“I once had a piece of pie, a piece of pie, a piece of pie,I once had a piece of pie, when I was five years old,”
“I once had a piece of pie, a piece of pie, a piece of pie,
I once had a piece of pie, when I was five years old,”
sang Charley as he pranced toward the door.
“Good! Go on, Charley, go on!” cried his companions joyously.
“Now I’ll have another piece, another piece, another piece,Now I’ll have another piece, that’s two all told.Good bye, Lee Lung, good bye Lee Lung,Good bye, Lee Lung, we’re going to forget you now!”
“Now I’ll have another piece, another piece, another piece,
Now I’ll have another piece, that’s two all told.
Good bye, Lee Lung, good bye Lee Lung,
Good bye, Lee Lung, we’re going to forget you now!”
“Again on that Lee Lung, altogether–it hits me right!” cried Bud, and the matter pertaining to the farewells to Lee Lung was promptly and properly attended to in heartfelt sincerity.
The ladies laughed with delight, and Mrs. Shields whispered to her husband, who nodded andescorted The Orphan to a seat near the head of the table, where he was flanked by Helen and Blake.
“Grab your partners, boys,” the sheriff cried, pointing to the chairs. There was a hasty piling of belts and guns on the ground, and after much confusion all were seated.
The sheriff arose: “Boys, Mrs. Shields wants me to tell you how pleased she is to have you all here. She has felt plumb sorry about you and she shore has shuddered at the thought of a Chinee cook––”
“Which same we all do–it’s chronic,” interposed Jim to laughter.
“She wants you to make yourselves at home,” continued the sheriff, “learn the lay of the land around this range and never forget the trail leading here, because she insists that when any of you come to town you have simply got to pay us a visit and see if there is a piece of pie or cake to eat before you go back to that cook. And Tom says that he’ll fire the first man who renigs––”
“I’m going to carry the mail hereafter!” cried Bud, scowling fiercely at Joe.
“Not if I can shoot first, you don’t!” retortedthe mail carrier. “I was just a-wondering if it wouldn’t be better to come in twice a week for it instead of once. We might get more letters.”
“We’ll bid for your job next year,” laughed Silent.
“Before I coax you to eat,” continued the sheriff, “I––”
“Wrong word, Sheriff,” interposed Humble. “Not coax, but force.”
“I am going to ask you to reverse things a little, and drink a standing toast to the man who saved the stage, to the man who saved Miss Ritchie and my sisters and who made this dinner possible. This would be far from a happy day but for him. I want you to drink to the long life and happiness of The Orphan. All up!”
The clink of glasses was lost in the spontaneous cheer which burst from the lips of the former outlaw’s new friends, and he sat confused and embarrassed with a sudden timidity, his face crimson.
“Speech!” cried Jim, the others joining in the cry. “Speech! Speech!”
Finally, after some urging, The Orphan slowly arose to his feet, a foolish smile playing about his lips.
“It wasn’t anything,” he said deprecatingly. “You all would have done it, every one of you. But I’m glad it was me. I’m glad I was on hand, although it wasn’t anything to make all this fuss about,” and he dropped suddenly into his seat, feeling hot and uncomfortable.
“Well, we have different ideas about its being nothing,” replied the sheriff. “Now, boys, a toast to Bill Halloway,” he requested. “Bill couldn’t get here to-day, but we mustn’t forget him. His splendid grit and driving made it possible for our friend to play his hand so well.”
“Hurrah for Bill!” cried Silent, leaping to his feet with the others. When seated again he looked quickly at his glass and turned to Bud.
“Real sweet cider!” he exulted. “Good Lord, but how time gallops past! I’d almost forgotten what it was like! It’s been over twenty years since I tasted any! Ain’t it fine?”
“I was wondering what it was,” remarked Humble, a trace of awe in his voice as he refilled his glass. “It’s shore enough sweet cider, and blamed good, too!”
Charley was romping with the mail carrier and he had a sudden inspiration: “Speech from Joe!Speech for the pieces of pie and cake he’s due to get!”
“Now, look here, boy,” Joe gravely replied. “I’m the mail carrier. I don’t have to go on jury duty, lead religion round-ups, go to war or make speeches. As the books say, I’m exempt. All I have to do is punch cows, rustle the mail and eat pie and cake once a week,” he said, glancing at Bud, who glared and groaned.
“Good boy, Joe!” cried Humble, waving his glass excitedly. “You’re shore all right, you are, and I’m your deputy, ain’t I?”
“No, not my deputy, but my delirium,” corrected Joe.
“Glory be!” cried Silent as his plate was passed to him. “Chicken, real chicken! Mashed potatoes, mashed turnips and dressing and gravy! And here comes stewed corn, boiled onions and jelly and mother’s bread. And stewed tomatoes? Well, well! I guess we ain’t going to be well fed, and real happy, eh, fellows? My stomach won’t know what’s the matter–it’ll think it died and went to heaven by mistake. Holy smoke! It hurts my eyes. What, cranberry jam? Well, I’m just going to close my eyes for a minute if you don’t mind;I want to recuperate from the shock. This is where I live again!”
Humble stared in rapture at the feast before him and finally heaved a long drawn sigh of doubt and content.
“Gee!” he cried softly, a far-away look in his eyes. “Look at it, just look at it! Just like I used to get when I was a little tad back in Connecticut–but that was shore a long time ago. Well,” he exclaimed, bracing up and bravely forgetting his boyhood, “there’s one thing I hope, and that is that Lee beats my dog. Then I can shoot him and get square for all these years of imitation grub what he’s handed out to me!”
“Hey, Tom!” eagerly cried Charley, “why can’t we handle a herd of chickens out on the ranch, and have a garden? Why, we could have eggs every day and chickens on holidays!”
“No wonder Tom likes to ride to town,” laughed Silent. “Gee whiz, I’d walk it for pie and cake and real genuine coffee!”
“Walk it!” snorted Jim. “Huh, I’d crawl, and stand on my head, knock my feet together and crow every half mile! Walk it, huh!”
Merriment reigned supreme throughout the mealand when the bashfulness had worn off the conversation became fast and furious, abounding in terse wit, verbal attacks and clever counters, and in concentrated onslaughts against the unfortunate Humble, who soon found, however, a new and loyal champion in Miss Ritchie, who took his part. Her assistance was so doughty as to more than once put to rout his tormentors, and before the dessert had been reached he was her devoted slave and admirer and was henceforth to sing her praises at every opportunity, and even to make opportunities.
