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diff --git a/old/1014-h/1014-h.htm b/old/1014-h/1014-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..de77531 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1014-h/1014-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4158 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Lure of the Dim Trails, by B. M. Bower + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lure of the Dim Trails, by +by (AKA B. M. Sinclair) B. M. Bower + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Lure of the Dim Trails + +Author: by (AKA B. M. Sinclair) B. M. Bower + +Release Date: July 27, 2008 [EBook #1014] +Last Updated: March 9, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LURE OF THE DIM TRAILS *** + + + + +Produced by Simon Page, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE LURE OF THE DIM TRAILS + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By B. M. Bower + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </td> + <td> + IN SEARCH OF THE WESTERN TONE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </td> + <td> + LOCAL COLOR IN THE RAW + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </td> + <td> + FIRST IMPRESSIONS + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE TRAIL-HERD + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE STORM + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE BIG DIVIDE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </td> + <td> + AT THE STEVENS PLACE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </td> + <td> + A QUESTION OF NERVE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE DRIFT OF THE HERDS + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE CHINOOK + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </td> + <td> + FOLLOWING THE DIM TRAILS! + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </td> + <td> + HIGH WATER + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> + </td> + <td> + “I'll STAY—ALWAYS” + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. IN SEARCH OF THE WESTERN TONE + </h2> + <p> + “What do you care, anyway?” asked Reeve-Howard philosophically. “It isn't + as if you depended on the work for a living. Why worry over the fact that + a mere pastime fails to be financially a success. You don't need to write—” + </p> + <p> + “Neither do you need to slave over those dry-point things,” Thurston + retorted, in none the best humor with his comforter “You've an income + bigger than mine; yet you toil over Grecian-nosed women with untidy hair + as if each one meant a meal and a bed.” + </p> + <p> + “A meal and a bed—that's good; you must think I live like a king.” + </p> + <p> + “And I notice you hate like the mischief to fail, even though.” + </p> + <p> + “Only I never have failed,” put in Reeve-Howard, with the amused + complacency born of much adulation. + </p> + <p> + Thurston kicked a foot-rest out of his way. “Well, I have. The fashion now + is for swashbuckling tales with a haze of powder smoke rising to high + heaven. The public taste runs to gore and more gore, and kidnappings of + beautiful maidens-bah!” + </p> + <p> + “Follow the fashion then—if you must write. Get out of your pink tea + and orchid atmosphere, and take your heroines out West—away out, + beyond the Mississippi, and let them be kidnapped. Or New Mexico would + do.” + </p> + <p> + “New Mexico is also beyond the Mississippi, I believe,” Thurston hinted. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it is. What I mean is, write what the public wants, since you + don't relish failure. Why don't you do things about the plains? It ought + to be easy, and you were born out there somewhere. It should come + natural.” + </p> + <p> + “I have,” Thurston sighed. “My last rejection states that the local color + is weak and unconvincing. Hang the local color!” The foot-rest suffered + again. + </p> + <p> + Reeve-Howard was getting into his topcoat languidly, as he did everything + else. “The thing to do, then,” he drawled, “is to go out and study up on + it. Get in touch with that country, and your local color will convince. + Personally though, I like those little society skits you do—” + </p> + <p> + “Skits!” exploded Thurston. “My last was a four-part serial. I never did a + skit in my life.” + </p> + <p> + “Beg pardon-which is more than you did after accusing my studies of having + untidy hair. Don't look so glum, Phil. Go out and learn your West; a month + or so will put you up to date—and by Jove! I half envy you the + trip.” + </p> + <p> + That is what put the idea into Thurston's head; and as Thurston's ideas + generally bore fruit of one sort or another, he went out that very day and + ordered from his tailor a complete riding outfit, and because he was a + good customer the tailor consented to rush the work. It seemed to + Thurston, looking over cuts of the very latest styles in riding clothes, + that already he was breathing the atmosphere of the