your feet!” sarcastically countered Humble. “I know you ain’t got much brains, but you might exercise what little you have got once in a while. It won’t hurt you none after you get used to it.”
“How are you going to carry him, Humble–like a papoose?” queried Joe with a great show of interest.
Humble stared at him: “Huh!” he muttered, being too much astonished to say more.
“I asked you how you are going to carry your fighting wolfhound,” Joe said without the quiver of an eyelash. “I thought mebby you was going to sling him on your back like a papoose.”
“Carry him! Papoose!” ejaculated Humble in withering irony. “What do you reckon his legs are for? He ain’t no statue, he ain’t no ornament, he’s a dog.”
“Well, I knowed he ain’t no ornament, but Iwasn’t shore about the rest of it,” responded Joe. “I only wanted to know how he’d get to town. There ain’t no crime in asking about that, is there? I know he can’t follow the gait we’ll hit up for thirty miles, so I just naturally asked,sabe?”
“Oh, you did, did you!” cried Humble, not at all humbly. “He can’t follow us, can’t he?” he yelled belligerently.
“He shore can’t, cross my heart,” asserted Silent in great earnestness. “If he runs to Ford’s Station after us and gets there inside of two days I’ll buy him a collar. That goes.”
“Huh!” snorted Humble in disgust, “he won’t wear your old collar after he wins it. He’s got too much pride to wear anything you’ll give him.”
“He couldn’t, you mean,” jabbed Jim. “He’s so plumb tender that it would strain his back to carry it. Why, he has to sit down and rest if more’n two flies get on the same spot at once.”
“He can’t wag his tail more’n three times in an hour,” added Bud, “and when he scratches hisself he has to rest for the remainder of the day.”
Humble turned to The Orphan in an appealing way: “Did you ever see so many d––d fools all at once?” he beseeched.
The Orphan placed his finger to his chin and thought for fully half a minute before replying: “I was just figuring,” he explained in apology for his abstraction. Then his face brightened: “You can tie him up in a blanket–that’s the best way. Yes, sir, tie him up in a blanket and sling him at the pommel. We’ll take turns carrying him.”
“Purple h–l!” yelled Humble. “You’re another! The whole crowd are a lot of––!”
“Sing it, Humble,” suggested Tad, laughing. “Sing it!”
“Whistle some of it, and send the rest by mail,” assisted Jack Lawson.
“Seen th’ dlog?” came a bland, monotonous voice from the doorway, where Lee Lung stood holding a chunk of beef in one hand, while his other hand was hidden behind his back. Over his left shoulder projected half a foot of club, which he thought concealed. “Seen th’ dlog?” he repeated, smiling.
“Miss Mirandy and holy hell!” shouted Humble, leaping forward at sight of the club. There was a swish! and Humble rebounded from the door, at which he stared. From the rear of the house came more monotonous words: “Nice dlog-gie.Pletty Lightling. Here come. Gette glub,” and Humble galloped around the corner of the house, swearing at every jump.
When the laughter had died down Blake smiled grimly: “Some day Leewillget that dog, and when he does he’ll get him good and hard. Then we’ll have to get another cook. I’ve told him fifty times if I’ve told him once not to let it go past a joke, but it’s no use.”
“He won’t hurt the cur, he’s only stringing Humble,” said Bud. “Nobody would hurt a dog that minded his own business.”
“If anybody hit a dog of mine for no cause, he wouldn’t do it again unless he got me first,” quietly remarked The Orphan.
Jim hastily pointed to the corner of the house where a club projected into sight: “There’s Lee now!” he whispered hurriedly. “He’s laying for him!”
There was a sudden spurt of flame and smoke and the club flew several yards, struck by three bullets. Humble hopped around the corner holding his hand, his words too profane for repetition.
Smoke filtered from The Orphan’s holster andeyes opened wide in surprise at the wonderful quickness of his gunplay, for no one had seen it. All there was was smoke.
“Good God!” breathed Blake, staring at the marksman, who had stepped forward and was explaining to Humble. “It’s a good thing Shields was square!” he muttered.
“Did you see that?” asked Bud of Jim in whispered awe. “And I thoughtIwas some beans with a six-shooter!”
“No, but I heard it–was they one or six?” replied Jim.