At The Orphan’s end of the table all was serene. He, Helen, Blake and the sheriff found much to talk about, and all the while Mrs. Shields regarded the four in a motherly way, and tempered the keenness of her husband’s wit, for he was prone to break lances with The Orphan and to tease his sister, much to her confusion. She was very happy, for here at her side were her husband and the man she had feared would harm him, laughing and joking and the best of friends; and down the table a crowd of big-hearted boys, her boys now, were having the time of their lives. They were good boys, too, she told herself; a trifle rough, but sterlingat the heart, and every one of them a loyal friend. How good it was to see them eat and hear them laugh, all happy and mischievous. The welding of the units had been finished, and now the Star C and The Orphan were one in spirit.
AFTER the dinner at the sheriff’s house, life meant much to The Orphan, for the dinner had done its work and done it well. Whatever had been missing to complete the good fellowship between him and the others had been supplied and by the time the outfit was ready to leave for home, all corners had been rounded and all rough edges smoothed down. With his outfit he was in hearty, loyal accord, and the spirit of the ranch had become his own. With the sheriff his already strong liking had been stripped of any undesirable qualities, and he felt that Shields was not only the whitest man he had ever met, but also his best friend. He had become more intimate with the sheriff’s household, and for Mrs. Shields he had only love and respect.
With Helen his cup was full to overflowing, for he had managed to hold several long talks with herduring the afternoon, and to his mind he had heard nothing detrimental to his hopes. His eyes had been opened as to what it was he had been hungering for, and the knowledge thrilled him to his finger-tips. He was a red-blooded, clean-limbed man, direct of words and purpose, reveling in a joyous, surging, vigorous health, in tune with his surroundings; he was dominant, fearless, and he had a saving grace in his humor. To him came visions of the future, golden as the sunrise, rich in promise and assurance as to a happiness such as he could only feebly feel. Himself he was sure of, for he feared no failure on his part; as far as he was concerned it was won. Helen, he believed from what the day had given him, would not refuse him when the time came for her to decide, and his effervescent spirits sent a song to his lips, which he hurled to the sky as a war-cry, a slogan of triumph and a defiance.
As yet he knew nothing of the sheriff’s plans, and his thoughts concerning his future position in the community did not dare to soar above that of foreman of some ranch. To this end he would bend his energies with all the power of his splendid trinity–heart, mind and body. He was far too happy to think of failure, because there would benone; had the word passed through his mind he would have laughed it into oblivion. His experience gave him confidence, for he was no weakling sheltered and protected by any guiding angel; to the contrary, he was the survivor of a bitter war against conditions which would have destroyed a less strong man; he was victor over himself and his enemies, a conqueror of adverse conditions, a hewer of his own path; his enemies had been his best friends, and his long fight, his salvation. For ten years he had constantly fought a bitter fight against nature and man; hunger and thirst, plots and ambushes had all played their parts, and he had won out over all of them. He was young, hopeful and unafraid, and now that he was on the right trail he would bend every energy to stay there, and he would stay there, be the opposition what it might; and if the opposition should be man, and of a strength dangerous to him, he would destroy it as he had destroyed others before it. While now scorning to use his gun on every provocation he would depend upon it as on a court of last resort–and its decision would be final.
He held ill wishes against no man save one, and that one was the man who had placed the ropeabout the neck of his father. He did not know that man’s name, and he did not know that he might not be among those who had already paid for that crime. But should he ever learn that he lived he would take payment in full be the cost what it might.
But he had no thoughts for strife, he only knew that the sun had never been so bright, the sky so blue and the plain so full of life and beauty as it was on this perfect day. Only one other day rivaled it–the day he had swayed weakly by the side of a dusty coach and had felt warm, soft fingers touching his forehead. But, he told himself with joy, there would be days to come which would eclipse even that.
He was aroused from his reverie by the approach of the foreman, who gave him a hearty hail and smiled at the happy expression on the puncher’s face.
“Well, you look like you had struck it rich!” cried Blake. “What is it, gold or silver?”
“Gold or silver!” cried The Orphan in contempt at such cheapness. “By God, Blake, I wouldn’t sell my claim for all the gold and silver in this fool earth! Gold or silver! Why, man, Iknow where there is plenty of both. Here,” he cried, plunging his hand into his chaps pocket, “look at this!”
The foreman looked and whistled and took the object into his hand, where he examined it critically. “By George, it’s the yellow metal, all right, and blamed near pure!” He returned it to its owner and added: “That’s the real stuff, Orphan.”
“Yes, it is,” replied the other as he pocketed the nugget. “And I know where it came from. There’s plenty left that’s just like it, but I wouldn’t go after it if it was diamonds.”
“You wouldn’t!” exclaimed Blake in surprise. “By George, I’d go to-morrow, to-night, if I knew. Gold like that ain’t to be sneered at. It spells ranches, ease, plenty, anything you want. And you wouldn’t go for it?”
“No, I wouldn’t, and I won’t,” replied the puncher. “I’m going to stay right here on this range and make good with my hands and brains. I’m going to win the game with the cards I hold, and when I say win I mean it. There are times when gold is a dangerous thing to have, and this is one of them, as you’ll understand when I disclose my hand. When I win I won’t need goldbad enough to go through hell and hot water for it and risk not getting back to my claim, and it’s one hundred to one that I wouldn’t get back, too. And if I lose, mind you,if, I won’t have any use for it. I picked that nugget up in the middle of the damnedest desert God ever made, and when I got off it I was loco for a week. I won’t tell any friend of mine where it is because I want my friends to go on drawing their breath. I need my friends a whole lot, and that’s why I don’t tell you where it is. I was saving that for my enemies. Two have gone after it already, and haven’t been heard of since.”
“Well, you are the first man who ever told me that gold isn’t worth going after, and you have convinced me that in your case you are right,” laughed the foreman.
“You wouldn’t have to be told if you knew that desert as I do,” replied The Orphan.
“How was the sheriff last night?” asked Blake. “Or didn’t you notice, being too much occupied in your claim?”
The Orphan looked at him and then laughed softly: “He was the same as ever–the best man I ever knew. But how in thunder do you knowabout my claim? How did you know what I meant? I thought that I had covered that trail pretty well.”
Blake put his hand on his friend’s shoulders and gravely looked at him: “Son, having eyes, I see; having ears, I hear; having brains, I think. If you have been fooling yourself that you are on a quiet trail, just listen to this: There ain’t a man who knows you well that don’t know what you’re playing for, even Bill had it all mapped out the second time he saw you. And most of us wish you luck. You’re not a man who needs help, but if youdoneed it, you know where to come for it.”
“Thank you, Blake,” replied The Orphan, eagerly filling his lungs with the crisp air. “That’s why I ain’t hankering for that gold–I’m too blamed busy making my own.”