plains. + </p> + <p> + That night he stayed at home and dreamed, of the West. His memory, coupled + with what he had heard and idealized by his imagination, conjured dim + visions of what he had once known had known and forgotten; of a land here + men and conditions harked back to the raw foundations of civilization; + where wide plains flecked with sage-brush and ribboned with faint, brown + trails, spread away and away to a far sky-line. For Phil Thurston was + range-born, if not range-bred, His father had chosen always to live out on + the edge of things—out where the trails of men are dim and far + apart-and the silent prairie bequeaths a heritage of distance-hunger to + her sons. + </p> + <p> + While he brooded grew a keen longing to see again the little town huddled + under the bare, brown hills that shut out the world; to see the + gay-blanketed Indians who stole like painted shadows about the place, and + the broad river always hurrying away to the sunrise. He had been afraid of + the river and of the bare hills and the Indians. He felt that his mother, + also, had been afraid. He pictured again—and he picture was blurred + and indistinct-the day when strange men had brought his father + mysteriously home; men who were silent save for the shuffling of their + feet, and who carried their big hats awkwardly in their hands. + </p> + <p> + There had been a day of hushed voices and much weeping and gloom, and he + had been afraid to play. Then they had carried his father as mysteriously + away again, and his mother had hugged him close and cried bitterly and + long. The rest was blank. When one is only five, the present quickly blurs + what is past, and he wondered that, after all these years, he should feel + the grip of something very like homesickness—and for something more + than half forgotten. But though he did not realize it, in his veins flowed + the adventurous blood of his father, and to it the dim trails were + calling. + </p> + <p> + In four days he set his face eagerly toward the dun deserts and the + sage-brush gray. + </p> + <p> + At Chicago a man took the upper berth in Thurston's section, and settled + into the seat with a deep sigh—presumably of thankfulness. Thurston, + with the quick eye of those who write, observed the whiteness of his + ungloved hands, the coppery tan of cheeks and throat, the clear keenness + of his eyes, and the four dimples in the crown of his soft, gray hat, and + recognized him as a fine specimen of the Western type of farmer, returning + home from the stockman's Mecca. After that he went calmly back to his + magazine and forgot all about him. + </p> + <p> + Twenty miles out, the stranger leaned forward and tapped him lightly on + the knee. “Say, I hate to interrupt yuh,” he began in a whimsical drawl, + evidently characteristic of the man, “but I'd like to know where it is + I've seen yuh before.” + </p> + <p> + Thurston glanced up impersonally, hesitated between annoyance and a + natural desire to, be courteous, and replied that he had no memory of any + previous meeting. + </p> + <p> + “Mebby not,” admitted the other, and searched the face of Thurston with + his keen eyes. It came to Phil that they were also a bit wistful, but he + went unsympathetically back to his reading. + </p> + <p> + Five miles more and be touched Thurston again, apologetically yet + insistently. “Say,” he drawled, “ain't your name Thurston? I'll bet a + carload uh steers it is—Bud Thurston. And your home range is Fort + Benton.” + </p> + <p> + Phil stared and confessed to all but the “Bud.” + </p> + <p> + “That's what me and your dad always called yuh,” the man asserted. “Well, + I'll be hanged! But I knew it. I knew I'd run acrost yuh somewheres. + You're the dead image uh your dad, Bill Thurston. And me and Bill + freighted together from Whoop-up to Benton along in the seventies. Before + yuh was born we was chums. I don't reckon you'd remember me? Hank Graves, + that used to pack yuh around on his back, and fill yuh up on dried prunes—when + dried prunes was worth money? Yuh used to call 'em 'frumes,' and—Why, + it was me with your dad when the Indians pot-shot him at Chimney Rock; and + it was me helped your mother straighten things up so she could pull out, + back where she come from. She never took to the West much. How is she? + Dead? Too bad; she was a mighty fine woman, your mother was. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll-be-hanged! Bud Thurston little, tow-headed Bud that used to + holler for 'frumes' if he seen me coming a mile off. Doggone your measly + hide, where's all them pink apurns yuh used to wear?” He leaned back and + laughed—a silent, inner convulsion of pure gladness. + </p> + <p> + Philip Thurston was, generally speaking, a conservative young man and one + slow to make friends; slower still to discard them. He was astonished to + feel a choky sensation in his throat and a stinging of eyelids, and a leap + in his blood. To be thus taken possession of by a blunt-speaking stranger + not at all in his class; to be addressed as “Bud,” and informed that he + once devoured dried prunes; to be told “Doggone your measly hide” should + have affronted him much. Instead, he seemed to be swept mysteriously back + into the primitive past, and to feel akin to this stranger with the drawl + and the keen eyes. It was the blood of his father coming to its own. + </p> + <p> + From that hour the two were friends. Hank Graves, in his whimsical drawl, + told Phil things about his father that made his blood tingle with pride; + his father, whom he had almost forgotten, yet who had lived bravely his + life, daring where other men quailed, going steadfastly upon his way when + other men hesitated. + </p> + <p> + So, borne swiftly into the West they talked, and the time seemed short. + The train had long since been racing noisily over the silent prairies + spread invitingly with tender green—great, lonely, inscrutable, + luring men with a spell as sure and as strong as is the spell of the sea. + </p> + <p> + The train reeled across a trestle that spanned a deep, dry gash in the + earth. In the green bottom huddled a cluster of pygmy cattle and mounted + men; farther down were two white flakes of tents, like huge snowflakes + left unmelted in the green canyon. + </p> + <p> + “That's the Lazy Eight—my outfit,” Graves informed Thurston with the + unconscious pride of possession, pointing a forefinger as they whirled on. + “I've got to get off, next station. Yuh want to remember, Bud, the Lazy + Eight's your home from now on. We'll make a cow-puncher of yuh in no time; + you've got it in yuh, or yuh wouldn't look so much like your dad. And you + can write stories about us all yuh want—we won't kick. The way I've + got the summer planned out, you'll waller chin-deep in material; all yuh + got to do is foller the Lazy Eight through till shipping time.” + </p> + <p> + Thurston had not intended learning to be a cow-puncher, or following the + Lazy Eight or any other hieroglyphic through 'till shipping time—whenever + that was. + </p> + <p> + But facing Hank Graves, he had not the heart to tell him so, or that he + had planned to spend only a month—or six weeks at most—in the + West, gathering local color and perhaps a plot or two? and a few types. + Thurston was great on types. + </p> + <p> + The train slowed at a little station with a dismal red section house in + the immediate background and a red-fronted saloon close beside. “Here we + are,” cried Graves, “and I ain't sorry; only I wisht you was going to stop + right now. But I'll look for yuh in three or four days at the outside. + So-long, Bud. Remember, the Lazy Eight's your hang-out.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. LOCAL COLOR IN THE RAW + </h2> + <p> + For the rest of the way Thurston watched the green hills slide by—and + the greener hollows—and gave himself up to visions of Fort Benton; + visions of creaking bull-trains crawling slowly, like giant brown worms, + up and down the long hill; of many high-piled bales of buffalo hides upon + the river bank, and clamorous little steamers churning up against the + current; the Fort Benton that had, for many rushing miles, filled and + colored the speech of Hank Graves and stimulated his childish half-memory. + </p> + <p> + But when he reached the place and wandered aimlessly about the streets, + the vision faded into half-resentful realization that these things were no + more forever. For the bull-trains, a roundup outfit clattered noisily out + of town and disappeared in an elusive dust-cloud; for the gay-blanketed + Indians slipping like painted shadows from view, stray cow-boys galloped + into town, slid from their saddles and clanked with dragging rowels into + the nearest saloon, or the post-office. Between whiles the town cuddled + luxuriously down in the deep little valley and slept while the river, + undisturbed by pompous steamers, murmured a lullaby. + </p> + <p> + It was not the Fort Benton he had come far to see, so that on the second + day he went away up the long hill that shut out the world and, until the + east-bound train came from over the prairies, paced the depot platform + impatiently with never a vision to keep him company. + </p> + <p> + For a long time the gaze of Thurston clung fascinated to the wide prairie + land, feeling again the stir in his blood. Then, when a deep cut shut from + him the sight of the wilderness, he chanced to turn his head, and looked + straight into the clear, blue-gray eyes of a girl across the aisle. + Thurston considered himself immune from blue-gray—or any other-eyes, + so that he permitted himself to regard her calmly and judicially, his mind + reverting to the fact that he would need a heroine to be kidnapped, and + wondering if she would do. She was a Western girl, he could tell that by + the tan and by her various little departures from the Eastern styles—such + as doing her hair low rather than high. Where he had been