“I didn’t know it was you, Humble,” explained The Orphan. “I thought it was the Chink laying for the dog.”
“––––! Good for you!” cried Humble in sudden friendliness. “You’re all right, Orphant, but will you be sure next time? That stung like blazes,” he said as he held out his hand. “I can always tell a white man by the way he treats a dog. If all men were as good as dogs this world would be a blamed sight nicer place to live in, and don’t you forget it.”
“Still going to take Lightning with you, Humble?” asked Bud.
“No, I ain’t going to take Lightning with me!” snapped Humble. “I’m going to leave him right here on the ranch,” here his voice arose to a roar, “and if any sing-song, rope-haired, animated hash-wrastler gets gay while I’m gone, I’ll send him to his heathen hell!”
“Come on, boys,” said Blake, snapping his watch shut. “Time to get going.”
“Glory be!” exulted Silent, executing a few fancy steps toward the corral, his companions close behind, with the exception of The Orphan, who had gone into the bunk house for a minute.
As they whooped their way toward the town Blake noticed that a gold pin glittered at the knot of the new recruit’s neck-kerchief, and he chuckled when he recalled the warning he had given to the sheriff. He shrewdly guessed that the apricot pie and the rest of the feast were quite subordinated by The Orphan to the girl who had given him the pin.
Bud suddenly turned in his saddle and pointed to a jackrabbit which bounded away across the plain like an animated shadow.
“Now, if Humble’s bloodhound was only here,” he said, “we would rope that jack and make thecur fight it. It would be a fine fight, all right,” he laughed.
“You go to the devil,” grunted Humble, and he started ahead at full speed. “Come on!” he cried. “Come on, you snails!” and a race was on.
·····
The citizens of Ford’s Station saw a low-hanging cloud of dust which rolled rapidly up from the west and soon a hard-riding crowd of cowboys, in gala attire, galloped down the main street of the town. They slowed to a canter and rode abreast in a single line, the arms of each man over the shoulders of his nearest companions, and all sang at the top of their lungs. On the right end rode Blake, and on the left was The Orphan. Bill Howland ran out into the street and spotted his new friend immediately and swung his hat and cheered for the man who had helped him out of two bad holes. The Orphan broke from the line and shook hands with the driver, his face wreathed by a grin.
“You old son-of-a-gun!” cried Bill, delighted at the familiarity from so noted a person as the former outlaw. “How are you, hey?”
The line cried warm greeting as it swung around to shake his hand, and the driver’s chest took on several inches of girth.
“Hullo, Bill!” cried Bud with a laugh. “Seen your old friend Tex lately?”
“Yes, I did,” replied Bill. “I saw him out on Thirty-Mile Stretch, but he didn’t do nothing but swear. He didn’t want no more run-ins with me, all right, and, besides, my rifle was across my knees. He said as how he was going to come back some day and start things moving about this old town, and I told him to begin with the Star C when he did.”
He looked across the street and waved his hand at a group of his friends who were looking on. “Come on over, fellows,” he cried, and when they had done so he turned and introduced The Orphan to them.
“This ugly cuss here is Charley Winter; this slab-sided curiosity is Tommy Larkin, and here is his brother Al; Chet Dare, Duke Irwin, Frank Hicks, Hoke Jones, Gus Shaw and Roy Purvis. All good fellows, every one of them, and all friends of the sheriff. Here comes Jed Carr, the only man in the whole town who ain’t afraid of mesince I licked them punchers in the defile. Hullo, Jed! Shake hands with the man who played h–l with the Cross Bar-8 and the Apaches.”
“Glad to meet you, Orphan,” remarked Jed as he shook hands. “Punching for the Star C, eh? Good crowd, most of them, as they run, though Humble ain’t very much.”
“He ain’t, ain’t he?” grinned that puncher. “You’re some sore about that day when I cleaned up all your cush at poker, ain’t you? Ain’t had time to get over it, have you? Want to borrow some?”
“You want to look out for Humble, Jed,” bantered Bud. “He’s taken a lesson at poker from our cook since he played you. Didn’t you, Easy?” he asked Humble.
The roar of laughter which followed Bud’s words forced Humble to stand treat: “Come on over and have something with the only man in the crowd that’s got any money,” he said.