“Well, what I wanted to speak to you about is this,” said the foreman, thinking quickly as to how to say it. “Old man Crawford got me to promise that I’d pick up a herd of cows for him before fall. Now, I would just as soon do it myself as not, but if you want to try your hand at it, go ahead. He wants about five thousand, to be delivered in five herds, a thousand each, at his corrals. Hewon’t pay any more than the regular price for them, and the more you can drop the price the better he will like it, of course. They must be good, healthy cattle and be delivered to him before payment is made. What do you say?”
“I say that it’s a go!” cried The Orphan. “I’ve had some great luck lately!” he exulted. “I’m ready to go after them whenever you say the word, to-night if you say so. And I’ll get the right number and kind or know the reason why. And I’ll take a hand in driving the last herd to him myself. Good Lord, what luck!”
Blake talked a while longer about the trip, giving necessary instructions about prices and where he would be likely to find the herd, and then rode off in the direction of Ford’s Station for a consultation with his friend, the sheriff.
“Hullo, Tom!” came from the stage office as he rode past. He quickly turned his head and then stopped, smiling broadly.
“Why, hullo, Bill,” he replied. “Glad to see you. How are things? Had any trouble lately?”
“Nope, times are real dull since that day in the defile,” Bill answered with a grin. “I saw Tex once at Sagetown, but he ain’t talking none thesedays, he’s too busy thinking. You see, I’ve got a purty strong combination backing me and nobody feels like starting it a-going, because there ain’t no telling just where it’ll stop. The Orphant and the sheriff make a blamed good team, all right.”
“None better at any game, Bill,” replied Blake. “And you used the right word, too. They’re going to pull together from now on, in fact, the Star C will be in harness with them.”
“That’s the way to talk!” cried Bill enthusiastically. “I always said that Orphant was a white man, even before I ever saw him,” he said, forgetting much that he might be in hearty accord. “He can call on me any time he needs me, you bet. He cheated the devil twice with me, and I ain’t a-going to forget it. But say, what do you think of the sheriff’s sister, Helen? Ain’t she a winner, hey? Finest girl these parts have ever seen, all right, and her friend ain’t second by no length, neither.”
“Why, Bill,” exclaimed Blake, a twinkle coming to his eyes, “you are not allowing yourself to get captured, are you? That’s a risky game, like starting up The Orphan and the sheriff, for there’s no telling just where it will stop.”
“No, I ain’t letting myself get captured,”sighed Bill. “I ain’t no fool. Bill Howland knows a thing or two, which he learned not more than a thousand years ago. I’ve got it all sized up. And since then I’ve seen a certain bang-up puncher hitting the trail for the sheriff’s house some regular twice a week. Nope, I’m a batchler now and forever, long may I wave.”
“Say,” he continued, suddenly remembering something. “What’s the sheriff up to now? Is he going to have a picnic out on Crawford’s ranch? He asked me if he could have the lend of the stage on an off day some time soon. Wants me to drive it for him out to the A-Y and back. I don’t know what his game is, and I don’t care none. I’ll do it, all right. But what’s he going to do out there, anyhow?”
Blake laughed: “Oh, nothing bad, I reckon. You’ll probably learn all about it as soon as the rest of us. How do you expect me to know anything about it? Mebby he is going to have a picnic out there for all we know. The A-Y is a good place for one, ain’t it?”
“You just bet it is,” cried Bill. “Your ranch is all right, Blake, but I like the A-Y better. It’s got windmills and everything. Finest grove nearthe ranch-house that I ever saw, and I’ve seen some fine groves in my time. Old man Crawford knew a good thing when he saw it, all right. Here comes Charley Winter like he had all day to go nowhere–he’s got a good job with the Cross Bar-8, but I wouldn’t have it for a gift–no, sir, money wouldn’t tempt me to be one of that outfit. But I reckon it’s some better out there than it once was since the sheriff and The Orphant amputated its inflamed fingers. Hullo, Charley,” he cried as the newcomer drew rein. “I was just telling Blake what a good job you have got with Sneed.”
“Hullo, you old one-hoss driver,” grinned Charley. “Hullo, Tom,” he cried. “Looking for the sheriff?”
“Hullo, Charley,” said the foreman, shaking hands with Sneed’s substitute puncher. “Yes, I am. Do you know where he is?”
“He’s out at the Cross Bar-8, giving Sneed a talking to,” Charley answered. “Bucknell went and got loaded again last night, raised h–l in town and out of it all the way home. He thought he wanted to shoot up The Orphan, so he was some primed. Jim is telling Sneed to hold him down to water and peace unless he wants to lose him. He’llbe in soon, though. How’s The Orphan getting on out at your place?”
“Fine!” answered Blake, his face wearing a frown. “But I’m some sorry about that fool Bucknell, though. He may get on a spree some day andfindThe Orphan. I don’t want any more gunplay, and if that idiot does find him and gets ambitious to notch up his gun another hole, there’ll shore be some loose lead. If he ever gets on Star C ground, and I catch him there, I’ll shore enough wipe up the earth with him, and when you see him, just tell him what I said, will you? It ain’t no joke, for I will.”
“Shore I’ll tell him,” replied Charley. “When will that bunch of cattle be on hand–I’m anxious to swap jobs.”
Blake flashed him a warning glance and tried to ignore the question by changing the subject, but it was too late, for Bill was curious.
“What cattle is that, Charley?” asked the driver in sudden interest.
“Oh, some cattle that I’m going to get of Blake for Sneed,” lied Charley easily.
“What in all get out does Sneed want with any Star C cows?” Bill asked in surprise. “He’s gotplenty of cows of his own, unless The Orphant shot a whole lot more than I thought he did.”
“I don’t know, Bill,” replied Charley. “I didn’t ask him, it being plainly none of my business.”
Bill scratched his head: “No, I reckon not,” he replied doubtfully.
“Here comes Shields now,” said Blake suddenly. “I reckon I’ll ride off and meet him. So long, Bill.”
“So long,” replied Bill. “Be sure to tell The Orphan I was asking about him. So long, Charley.” He turned abruptly and entered the stage office: “I don’t understand it,” he muttered. “There’s something in the wind that I can’t get onto nohow. He has shore got me guessing some, all right.”
The clerk tossed aside the paper and stared: “Well, that’s too d––d bad, now ain’t it?” he asked sarcastically. “You ought to object, that’s what you ought to do! What right has anybody to keep quiet about their own business when you want to know, hey? If I wanted to know everybody’s business as bad as you do, I’d shore raise h–l, I would. Why don’t you choke it out ofhim, wipe up the earth with him? Go out right now and give him a piece of your mind.”