used to seeing + the hair of woman piled high and skewered with many pins, hers was brushed + smoothly back-smoothly save for little, irresponsible waves here and + there. Thurston decided that the style was becoming to her. He wondered if + the fellow beside her were her brother; and then reminded himself sagely + that brothers do not, as a rule, devote their time quite so assiduously to + the entertainment of their sisters. He could not stare at her forever, and + so he gave over his speculations and went back to the prairies. + </p> + <p> + Another hour, and Thurston was stiffing a yawn when the coaches bumped + sharply together and, with wheels screeching protest as the brakes + clutched them, the train, grinding protest in every joint, came, with a + final heavy jar, to a dead stop. Thurston thought it was a wreck, until + out ahead came the sharp crackling of rifles. A passenger behind him + leaned out of the window and a bullet shattered the glass above his head; + he drew back hastily. + </p> + <p> + Some one hurried through the front vestibule, the door was pushed + unceremoniously open and a man—a giant, he seemed to Thurston—stopped + just inside, glared down the length of the coach through slits in the + black cloth over his face and bawled, “Hands up!” + </p> + <p> + Thurston was so utterly surprised that his hands jerked themselves + involuntarily above his head, though he did not feel particularly + frightened; he was filled with a stupefied sort of curiosity to know what + would come next. The coach, so far as he could see, seemed filled with + uplifted, trembling hands, so that he did not feel ashamed of his own. The + man behind him put up his hands with the other—but one of them held + a revolver that barked savagely and unexpectedly close against the car of + Thurston. Thurston ducked. There was an echo from the front, and the man + behind, who risked so much on one shot, lurched into the aisle, swaying + uncertainly between the seats. He of the mask fired again, viciously, and + the other collapsed into a still, awkwardly huddled heap on the floor. The + revolver dropped from his fingers and struck against Thurston's foot, + making him wince. + </p> + <p> + Thurston had never before seen death come to a man, and the very + suddenness of it unnerved him. All his faculties were numbed before that + terrible, pitiless form in the door, and the limp, dead body at his feet + in the aisle. He did not even remember that here was the savage local + color he had come far a-seeking. He quite forgot to improve the + opportunity by making mental note of all the little, convincing details, + as was his wont. + </p> + <p> + Presently he awoke to the realization of certain words spoken insistently + close beside him. He turned his eyes and saw that the girl, her eyes + staring straight before her, her slim, brown hands uplifted, was yet + commanding him imperiously, her voice holding to that murmuring monotone + more discreet than a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “The gun—drop down—and get it. He can't see to shoot for the + seat in front. Get the gun. Get the gun!” was what she was saying. + </p> + <p> + Thurston looked at her helplessly, imploringly. In truth, he had never + fired a gun in all his peaceful life. + </p> + <p> + “The gun—get it—and shoot!” Her eyes moved quickly in a + cautious, side-long glance that commanded impatiently. Her straight + eyebrows drew together imperiously. Then, when he met her eyes with that + same helpless look, she said another word that hurt. It was “Coward!” + </p> + <p> + Thurston looked down at the gun, and at the huddled form. A tiny river of + blood was creeping toward him. Already it had reached his foot, and his + shoe was red along the sole. He moved his foot quickly away from it, and + shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “Coward!” murmured the girl contemptuously again, and a splotch of anger + showed under the tan of her cheek. + </p> + <p> + Thurston caught his breath and wondered if he could do it; he looked + toward the door and thought how far it was to send a bullet straight when + a man has never, in all his life, fired a gun. And without looking he + could see that horrible, red stream creeping toward him like some monster + in a nightmare. His flesh crimpled with physical repulsion, but he meant + to try; perhaps he could shoot the man in the mask, so that there would be + another huddled, lifeless Thing on the floor, and another creeping red + stream. + </p> + <p> + At that instant the tawny-haired young fellow beside the girl gathered + himself for a spring, flung himself headlong before her and into the + aisle; caught the dead man's pistol from the floor and fired, seemingly + with one movement. Then he sprang up, still firing as fast as the trigger + could move. From the door came answer, shot for shot, and the car was + filled with the stifling odor of burnt powder. A woman screamed + hysterically. + </p> + <p> + Then