When they had lined up against the bar jokes began to fly thick and fast and The Orphan felt a peculiar elation steal over him as he slowly puffed at his cigar. Suddenly the door flew open and Bill’s glass dropped from his hand.
“Bucknell, by God! And as drunk as a fool!” he exclaimed.
The puncher whom The Orphan had tied up above the defile leaned against the door frame and his gun wavered from point to point unsteadily as he tried to peer into the dim interior of the room, his face leering as he sought, with a courage born of drink, for the man who had made a fool of him.
A bottle crashed against the wall at his side, and as he lurched forward, glancing at the broken glass, a figure leaped to meet him and with agile strength grasped his right wrist, wheeled and got his shoulder under Bucknell’s armpit, took two short steps and straightened up with a jerk. The intruder left the floor and flew headforemost through the air, crashing against the rear wall, where he fell to the floor and lay quiet. The Orphan, having foresworn unnecessary gunplay, and always scorning to shoot a drunken man, had executed a clever, quick flying-mare.
As the sheriff stepped into the room Blake ran forward and lifted Bucknell to his feet, supporting him until he could stand alone. The puncher was greatly sobered by the shock and blinked confusedlyabout him. The Orphan was smoking nonchalantly at the bar and Bill had just given the sheriff the victim’s gun.
“What’s the matter?” asked Bucknell, rubbing his forehead, which was cut and bruised.
“Nothing’s the matter, yet,” answered Shields shortly. “But there would have been if you hadn’t been too drunk to know what you was doing. I saw you and tried to get here first, but it’s all right now. Take your gun and get out. Here,” he exclaimed, “you promise me to behave yourself and you can go back to Sneed, for he needs you. Otherwise, it’s out of the country after Tex for you. Is it a go?”
“What was that, and who done it?” asked Bucknell, clinging to the bar. “What was it?” he repeated.
“That was me trying to throw you through the wall,” said the sheriff, wishing to give Bucknell no greater cause for animosity against The Orphan, and for the peace of the community; and also because he wished to help The Orphan to refrain from using his gun in the future. “And I’d ’a’ done it, too, only my hand was sweaty. Will you do what I said?” he asked.
Bucknell straightened up and staggered past the sheriff to where The Orphan stood: “You done that, but it’s all right, ain’t it?” he asked. “You ain’t sore, are you?” His eyes had a crafty look, but the dimness of the room concealed it, and The Orphan did not notice the look.
“It’s all right, Bucknell, and I ain’t sore,” he replied. “I won’t be sore if you do what the sheriff wants you to.”
“All right, all right,” replied Bucknell. “Have a drink on me, boys. It’s all right now, ain’t it? Have a drink on me.”
“No more drinking to-day,” quickly said the bartender at a look from Shields. “All the good stuff is used up and the rest ain’t fit for dogs, let alone my friends. Wait ’til next time, when I’ll have some new.”
“That’s too d––d bad,” replied Bucknell, leering at the crowd. “Have a smoke, then. Come on, have a smoke with me.”
“We shore will, Bucknell,” responded Shields quickly.
As the cowboy started for the door the sheriff placed a hand on his shoulder: “You behave yourself, Bucknell,” he said. “So long.”
JOYOUS whoops, loud and heartfelt, brought the women to the door of the sheriff’s house in time to see their guests dismount. A perfect babel of words greeted their appearance as the cowboys burst into a running fire of jokes, salutations and comments. Even the ponies seemed to know that something important and unusual was taking place, for they cavorted and bit and squealed to prove that they were in accord with the spirit of their riders and that thirty miles in less than three hours had not subdued them. Bright colors prevailed, for the neck-kerchiefs in most cases were new and yet showed the original folding creases, while new, clean thongs of rawhide and glittering bits of metal flashed back the sunlight. Spurs glittered and the clean looking horses appeared to have had a dip in the Limping Water. Blake had hunted through the carpeted rooms of his ranch-housefor decorations, and in the drawer of a table he had found a bunch of ribbons of many kinds and shades. These now fluttered from the pommels of the saddles and in one case a red ribbon was twined about the leg of a vicious pinto, and the pinto was not at all pleased by the decoration.