“Oh, you would, would you! You’re blamed smart, now ain’t you? You work too hard–your nerves are giving away,” drawled Bill as he picked up the paper. “Sitting around all day with your feet on the table and a pipe in your mouth that you’re too lazy to light, working like the very devil trying to find time to do the company’s business, which there ain’t none to do. Ain’t you ashamed to go to bed?–it must take a lot of gall to hunt your rest at night after finding it and hugging it all day. What would you do for a living if I forgot to bring the paper with me some day, hey? You ain’t got enough animation to want to know what is going on in this little world of ours, you––”
“You get out of here, right now, too!” yelled the clerk. “I don’t want you hanging around bothering me, you pest! Get out of here right now, before I get up and throw you out! Do you hear me!”
Bill crossed his legs, pushed back his sombrero, turned the page carefully and then remarked, “I licked four husky cow-punchers, real bad men, lastmonth. One right after the other, and I was purty near all in, too.” He glanced at the next page disinterestedly, spat at a fly on the edge of the box cuspidor and then added wearily and with great deprecation, “I’m feeling fine to-day, never felt so good in my life, but I need more exercise–I’m two pounds over weight right now.”
The clerk showed interest and awe: “Weight?” he asked. “What is your fighting weight?”
Bill looked up aggressively: “Fighting weight?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “Myfightingweight is something over nine hundred pounds, when I’m real mad. Ordinarily, one hundred and eighty. Why?”
“Oh, nothing,” replied the clerk, staring out of the window.
THE A-Y had been a very busy place for the past two weeks because of the cattle which had to be re-branded and taken care of, and of other things which had to be done about the ranch. The sheriff had taken title and had persuaded Crawford to remain in nominal charge for a month at the most so as to keep the sale a secret until the new owner would be ready to make it known. So word went around that Crawford had hired the sheriff to put things on a paying basis and that half of the old outfit had left, their places being filled by Charley, the two Larkin brothers and two men from a northern ranch.
Shields had been very much pleased with the cattle which The Orphan had bought for him and had asked Blake if he could borrow the new puncher to help him get things in good runningshape. Blake had told The Orphan of the sheriff’s request and had advised him to accept, which the puncher was very glad to do. So this is how the former outlaw became temporary foreman of the A-Y under the sheriff. Only the sheriff’s most intimate friends knew his plans, one of whom was Charley Winter, who found food for mirth in the unique position things had taken. The sheriff’s deputies who had lain out-doors all night on the Cross Bar-8 waiting to capture or kill the outlaw were now working under him, and the best of feelings prevailed. The man who had hunted The Orphan now employed him as the bearer of the responsibilities of the new ranch. Truly, a change!
While The Orphan was busy with his duties on the A-Y the sheriff rode to the Star C and sought out the foreman, whom he finally found engaged in freeing a cow that had become mired in a quicksand. As the terror-stricken animal galloped wildly away from the scene of torture and indignities to its person Blake mopped his face and began to scrape the quicksand from him.
“Playing life-saver, eh?” laughed the sheriff.
The foreman looked up and smiled sheepishly: “Yes,” he replied as he shook hands with thesheriff. “One cow more or less won’t make nor break no ranch, but I just can’t see ’em suffer. The boys and I were passing, so we stopped and got to work. But cows ain’t got no gratitude, not nohow! That ornery beast will be all ready to charge me the first time he sees me afoot. Did you see him try to horn me when I let go?”
His friend laughed, and when they had ridden some distance from the others he turned in his saddle:
“Well, The Orphan is working like a horse, and he likes it, too,” he said. “You ought to hear him giving orders–he just asks a man to do a thing, don’t order it done. When he talks it sounds like the puncher would be doing him the greatest possible favor to do the work he is paid to do, but there is a suggestion that if any nastiness develops, hell will be a peaceful place compared to the near vicinity of the foreman of the A-Y. He sizes up a thing with one look, and then tells how it should be done. Everything has gone off so fine that I’m going to ask you to lose a good man, and real soon, too. What do you say, Tom?”
Blake laughed: “Why, we were a-plenty before he came and we’ll be a-plenty after he goes. That’sfor your asking me to turn him over to you. The boys will be both sorry and glad to have him leave, because they like him a whole lot. But of course they want to see him land everything that he can, so they’ll give him a good send-off. That reminds me to say that I know they will want to be on hand when you break the news to him. It’ll be a circus for your Eastern friend, Miss Ritchie.”
“Now you’re talking!” enthused the sheriff. “I want to have as many fireworks at the ceremony as I can possibly get. Oh, it’ll be a great day, all right. We are all going out and take a bang-up lunch, just like we’re going on that picnic that Bill’s been so worried about, and Bill is going to drive the women over in his coach. The first surprise will be the announcement of the new ownership of the A-Y, and right on top of it I’m going to fire the second gun. I hope none of your boys know anything about it,” he added with anxiety.
“Not a thing,” hastily replied the foreman. “You have your wife send a message to me by Joe when he rustles our mail to-morrow and ask us to come to the picnic at the A-Y on the day which you will decide on. They’ll go, all right, no fear about that. Nothing more than your wife’s cookingis needed to attract them,” and he laughed heartily at how suddenly they would come to life at such a summons.
Shields thought intently for a few seconds and then slapped his thigh: “I’ve got it!” he exulted. “I’ll ride over to your place with you and write a letter to my wife telling her just what to do. Joe can deliver it and bring back the invitation. You see, I won’t be home to-night, but that will do the trick, all right. Now, what do you say to this coming Saturday?–this is, let me see: Wednesday. Will that be time enough for you to make any arrangements you may want to make?”
“Shore, plenty of time,” Blake laughed. “It’s good all the way. Joe will be delighted to have a real good excuse to call at your house. He’s a bashful cuss, like all the rest. They talk big, but they’re some bashful all the same. He’s been worrying about it, for one day he came to me with a funny expression on his face and acted like he didn’t know how to begin. So I asked him what was troubling him, and he blurted out like this, as near as I can remember:
“‘Well, you know Mrs. Shields said we was to go to her house when any of us hit town?’ he asked.
“‘I shore do,’ I answered, wondering what was up.
“‘Well, I go to town a lot, and it takes a h–l of a lot of gall to do it,’ he complained, looking so serious that it was funny.
“‘Gall!’ said I, surprised-like, and trying to keep my face straight. ‘Gall! Well, I can’t see that it takes such a brave man to call at a friend’s house when he’s been told to do it.’
“‘Oh, that part of it is all right,” he replied. ‘But she’ll think I only call to get my face fed, and it makes me feel like a–I don’t know what. You see, I always get away quick.’
“‘Well, stay longer, there ain’t no use of being in a hurry,’ I said. ‘Stay and talk a while.’