a puff of cool, prairie breeze came in through the shattered window + behind Thurston, and the smoke-cloud lifted like a curtain blown upward in + the wind. The tawny-haired young fellow was walking coolly down the aisle, + the smoking revolver pointing like an accusing finger toward the outlaw + who lay stretched upon his face, his fingers twitching. + </p> + <p> + Outside, rifles were crackling like corn in a giant popper. Presently it + slackened to an occasional shot. A brakeman, followed by two coatless + mail-clerks with Winchesters, ran down the length of the train calling out + that there was no danger. The thud of their running feet, and the + wholesome mingling of their shouting struck sharply in the silence after + the shooting. One of the men swung up on the steps of the day coach and + came in. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Park,” he cried to the tawny haired boy. “Got one, did yuh? That's + good. We did, too got him alive. Think uh the nerve uh that Wagner bunch! + to go up against a train in broad daylight. Made an easy getaway, too, + except the feller we gloomed in the express car. How's this one? Dead?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I reckon he'll get well enough to stretch a rope; he killed a man, in + here.” He motioned toward the huddled figure in the aisle. They came + together, lifted the dead man and carried him away to the baggage car. A + brakeman came with a cloth and wiped up the red pool, and Thurston pressed + his lips tightly together and turned away his head; he could not remember + when the sight of anything had made him so deathly sick. Once he glanced + slyly at the girl opposite, and saw that she was very white under her tan, + and that the hands in her lap were clasped tightly and yet shook. But she + met his eyes squarely, and Thurston did not look at her again; he did not + like the expression of her mouth. + </p> + <p> + News of the holdup had been telegraphed ahead, and all Shellanne—which + was not much of a crowd—gathered at the station to meet the train + and congratulate the heroes. Thurston alighted almost shamefacedly into + the midst of the loud-voiced commotion. While he was looking uncertainly + about him, wondering where to go and what to do, a voice he knew hailed + him with drawling welcome. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Bud. Got back quicker than you expected, didn't yuh? It's lucky I + happened to be in town—yuh can ride out with me. Say, yuh got quite + a bunch uh local color for a story, didn't yuh? You'll be writing + blood-and-thunder for a month on the strength of this little episode, I + reckon.” his twinkling eyes teased, though his face was quite serious, as + was his voice. + </p> + <p> + She of the blue-gray eyes turned and measured Thurston with a deliberate, + leisurely glance, and her mouth still had that unpleasant expression. + Thurston colored guiltily, but Hank Graves lifted his hat and called her + Mona, and asked her if she wasn't scared stiff, and if she were home to + stay. Then he beckoned to the tawny-haired fellow with his finger, and + winked at Mona—a proceeding which shocked Thurston considerably. + </p> + <p> + “Mona—here, hold on a minute, can't yuh? Mona, this is a friend uh + mine; Bud Thurston's his name. He's come out to study us up and round up a + hunch uh real Western atmosphere. He's a story-writer. I used to whack + bulls all over the country with his father. Bud, this is Mona Stevens; she + ranges down close to the Lazy Eight, so the sooner yuh git acquainted, the + quicker.” He did not explain what would be the quicker, and Thurston's + embarrassment was only aggravated by the introduction. + </p> + <p> + Miss Stevens gave him a chilly smile, the kind that is worse than none at + all and turned her back, thinly pretending that she heard her brother + calling her, which she did not. Her brother was loudly explaining what + would have happened if he had been on that train and had got a whack at + the robbers, and his sister was far from his mind. + </p> + <p> + Graves slapped the shoulder of the fellow they had called Park. “You young + devil, next time I leave the place for a week—yes, or overnight—I'll + lock yuh up in the blacksmith shop. Have yuh got to be Mona's special + escort, these days?” + </p> + <p> + “Wish I was,” Park retorted, unmoved. + </p> + <p> + “Different here—yuh ain't much account, as it is. Bud, this here's + my wagon-boss, Park Holloway; one of 'em, that is. I'm going to turn yuh + over to him and let him wise yuh up. Say, you young bucks ought to get + along together pretty smooth. Your dads run buffalo together before either + of yuh was born. Well, let's be moving—we ain't home yet. Got a + war-bag, Bud?” + </p> + <p> + Late that night Thurston lay upon a home-made bed and listened to the + frogs croaking monotonously in the hollow behind the house, and to the + lone coyote which harped upon the subject of his wrongs