The sheriff led the way to the house closely followed by Blake, the others coming in the order of their nerve. The Orphan was last, not from lack of courage, but rather because of strategy. He thought that Helen would remain at the door to welcome each arrival and if he was in the van he would be passed on to make way for those behind him. Being the last man he hoped to be able to say more to her than a few words of greeting. As he mounted the steps she was drawn into the room for something and he stepped to one side on the porch, well knowing that she would miss him.
Bud poked his head out the door and started to say something, but The Orphan fiercely whispered for him to be silent and to disappear, which Bud did after grinning exasperatingly.
The man on the porch was growing impatient when he heard the light swish of skirts around thecorner of the house. Sauntering carelessly to the corner he looked into the back-yard and saw Helen with a tray in her hands, nearing the back door. She espied him and stopped, flushing suddenly as he leaped lightly to the ground and walked rapidly toward her. Her cheeks became a deeper red when he stopped before her and took the tray, for his eyes were rebellious and would not be subdued, and the first thing she saw was the gold pin which stood out boldly against the dark blue neck-kerchief. She was rarely beautiful in her white dress, and the ribbon which she wore at her throat did not detract in its effect. Later her sister was to wonder if it was a coincidence that the ribbon and his neck-kerchief were so good a match in color.
She welcomed him graciously and he felt a sudden new and strangely exhilarating sensation steal over him as he took the hand she held out, the tray all the while bobbing recklessly in his other hand.
“Why aren’t you in the house paying your respects to your hostess?” she chided half in jest and half in earnest.
“The delay will but add to my fervor when I do,” he replied, “for I will have had a stimulusthen. As long as the hostesses are four and insist on not being together, how can I pay my respects all at once?”
“But there is only one hostess,” she laughingly corrected. “I am afraid you are not very good at making excuses. You probably never felt the need to make them before. You see, I, too, am only a guest.”
“We two,” he corrected daringly.
“I am very glad to see you,” she said, leading away from plurals. “You are looking very well and much more contented. And then, this is ever so much nicer than our first meeting, isn’t it? No horrid Apaches.”
“I’ve gotten so that I rather like Apaches,” he replied. “They are so useful at times. But you mustn’t try to tempt me to subordinate that eventful day, not yet. It can’t be done, although I’ve never tried to do it,” he hastily assured her, making a gesture of helplessness. “Sometimes an unexpected incident will change the habits of a lifetime, making the days seem brighter, and yet, somehow, adding a touch of sadness. I have been a stranger to myself since then, restless, absentminded, moody and hungry for I know not what.”He paused and then slowly continued, “I must beg to remain loyal to that day of all days when you bathed an outlaw’s head and showed your love for fair play and kindness.”
“Goodness!” she cried, for one instant meeting his eager eyes. “Why, I thought it was a terrible day! And you really think differently?”
“Very much so,” he assured her as she withdrew her hand from his. “You see, it was such a new and delightful experience to save a stage coach and then find that it was a hospital with a wonderful doctor. I accused that Apache of being stingy with his lead, for he might just as well have given me a few more wounds to have dressed.”
“Yes,” she laughingly retorted, “it was almost as new an experience as starting on a long and supposedly peaceful journey and suddenly finding oneself in the middle of a desert surrounded by dead Indians and doctoring an Indian killer who was at war with one’s brother. And that after a terrible shaking up lasting for over an hour. Truly it is a day to be remembered. Now, don’t you think you should hurry in and greet my sister-in-law?”
“Yes, certainly,” he quickly responded. “But before I lose the opportunity I must ask you if youwill care if I ride over and see you occasionally, because it is terribly lonely on that ranch.”
“You know that we shall always be glad to see you whenever you can call,” she replied, smiling up at him. “We are all very deep in your debt and brother and all of us think a great deal of you. Are you satisfied on the Star C, and do you like your work and your companions?”
“Thank you,” he cried happily, “I will ride over and see you once in a while. But as for my work, it is delightful! The Star C is fine and my companions–well, they just simply can’t be beat! they are the finest, whitest set of men that ever gathered under one roof.”
“That’s very nice, I am glad that you find things so congenial,” she replied in sincerity. “James was sure that you would, for Mr. Blake is an old friend of his.”