“‘Then they’ll think I ain’t got enough and push more pie at me, like they did once,’ he complained.
“‘Suppose I give Silent your terrible ordeal to do,’ I suggested tentatively, ‘or Bud, he’s dead anxious for your job.’
“‘Oh, it ain’t as bad as that!’ he cried quickly. ‘I only thought that I’d speak to you about it. I thought you could suggest something.’
“‘Well,’ I replied, ‘every time you call yousay I sent you over to ask about the sheriff’s health. How’ll that do?’
“He grinned sheepishly and then swore: ‘H–l, that would make a shore enough mess of it,’ he cried. ‘I’d be a royal American idiot to say a thing like that, now, wouldn’t I?’”
The sheriff laughed heartily, and they talked about the picnic until they had reached the ranch-house, where he wrote the note to his wife. Bidding his friend good-by, he rode out past the corrals and headed for the A-Y.
When about half-way to his own ranch, and on A-Y ground, he surmounted a rise and saw a figure flit from sight behind a thicket, and his curiosity was immediately aroused. Not knowing who the man might be, he stalked his quarry and finally found Bucknell standing beside his horse.
“Well, what’s the trouble now?” the sheriff asked as he came out into sight. He was dangerously near angry, for Bucknell was on forbidden ground and was flushed as if from liquor. “What’s the trouble?” he repeated.
Bucknell looked confused: “Nothing, Sheriff. Why?” he asked, evading the searching gaze of the peace officer.
“Oh, I thought something might have gone wrong on the Cross Bar-8, and that you were looking for me,” Shields coldly replied.
Bucknell looked at the ground and coughed nervously before he replied, which only made the sheriff all the more determined to get at the matter in a true light.
“No, nothing’s wrong,” replied the puncher. “I was just riding out this way–I was some nervous, that’s all.”
“That don’t go with me!” the sheriff said sharply. “I’ve lived too long to bite on a yarn like that. Why, you can’t look at me!”
The puncher did not reply and the sheriff continued:
“Now, look here, Bucknell, take some good advice from me–stay on your ranch, mind your own business and let liquor alone. As sure as you monkey around the Star C Blake will give you a d––n sound licking, and he’s man enough to do it, too, make no error. And as for the A-Y, well, the temporary foreman of that ranch is the cleverest man with a gun that I ever saw, and I’ve seen some good ones in my time. If you go up against him you’ll get shot, for he’d think you were aboutthe easiest proposition he ever met. As sure as you drink you’ll get drunk, and as sure as you get drunk you’ll work up an appetite for a fight, and if you pick a fight with him you’ll never know what hit you. You stick to water and the Cross Bar-8.”
“Oh, I reckon I can take care of my own business,” sullenly replied Bucknell. “I can come out here drunk or sober if I wants to, I reckon.”
“You can do nothing of the kind,” rejoined the sheriff. “And you certainly ought to be able to take care of your own business, as you say,” he retorted, holding his temper with an effort. “But in the past you didn’t, and you may not in the future. And when your business gets too big for you to handle it gets into my hands, and if you make any trouble I’ll d––n soon convince you that I can handle your surplus. Now, get out of here and think it over.”
Bucknell swung into his saddle and then turned, the liquor making him reckless.
“D––n it!” he cried. “The Orphant killed Jimmy and a whole lot more good cow-punchers! He’s nothing but a murdering thief, a d––d rustler, that’s what he is! And you are his best friend, it seems!”
The wan smile flickered across the sheriff’s face, but still he refrained, for such is the foolish consideration given by brave men to liquor. A drunkard may do much with impunity, for the argument states he is not responsible, forgetting that in the beginning he was responsible enough to have left liquor alone, and that injury, whether unintentional or not, is still injury.
“There is no seem about it!” he retorted. “Iamhis best friend, and he needs friends bad enough, God knows. But speaking of murder, those four good cow-punchers that stopped me in the defile tried hard enough to qualify at it, and The Orphan not only saved me, but also some of them, for I’d a gotten some of them before I cashed. You’re a h–l of a fine cub to talk about murders, you are!”
“That’s all right,” retorted Bucknell, “he’s just what I said he was. And a side pardner of our brave sheriff, too!”
“D––n you!” shouted Shields, his face dark with passion. “You have said enough, any more from you and I’ll break your dirty neck! Just because I felt sorry for you when you got half killed in the saloon and let you stay in the countrydon’t think you are the boss of this section. When I saw what a pitiful, drunken wreck you were, I felt sorry for you, but not any more. You don’t want decent treatment, you want to get clubbed, and you’re right in line to get just what you need, too! Now, I’m not going to stand any more of your d––d foolishness–my patience is played out. And if you were half a man you wouldn’t sit there like a bump on a log and swallow what I’m saying–you’d put up a fight if you died for it. You are no good, just a drunken, lawless fool of a puncher; just a bag of wind, and it’s up to you to walk a chalk line or I’ll give you a taste of what I carry around with me for bums of your kind. What in h–l do you think I am? No, you don’t, you stay right where you are ’til I get good and ready to have you go! You’ve come d––d near the end of your rope and there is just one thing for you to do, and that is, get out of this country and do it quick! You stay on your own side of the Limping Water, for if I catch you riding off any nervousness off of Cross Bar-8 ground without word from your foreman, I’ll shoot you down like I’d shoot a coyote! And for a dollar I’d wipe up the earth with you right now! Youd––d, sneaking, cowardly cur, you tin-horn bully! Pull your stakes and get scarce and don’t you open your mouth to me–come on, lively! Pull your freight!”
Bucknell slowly rode away, his eyes to the ground and not daring to say what seethed in his heart. He swore to himself that he would get square some day on both, not realizing in his anger that when sober he feared them both.
The sheriff stared after him and then returned to the point where he had left his horse. As he mounted he shook his head savagely and swore. Glancing again after the puncher he struck into a canter and rode toward the ranch.
THE picnic aroused quite a stir for so frivolous a thing. When Blake read Mrs. Shields’ invitation to the outfit they acted like schoolboys dismissed for a vacation. Grins of delight were the style on the Star C, and the overflow of bubbling happiness took the form of practical joking against Humble, whose life suddenly held much anxiety. In Ford’s Station there was an air of expectancy, and Bill spent all of Saturday morning from daylight until time to start in cleaning his stage and grooming the horses, whose astonishment quickly passed into prohibitive indignation. After narrowly escaping broken bones and chewed arms Bill decided that the sextet could go as it was.
“Serves ’em right!” he yelled to his friendly enemy, the clerk, after he had barely dodged a vicious kick, wildly waving a curry comb. “Letthe ignoramuses go like they are! Let ’em show how cheap and common they are! They never was any good for anything, anyhow, eating their heads off and kicking their best friend!”
“How about the time they beat out them Apaches?” asked the clerk, settling back comfortably against the coach.
“You get out!” yelled Bill pugnaciously. “Who asked you for talk, hey? And get away from that coach, you idiot, you’ll dirty it all up!”
“Sic ’em, Tige!” jeered the clerk pleasantly. “Chew ’em up!”
“What!” yelled Bill, swiftly grabbing up the pail of water which stood near him. “Sic ’em, is it!” he cried, running forward. “Chew ’em up, hey!” he continued, heaving the contents of the pail at the clerk, who nimbly sprang inside the vehicle and slammed the door shut behind him as the water struck it. He leaped out of the other door and was safely away before Bill realized what had happened. Then the driver said things when he saw the mess he had made of the coach, upon which he had spent two hard hours in polishing.
“Suffering dogs!” he shouted, dancing first on one foot and then on the other. “Now look whatyou’ve done! You’re a h–l of a feller, you are! After me rubbing the skin off’n my hands and breaking my arms a-polishing it up! You good for nothing, mangy half-breed! Wait till I get a hold of you, you long pair of legs, you! Just wait! I’ll show you, all right!”
The clerk twiddled his fingers from afar and jeered in his laughter: “Serves you right! Sic ’em, Towser! Eat ’em up, Fido! Sic ’em, sic ’em!” he shouted joyously, and forthwith ran for his life.
Bill returned to the coach and worked like mad to undo the evil effects he had wrought and finally succeeded in bringing a phantom glow to the time-battered wood. Then he hitched up and drove to the sheriff’s house, where he saw huge baskets on the porch.
“Good morning, Mrs. Shields,” he said as he stamped to the door. “Good morning, ladies.”
“Good morning William,” replied the sheriff’s wife as she hurried to collect shawls and blankets. “Will you mind putting those baskets on the coach, William? We will soon be ready.”
“Why, certainly not, ma’am,” he answered, recklessly grabbing up the two largest. “Jimminee!” he exulted. “These are shore heavy, allright, all right! Must be plumb full of good things! To-day is where your Uncle Bill Halloway gets square for the dinner the company froze him out of. Wonder if there’s apricot pie in this one?” he mused curiously. He gingerly raised the cover and a grin distorted his face. “Must be six, yes, eight–mebby ten!” he soliloquized as he placed it on the stage. “Hullo, bottles of some kind,” he whispered as he picked up another basket. “Hear the little devils clink, eh? Must be coffee and tea, hey? Yes, shore enough it is. Good Lord, how hungry I am–wish I had eaten that breakfast this morning–how in thunder did I know we was going to be so late? I’ll be the strong man at this picnic, all right!”
“Here are some blankets, William,” called Mrs. Shields. “Helen, would you mind showing him how to carry that box?–he’s sure to turn it upside down if you don’t.”
“Next!” he cried, returning from the trip with the blankets. “I put them blankets up on top, Mrs. Shields, is it all right? How do you do, Miss Helen, any more freight?”
“How do you do,” she replied. “This box is to go, please. Now, do be very careful not toturn it up, or jar it!” she warned. “And put it on the seat inside the coach where we can steady it.”
“Gee, what’s in it?” asked Bill, nearly dying from his curiosity. “Must be the joker of the feast, eh?”
“Three layer cakes,” she laughingly replied. “Chocolate, cocoanut and lemon.”
“Um!” he said. “I’ll carry this one high up, it deserves it.”
“Oh, do be careful!” she cried as he swooped it up to his shoulder. “Oh!” she screamed as it thumped against the top of the door frame.
“Whoa! Back up!” cried Bill, executing the order. “Easy, boy–all right, off we go!”
“Grace, Mary,” cried Helen, “we are all ready to go!”
“Ain’t there any more boxes?” asked Bill from the coach.
“Come, girls,” cried Mrs. Shields as she stepped into the coach. “Close the door after you, and lock it, dear.”
Bill gallantly helped the ladies into the coach, grinned at the cake box and started toward the front wheel when he was called back.
“Now, William,” cautioned Mrs. Shields,laughing. “We will not be pursued by Apaches to-day, and this cake must not be shaken!”
“You won’t know you’re riding, ma’am, you shore won’t,” he assured her as he danced toward the front wheel again.
“Wake up there, you!” he yelled from the box. “Come on, Jerry, think you’re glued to the earth? Come on, Tom! Easy there, you fool jackrabbit! –haven’t you learned that you can’t reach this high!”
When they had arrived at the A-Y the baskets were carried into the ranch-house and the women became very busy getting things ready for the feast. Bill took care of his team and then carried the blankets to the grove.
While the picnic was being prepared there arose a series of blood-curdling whoops off to the south where the outfit of the Star C made the air blue with powder smoke. As they came nearer something peculiar was noticed by Helen. It appeared to be a sort of drag drawn by a horse and supported by two long, springy poles, one end of which rested on the ground, and the other fastened to the saddle. While she wondered Bill came up and she turned to him for light.
“What have they got fastened to that horse?” she asked him.
He looked and then smiled: “Why, it is a travois,” he said. “But what under the sun have they got on it? They must be bringing their own grub!”
The travois dragged and bumped over the uneven plain and soon came near enough for its burden to be made out. A man and a dog were strapped to it.
At this point Blake joined Helen and Bill, and as he did so he espied the travois.
“Thunder!” he cried, running forward. “Somebody is hurt! What’s the matter, Silent?” he shouted.
“Matter?” asked Silent, in surprise as the outfit drew near. “There ain’t nothing the matter. Why?”
“What’s that travois doing with you, then?” Blake demanded.
Silent’s face was as grave as that of an owl. “Travois?” he asked. Then his face cleared: “Oh, yes–I near forgot about it,” he added, apologetically. “You see, Humble he shore wanted his dog to come to the picnic, so we reckoned we’dlet it come along. Bud and Jim was for slinging it at the end of a rope and dragging it over, but I said no. We ain’t got any ropes to have all frayed out and cut a-dragging dogs to picnics, and I said so, too. So we built the travois and strapped Lightning to it. When Humble saw what we had done he acted real unpolite. He said as how he wasn’t going to have no dog of his’n toted twenty miles in a fool travois. Said that he’d make it stay home first, which was some mean after inviting the dog to come along. He said that he’d go in a travois himself first before he’d let the setter be made a fool of. Well, we simply had to subdue him, and he got so unreasonable that we just had to tie him with his dog. He shore does get awful pig-headed at times.”
“Take off the gag, Jim,” requested Silent, turning to the grinning cow-puncher. “Let him loose now, we’ve arrived.”