“I’m very anxious about this pin,” he said, putting his hand on it. “May I keep it for a while longer?” he asked with a note of appeal in his voice.
“Why, yes,” she replied, “if you wish to. But only as long as you do not displease me, and you will not do that, will you? James has such deepconfidence in you that I know you will not disappoint him. You will justify him in his own mind and in the minds of his acquaintances and prove that he has not erred in judgment, won’t you?”
“If I am the sum total of your brother’s trouble, he will have a path of roses to wander through all the rest of his life,” he responded earnestly. “And I’m really afraid that you will never again wear this pin as a possession of yours. Of course you can borrow it occasionally,” and he smiled whimsically, “but as far as displeasing you is concerned, it is mine forever. It will really and truly be mine on that condition, won’t it? My very own if I do not forfeit it?”
“If you wish it so,” she replied quickly, her face radiant with smiles. “And you will work hard and you will never shoot a man, no matter what the provocation may be, unless it is absolutely necessary to do it for the saving of your own life or that of a friend or an innocent man. Promise me that!” she commanded imperatively, pleased at being able to dictate to him. “Men like you never break a promise,” she added impulsively.
“I promise never to shoot a man, woman, child or–or anybody,” he laughingly replied, “unlessit is necessary to save life. And I’ll work real hard and save my money. And on Sundays, rain or shine, I’ll ride in and report to my new foreman.” Then a bit of his old humor came to him: “For I just about need this pin–knots are so clumsy, you know.”
She glanced at the knot which held the pin and laughed merrily, leading the way into the house.
As they entered Humble was extolling the virtues of his dog, to the broad grins of his companions, who constantly added amendments and made correctionssotto voce.
“Why, here they are!” cried the sheriff in such a tone as to suffuse Helen’s face with blushes. The Orphan coolly shook hands with him.
“Yes, here we are, Sheriff, every one of us,” he replied. “We couldn’t be expected to stay away when Mrs. Shields put herself to so much trouble, and we’re all happy and proud to be so honored. How do you do, Mrs. Shields,” he continued as he took her hand. “It is awful kind of you to go to such trouble for a lot of lonely, hungry fellows like us.”
“Goodness sakes!” she cried, delighted at his words and pleased at the way he had parried herhusband’s teasing thrust. “Why, it was no trouble at all–you are all my boys now, you know.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Shields,” he replied slowly. “We will do our very best to prove ourselves worthy of being called your boys.”
The sheriff regarded The Orphan with a look of approbation and turned to his sister Helen.
“He ain’t nobody’s fool, eh, Sis?” he whispered. “I’m wondering how you ever made up your mind to share him with us!”
“Oh, please don’t!” she begged in confusion. “Please don’t tease me now!”
“All right, Sis,” he replied in a whisper, pinching her ear. “I’ll save it all up for some other time, some time when he ain’t around to turn it off, eh? But I don’t blame him a bit for exploring the yard first–you’re the prettiest girl this side of sun-up,” he said, beaming with love and pride. “How’s that for a change, eh? Worth a kiss?”
She kissed him hurriedly and then left the room to attend to her duties in the kitchen, and he sauntered over to where The Orphan was talking with Mrs. Shields, his hand rubbing his lips and a mischievous twinkle in his kind eyes.
“Did you notice the new flower-bed right by theside of the house as you ran past it a while ago?” he asked, flashing a keen warning to his wife.
The Orphan searched his memory for the flower-bed and not finding it, turned and smiled, not willing to admit that his attention had been too fully taken up with a fairer flower than ever grew in earth.
“Why, yes, it is real pretty,” he replied. “What about it?”
“Oh, nothing much,” gravely replied the sheriff as he edged away. “Only we were thinking of putting a flower-bed there, although I haven’t had time to get at it yet.”
The Orphan flushed and glanced quickly at the outfit, who were too busy cracking jokes and laughing to pay any attention to the conversation across the room.
“James!” cried Mrs. Shields. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself!”
“When you tickle a mule,” said the sheriff, grinning at his friend, “you want to look out for the kick. Come again sometime, Sonny.”
“James!” his wife repeated, “how can you be so mean! Now, stop teasing and behave yourself!”
“For a long time I’ve been puzzled about what you resembled, but now I have your words for it,” easily countered The Orphan. “Thank you for putting me straight.”
The sheriff grinned sheepishly and scratched his head: “I’m an old fool,” he grumbled, and forthwith departed to tell Helen of the fencing.
Mrs. Shields excused herself and followed her husband into the kitchen to look after the dinner, and The Orphan sauntered over to his outfit just as Jim looked out of a rear window. Jim turned quickly, his face wearing a grin from ear to ear.
“Hey, Bud!” he called eagerly. “Bud!”
“What?” asked Bud, turning at the hail.
“Come over here for a minute, I want to show you something,” Jim replied, “but don’t let Humble come.”
Bud obeyed and looked: “Jimminee!” he exulted. “Don’t that look sumptious, though? This is where we shine, all right.” Then turned: “Hey, fellows, come over here and take a look.”
As they crowded around the window Humble discovered that something was in the wind and he followed them. What they saw was a long table beneath two trees, and it was covered with awhite cloth and dressed for a feast. Bud turned quickly from the crowd and forcibly led Humble to a side window before that unfortunate had seen anything and told him to put his finger against the glass, which Humble finally did after an argument.
“Feel the pain?” Bud asked.
“Why, no,” Humble replied, looking critically at his finger. “What’s the matter with you, anyhow?”
“Nothing,” replied Bud. “Think it over, Humble,” he advised, turning away.
Humble again put his finger to the glass and then snorted:
“Locoed chump! Prosperity is making him nutty!” When he turned he saw his friends laughing silently at him and making grimaces, and a light suddenly broke in upon him.
“Yes, I did!” he cried. “That joke is so old I plumb forgot it years ago! Spring something that hasn’t got whiskers and a halting step, will you?”
Jim laughed and suggested a dance, but was promptly squelched.
“You heathen!” snorted Blake in mock horror. “This is Sunday! If you want to dance wait tillyou get back to the ranch–suppose one of the women was here and heard you say that!”
“Gee, I forgot all about it being Sunday,” replied Jim, quickly looking to see if any of the women were in the room. “We’re regular barbarians, ain’t we!” he exclaimed in self-condemnation and relief when he saw that no women were present. “We’re regular land pirates, ain’t we?”
“You’ll be asking to play poker yet, or have a race,” jabbed Humble with malice. “You ain’t got no sense and never did have any.”
“Huh!” retorted Jim belligerently, “I won’t try to learn a Chinee cook how to play poker and get skinned out of my pay, anyhow! Got enough?” he asked, “or shall I tell of the time you drifted into Sagetown and asked––”
“Shut up, you fool!” whispered Humble ferociously. “Yu’ll get skun if you say too much!”
“’Skun’ is real good,” retorted Jim. “Got any more of them new words to spring on us?”
Helen had been passing to and fro past the window and Docile Thomas here put his marveling into words, for he had been casting covert glances at her, but now his restraint broke.
“Gee whiz!” he exclaimed in a whisper to JackLawson. “Ain’t she a regular hummer, now! Lines like a thoroughbred, face like a dream and a smile what shore is a winner! See her hair–fine and dandy, eh? She’s in the two-forty class, all right!” he enthused. “Why, when this country wakes up to what’s in it the sheriff will have to put up a stockade around this house and mount guard. Everybody from Bill up will be stampeding this way to talk business with the sheriff. No wonder The Orphan has got a bee in his bonnet–lucky dog!”
“She can take care of my pay every month just as soon as she says the word,” Jack replied. “But suppose you look away once in a while? Suppose you shift your sights! You, too, Humble,” he said, suddenly turning on the latter.
“Me what?” asked Humble, without interest and without shifting his gaze. “What are you talking about?”
“Look at something else, see?”
“Shore I see,” replied Humble. “That’s why I’m looking. Do you think I look with my eyes shut! Gee, but ain’t she a picture, though!”
“She shore is, but give it a rest, take a vacation, you chump!” retorted Jack. “You’re staring ather like she had you hoodooed. Come out of your trance–wake up and make a fool of yourself some other way. Don’t aim all the time at her. Mebby Lee Lung has killed your dog!”
“If he has we’ll need a new cook,” replied Humble with decision.