Jim leaned over and whispered in Humble’s ear, the information being that there were ladies about, and that all swearing must be thought and not yelled. Then he slipped the gag, and untied the ropes. Gales of laughter met the angry and indignant puncher when he had leaped to his feet, andhe flashed one quick glance at the women and then, boiling with wrath and suppressed profanity, fled toward the corrals as swiftly as cramped muscles would allow. The dog snarled at its tormentors and then set off in hot pursuit of its discomfited master, whose waving arms kept time with his speeding legs.
“That’s all the thanks we get,” grumbled Bud, “but then, he don’t know any better anyhow.”
Blake laughed and regarded his grinning and expectant outfit, and the longer he looked at them the more he laughed. They had paid their respects to the women while Silent explained about the travois and now they cast many longing glances at the blankets and cloths spread out on the grass and at the baskets which Bill was busy over. They had tried to coax the driver to them to give information as to what they might expect in the way of edibles, but he had haughtily and disdainfully refused to enlighten them, taking care, however, to arouse their curiosity by looking fondly at the box and the baskets and even showed his elation by taking several fancy steps for their benefit.
“Well, get rid of the cayuses,” said Blake, “and square things with Humble. Bring him backwith you or you don’t get any pie. You’re such a darn fool crowd that I can’t get mad this time, but don’t ever drag a man in a travois again.”
“Did he come, or was he kidnapped?” murmured Bud. “What we did once we can do again, and Humble will be on hand when the feast begins.”
Jim had been scowling at Bill, whose manners were most aggravating. “You just wait, you heathen,” threatened Jim. “You’re ace high with the grub, all right, but just you wait ’til we get you alone!”
“Yah!” laughed the driver. “I shore can handle the best cow-wrastler that ever lived.”
“Bill seems to be running this here festival,” Bud complained to Helen.
“Oh, he is our right-hand man,” she replied with enthusiasm. “We couldn’t possibly get along without him, now. He has charge of the pie and cake.”
Bill’s chest expanded: “I’m foreman of the pie and cake herd,” he exclaimed proudly. “You can’t get ahead of me.”
Bud looked at the driver and then significantly waved his hand at the travois: “And you’ll shoretravel in style, just like a real pie foreman, too, when we gets a chance to honor you like we wants to.”
“You’ll get no pie if you acts smart, little boy,” retorted the driver. “Run along and play till lunch is ready, and don’t dirty your hands and face.”
“Well, we’ve got fine memories,” Bud suggested as he led the way to the corrals, where he found The Orphan.
“Hullo, Orphan!” he cried enthusiastically as he gripped the outstretched hand. “Plumb glad to see you. How’s things?”
“Glad to see you, boys,” cried the temporary foreman, who was all smiles. “One at a time!” he laughed as they crowded about him. “Make yourselves right at home–that smallest corral is for your cayuses. And you’ll find plenty of soap and water and towels by the bunk-house, and there’s a box of good cigars, a tin of tobacco, and a jug on the table inside. Help yourself to anything you want, the place is all yours.”
“Gee, this is a good game, all right,” Bud laughed as he turned to put his horse in the corral. “The sheriff shore knows how to deal.”
“Leave a cigar for me, Silent,” jokingly warned Jim as his friend turned toward the bunk-house. “Too many smokes will make you sick.”
“Well, you’ve got a gall, all right!” retorted Silent. “You better let me bring yours out to you and keep away from the box, for I’m always plumb suspicious of these goody-goody, it’s-for-your-own-good people.”
A crafty look came to Jack Lawson’s face and he turned to The Orphan: “Has Bill Howland got his cigars yet?” he asked, winking at his friends.
“Why, I don’t know whether he has or not,” replied The Orphan. “But I don’t believe that he has been out of sight of the pies since he came. They’ve got him in a trance.”
“Guess I’ll take him one,” continued Jack, grinning broadly. “He likes to smoke.”
“Shore enough, go ahead,” endorsed the foreman of the A-Y as he turned toward the grove. Then he stopped, and with a knowing look added: “If you want to see Humble, he just went in the bunk-house.”
A yell of dismay arose as the outfit started pell-mell for the house. Silent entered it first and hisprofanity informed his companions that their fears were well grounded. Neither Humble, cigars, tobacco nor jug were to be seen, and a search was forthwith instituted. Jack looked at a distant corral and saw Lightning as the dog disappeared from sight into it.
“Hey!” he cried. “He’s in the big corral–I just saw his dog go in, and it was wagging its tail a whole lot. Come on, we’ll surround it and show that frisky gent a thing or two!”
No more words were wasted, and in a very short time figures were creeping around the corral. Then there was a scramble as most of the searchers scaled the wall at different points while two of them ran in through the gate. The first thing they saw was the dog, and his tail was still wagging as he curiously followed, nose to the ground, a huge horned toad. He looked up at the sudden disturbance and backed off suspiciously, looking for a way to escape.
“––––!” chorused the fooled punchers, who discovered that deductions don’t always deduct, and then they returned to the bunk-house to “slick up.” When finally satisfied about their appearance they made their way to the grove andthe sight which greeted their eyes as they entered it almost made them drop in their tracks.
Humble and Bill sat cross-legged on a blanket, which was surrounded with guns. The jug, tobacco and cigars were flanked by pies and a cake, while each of the conspirators held a lighted cigar in one hand while they took turns at the jug. A huge piece of pie rested in a plate at Humble’s side, while Bill’s knee held a piece of cake.
“Hands up!” shouted Humble, grabbing a gun. “Don’t you dare to raid the gallery! You stay right where you are!”
Bill’s blacksnake whip leaped from point to point experimentally, picking up twigs and leaves with disturbing accuracy.
The invaders halted just beyond the range of the whip and consulted uneasily, not noticing that the driver had shortened his weapon by twice the length of its handle. Finally Jim and Docile ran back toward the corral while their friends waited impatiently for their return, grinning at the enemy with an I-told-you-so air.
Bill suddenly leaned forward, the whip slid down into his hand to the end of the handle and cracked viciously. Joe Haines, who had grown a littlecareless, leaped into the air and yelled, grabbing at his leg.
“Keep your distance, you!” warned the driver, trying to look ferocious. “Twenty feet is the dead-line, children.”
Jim and Docile returned apace and brought with them half a dozen lariats, which ranged in length from thirty to forty feet.
“Hey, you!” cried Humble in alarm. “That ain’t fair!”
Grim silence was the only reply as the invaders each took his rope and surrounded the two. Then, suddenly, the air was full of darting ropes and in less time than it takes to tell of it the pair were hopelessly and helplessly trussed. Silent ran in and hurled the whip away and then squatted before the prisoners, throwing their cigars after the whip as he took up the pie and cake, which he tantalizingly munched before their eyes.