“Come on, boys! Don’t start milling!” cried the sheriff, suddenly entering the room. “Dinner’s all ready and waiting for us. And I shore hope you have all got your best appetites with you, because Margaret likes to see her food taken care of lively. If you don’t clean it all up she’ll think you don’t like it,” he said, winking at Blake, “and if she once gets that notion in her head it will be no more invitations for the Star C.”
There was much excitement in the crowd, and the replies came fast.
“I ain’t had anything good to eat for fifteen long, aching years!” cried Bud. “When I get through you’ll need a new table.
“Same here, only for thirty years,” replied Jim hastily. “I just couldn’t sleep last night for thinking about the glorious surprise my abused stomach was due to have to-day. I’ll bet my gun on my performance if the track is heavy, all right. I’mnot poor on speed, and I’m a stayer from Stayersville.”
“Well, I won’t be among the also rans, you can bet on that,” laughed Silent. “I don’t weigh very much, but I’m geared high.”
“I’ll bet it’s good!” cried Humble, “I’ll bet it’s real good!”
“D––n good, you mean!” corrected Jack. “Hey, fellows!” he cried, “did you hear what Humble said? He said that he’d bet it wasrealgood!”
“Horray for Humble, the wit of the Star C,” laughed Docile.
“Me for the apricot pie!” exulted Charley. “Here’s where I get square on Blake for rubbing it in all these months about the fine pie he gets over here.”
“There ain’t no apricot pie,” gravely lied the sheriff in surprise.
“What!” cried Charley in alarm. “There ain’t none for me! Oh, well, you can’t lose me in daylight, for I’ll double up on everything else. I ain’t going to get left, all right!”
“Don’t wake me up,” begged Joe Haines. “Let me dream on in peace and plenty. Grub,real, genuine grub, grub what is grub! Oh, joy!”
Mrs. Shields hurried into the room and then paused in surprise when she saw that the outfit had not moved toward the feast.
“Land sakes!” she cried. “Aren’t you boys hungry, or is James up to some of his everlasting teasing again!”
“You talk to her, Bud,” whispered Jim eagerly. “I’m so scary I shore can’t.”
“Yes, go ahead, Bud!” came instant and unanimous endorsement in whispers.
“Well, ma’am,” began Bud, clearing his throat, glancing around uneasily to be sure that the crowd was giving him moral backing, and feeling uncomfortable, “we was just getting up a–a––”
“B, C, D,” prompted Jim in a whisper.
“We was just getting up a resolution of thanks, Mrs. Shields,” he continued, stabbing his elbow into the stomach of the offending Jim. “You shut up!” he fiercely whispered. “I’m carrying one hundred and forty pounds now without the saddle!” Then he continued: “We all of us are plumb tickled about this, so plumb tickled we don’t hardly know what to say––”
“That’s right,” whispered Jim, folding his arms across his stomach. “You’re proving it, all right.”
Silent and Jack hauled Jim to the rear and Bud continued unruffled: “But we want to thank you, ma’am, from the bottoms, the very lowest bottoms of our hearts for your kindness to a orphant outfit what ain’t had anything to eat since the war, and very little during it. Joe Haines, here, ma’am, was just saying as how he was a-scared that it is all a dream––”
“I didn’t neither!” fiercely contradicted Joe in a whisper, looking very self-conscious. He was whisked to the rear to join Jim and the speech went on.
“He is afraid it is a dream, ma’am, and I know we all of us have more or less doubts about it being really true. But, ma’am, we shore are anxious to find out all about it. We’ve rid thirty miles to see for ourselves, and I don’t reckon you’ll have any fears about our appetites being left at home when you sizes up the wreck left in the path of the storm after the stampede is over. The boys want to give you three cheers even if it is Sunday, ma’am, for your kindness to them, and I’m shore one of the boys!”
“Hip, hip, horray!” yelled the crowd, surging forward.
“Good boy, Bud!” they cried.
“I’m proud of you, Buddie!” exulted Charley, slapping him extra heartily on the back.
“I didn’t know you had it in you, Bud!” cried Silent. “It was shore a dandy speech, all right.”
“We’ll send you to Congress for that, some day, Bud,” cried Jack Lawson. “You’re all right!”