“I like a hog, all right, but you suit me too blamed well!” asserted Bud, grabbing at Silent’s pie.
“Gimme some of that,” demanded Jim, trying for the cake. And when the disturbance had ceased there were no signs of either pie or cake.
“It’s the travois for you, Humble dear!” softly hummed Charley Bailey. “And to the ranch, by the way of town!”
“And Bill will be pleased to explore the Limping Water on the bottom,” amended Jim. “One of us can drive the women home!”
ABOUT thirty people sat in a circle on the grass in the grove on the A-Y, engaged in taking viands from the well-filled plates which made the rounds. Keen humor from all sides kept them in roars of laughter, Humble and Bill provoking the greater part of it. Humble sat next to Miss Ritchie, while The Orphan and Bill flanked Helen, the sheriff next to his new foreman. Humble’s face had a look of benign condescension when he allowed himself to bestow perfunctory attentions on the members of his outfit, whom he graciously called “purty fair punchers in a way.”
Crawford, the former owner of the A-Y, sat next to Shields, and when the lunch had reached the cigar stage he arose and cleared his throat.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, Bill and Humble,” he began amid laughter. “I have been regarded as the host of this picnic, and the false position embarrassesme. But any such momentary feeling is compensated by the importance of what I have to tell you.
“When I took up the A-Y it was with a determination to keep it and to spend the rest of my days on it in peace. This I have found to be impossible, and in consequence I have turned it over to a better man. The energy which I have seen applied in the right way for the last few weeks has assured me that the A-Y will soon be second in importance and wealth to no ranch in this country. I have seen order, system, emerge from chaos; I have seen five thousand cattle re-branded and taken care of in such dispatch as to astonish me and be almost beyond my belief. The sheriff has been as economical in the use of his energy as he can be in the use of his words. By that I don’t mean in the way that is causing you to smile, but simply that he knows how to accomplish the most work with the least possible expenditure of effort and time, as witnessed by the condition of this ranch to-day. But while he has been the guiding spirit in the work of putting the ranch on its proper footing, he has had as good assistants as it is possible to find.
“I don’t wish to tire you with any long speech, for brevity is the soul of more than wit, so I will close by telling you that the A-Y is in new and better hands–our sheriff is now its owner, and I extend to him my heartiest wishes for his success in his new venture. I must thank him and all of you for a very pleasant day and a memory to take East with me.”
For an instant there was intense silence, and then a small battle seemed to be taking place. The noise of the shooting and cheering was deafening and smoke rolled down like a heavy fog. The sheriff met the rush toward him and put in a very busy few minutes in shaking hands and replying to the hearty congratulations which poured in upon him from all sides. Everybody was happy and all were talking at once, and Bill could be heard reeling off an unbroken string of words at high speed.
The Orphan fought his way to his best friend and gripped both hands in his own.
“By God, Sheriff!” he cried. “This is great news, and I’m plumb glad to hear it! I hope you have the very best of luck and that your returns, both in pleasure and money, far exceed your fondestexpectations. Anything I can do is yours for the asking.”
“Thank you, son,” replied the sheriff, looking fondly into his friend’s eyes. “I’m going to call on you just as soon as I can make myself heard in all this hellabaloo. Just listen to that!” he exclaimed as Silent let loose again.
“Glory be!” yelled he of the misleading name, slapping Humble across the back. “For this you ride home like a white man, Humble–all your sins are forgiven! Hurrah for the sheriff, his family and the A-Y!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, and his cheer was supported unanimously with true cowboy enthusiasm and vim.
“Hurray for me, too!” shouted Bill in laughter. Then he fled, with Silent in hot pursuit.
The sheriff tried to speak, and after several attempts was finally given silence.
“Thank you, everybody!” he cried, his face beaming. “I am happy for many reasons to-day, but foremost among them is the fact that I have so many warm and loyal friends. The A-Y is always open to all of you, and I’ll be some disappointed if you don’t put in a lot of your spare time over here.”
He paused for a few seconds and then looked at The Orphan, who stood at Helen’s side.
“Mr. Crawford did his part a whole lot better than I can do mine, I’m afraid, but I’m going to do my best, anyhow. The news has only been half told–the name of the new foreman of the A-Y henceforth will be The Orphan! Whoop her up, boys!” he shouted, leading a cheer which was not one whit less a cheer than those which had gone before.
The Orphan stared in astonishment, for once in his life he had been surprised. The sheriff at last had the drop on him. He looked from one to another, started to step forward and then changed his mind and looked appealingly at Helen, who smiled in a way to double the speed of his heart-beats.
Her eyes were moist, and the sudden consciousness that she formed half of the objective of all eyes caused her cheeks to go crimson. Her hand impulsively went to his shoulder and without thought on her part, and his incredulous questioning was answered by her.
“It’s all true,” she said earnestly. “I’ve known of it for a whole week now. You are the realforeman of the A-Y, and I most earnestly hope for your success.”
He suddenly seemed to be above the earth and his voice broke in his stammered reply. For a fraction of a second her eyes had told him what he had dreamed of, what he had hoped for above all things, and he grasped her hand for a second as he stepped forward toward his new employer, whose hand met his with a man’s grasp.
“Thank you, Sheriff,” he said, his head whirling from the surprises of a minute. “You’ve been squarer and fairer with me than any man I’ve ever known, and hell will look nice to me if I don’t make good with you.
“Thank you, boys; thank you, Bill: you’re all right, every one of you!” he cried as his friends crowded about him. “What the sheriff said about warm friends was the truth–thank you, Bud and Jim! Thank you, Blake–you’re another brick! Good God, what I have gained in two months! I can scarcely believe it, it seems so like a dream. That’s a real warm grip, all right, though,” he exclaimed as he shook hands with Humble, “so I reckon it’s all true. Two months!” he marveled. “Two glorious, glorious months! A new startin life, a loyal crowd of friends, a–and all in two months! And there is the man I owe it all to,” he suddenly cried, pointing to the sheriff. “There’s the whitest man God ever made, and I’ll kill the man who says I lie!”
“Good boy!” shouted Bill in enthusiastic endorsement. “You two make a pair of aces what can beat any full-house ever got together, andI’ll lick the man who saysIlie!” he yelled pugnaciously. “The Orphant may be an orphant, all right, but he’s got a whole lot of brothers.”
Mrs. Shields walked over to The Orphan and placed a motherly hand on his shoulder as he recovered.
“You won’t be an orphan any longer, my boy,” she said, smiling up at him. “You’re one of us now–I always wanted a son, and God has given me one in you.”