away on a distant + hillside, and to the subdued snoring of Hank Graves in the room beyond. He + was trying to adjust himself to this new condition of things, and the new + condition refused utterly to be measured by his accepted standard. + </p> + <p> + According to that standard, he should feel repulsed and annoyed by the + familiarity of strangers who persisted in calling him “Bud” without taking + the trouble to find out whether or not he liked it. And what puzzled + Thurston and put him all at sea was the consciousness that he did like it, + and that it struck familiarly upon his ears as something to which he had + been accustomed in the past. + </p> + <p> + Also, according to his well-ordered past, he should hate this raw life and + rawer country where could occur such brutal things as he had that day + witnessed. He should dislike a man like Park Holloway who, having wounded + a man unto death, had calmly dismissed the subject with the regret that + his aim had not been better, so that he could have saved the county the + expense of trying and hanging the fellow. Thurston was amazed to find + that, down in the inner man of him, he admired Park Holloway exceedingly, + and privately resolved to perfect himself in the use of fire-arms, he who + had been wont to deplore the thinly veneered savagery of men who liked + such things. + </p> + <p> + After much speculation he decided that Mona Stevens would not do for a + kidnapped heroine. He could not seem to “see” her in such a position, and, + besides, he told himself that such a type of girl did not attract him at + all. She had called him a coward—and why? simply because he, + straight from the trammels of civilization, had not been prepared to meet + the situation thrust upon him-which she had thrust upon him. She had + demanded of him something he had not the power to accomplish, and she had + called him a coward. And in his heart Thurston knew that it was unjust, + and that he was not a coward. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. FIRST IMPRESSIONS + </h2> + <p> + Thurston, dressed immaculately in riding clothes of the latest English + cut, went airily down the stairs and discovered that he was not early, as + he had imagined. Seven o'clock, he had told himself proudly, was not bad + for a beginner; and he had smiled in anticipation of Hank Graves' surprise + which was fortunate, since he would otherwise have been cheated of smiling + at all. For Hank Graves, he learned from the cook, had eaten breakfast at + five and had left the ranch more than an hour before; the men also were + scattered to their work. + </p> + <p> + Properly humbled in spirit, he sat down to the kitchen table and ate his + belated breakfast, while the cook kneaded bread at the other end of the + same table and eyed Thurston with frank amusement. Thurston had never + before been conscious of feeling ill at ease in the presence of a servant, + and hurried through the meal so that he could escape into the clear + sunshine, feeling a bit foolish in the unaccustomed bagginess of his + riding breeches and the snugness of his leggings; for he had never taken + to outdoor sports, except as an onlooker from the shade of a grand stand + or piazza. + </p> + <p> + While he was debating the wisdom of writing a detailed description of + yesterday's tragedy while it was still fresh in his mind and stowing it + away for future “color,” Park Holloway rode into the yard and on to the + stables. He nodded at Thurston and grinned without apparent cause, as the + cook had done. Thurston followed him to the corral and watched him pull + the saddle off his horse, and throw it carelessly to one side. It looked + cumbersome, that saddle; quite unlike the ones he had inspected in the New + York shops. He grasped the horn, lifted upon it and said, “Jove!” + </p> + <p> + “Heavy, ain't it?” Park laughed, and slipped the bridle down over the ears + of his horse and dismissed him with a slap on the rump. “Don't yuh like + the looks of it?” he added indulgently. + </p> + <p> + Thurston, engaged in wondering what all those little strings were for, + felt the indulgence and straightened. “How should I know?” he retorted. + “Anyone can see that my ignorance is absolute. I expect you to laugh at + me, Mr. Holloway.” + </p> + <p> + “Call me Park,” said he of the tawny hair, and leaned against the fence + looking extremely boyish and utterly incapable of walking calmly down upon + a barking revolver and shooting as he went. “You're bound to learn all + about saddles and what they're made for,” he went on. “So long as yuh + don't get swell-headed the first time yuh stick on a horse that side-steps + a little, or back down from a few hard knocks, you'll be all right.” + </p> + <p> + Thurston had not intended getting out and actually living the life he had + come to observe, but something got in his nerves and his blood and bred an + impulse to which he yielded without reserve. “Park, see here,” he said + eagerly. “Graves said he'd turn me over to you, so you could—er—teach + me wisdom. It's deuced rough on you, but I hope you won't refuse to be + bothered with me. I want to learn—everything. And I want you to find + fault like the mischief, and—er—knock me into shape, if it's + possible.” He was very modest over his ignorance, and his voice rang true. + </p> + <p> + Park studied him gravely. “Bud,” he said at last, “you'll do. You're + greener right now than a blue-joint meadow in June, but yuh got the right + stuff in yuh, and it's a go with me. You come along with us after that + trail-herd, and you'll get knocked into shape fast enough. Smoke?” + </p> + <p> + Thurston shook his head. “Not those.” + </p> + <p> + “I dunno I'm afraid yuh can't be the real thing unless yuh fan your lungs + with cigarette smoke regular.” The twinkle belied him, though. “Say, where + did you pick them bloomers?” + </p> + <p> + “They were made in New York.” Thurston smiled in sickly fashion. He had + all along been uncomfortably aware of the sharp contrast between his own + modish attire and the somewhat disreputable leathern chaps of his host's + foreman. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” commented Park, “you told me to find fault like the mischief, and + I'm going to call your bluff. This here's Montana, recollect, and I raise + the long howl over them habiliments. The best thing you can do is pace + along to the house and discard before the boys get sight of yuh. They'd + queer yuh with the whole outfit, sure. Uh course,” he went on soothingly + when he saw the resentment in Thurston's eyes, “I expect they're real + stylish—back East—but the boys ain't educated to stand for + anything like that; they'd likely tell yuh they set like the hide on the + hind legs of an elephant—which is a fact. I hate to say it, Kid, but + they sure do look like the devil.” + </p> + <p> + “So would you, in New York,” Thurston flung back at him. + </p> + <p> + “Why, sure. But this ain't New York; this here's the Lazy Eight corral, + and I'm doing yuh a favor. You wouldn't like to have the boys shooting + holes through the slack, would yuh? You amble right along and get some + pants on—and when you've wised up some you'll thank me a lot. I'm + going on a little jaunt down the creek, before dinner, and you might go + along; you'll need to get hardened to the saddle anyway, before we start + for Billings, or you'll do most uh riding on the mess-wagon.” + </p> + <p> + Thurston, albeit in resentful mood, went meekly and did as he was + commanded to do; and no man save Park and the cook ever glimpsed those + smart riding clothes of English cut. + </p> + <p> + “Now yuh look a heap more human,” was the way Park signified his approval + of the change. “Here's a little horse that's easy to ride and dead gentle + if yuh don't spur him in the neck, which you ain't liable to do at + present; and Hank says you can have this saddle for keeps. Hank used to + ride it, but he out-growed it and got one longer in the seat. When we + start for Billings to trail up them cattle, of course you'll get a string + of your own to ride.” + </p> + <p> + “A string? I'm afraid I don't quite understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Yuh don't savvy riding a string? A string, m'son, is ten or a dozen + saddle-horses that yuh ride turn about, and nobody else has got any right + to top one; every fellow has got his own string, yuh see.” + </p> + <p> + Thurston eyed his horse distrustfully. “I think,” he ventured, “one will + be enough for me. I'll scarcely need a dozen.” The truth was that he + thought Park was laughing at him. + </p> + <p> + Park slid sidewise in the saddle and proceeded to roll another cigarette. + “I'd be willing to bet that by fall you'll have a good-sized string rode + down to a whisper. You wait; wait till it gets in your blood. Why, I'd die + if you took me off the range. Wait till yuh set out in the dark, on your + horse, and count the stars and watch the big dipper swing around towards + morning, and listen to the cattle breathing close by—sleeping while + you ride around 'em playing guardian angel over their dreams. Wait till + yuh get up at daybreak and are in the saddle with the pink uh sunrise, and + know you'll sleep fifteen or twenty miles from there that night; and yuh + lay down at night with the smell of new grass in your nostrils where your + bed had bruised it. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Bud, if you're a man, you'll be plumb spoiled for your little old + East.” Then he swung back his feet and the horses broke into a lope which + jarred the unaccustomed frame of Thurston mightily, though he kept the + pace doggedly. + </p> + <p> + “I've got to go down to the Stevens place,” Park informed him. “You met + Mona yesterday—it was her come down on the train with me, yuh + remember.” Thurston did remember very distinctly. “Hank says yuh compose + stories. Is that right?” + </p> + <p> + Thurston's mind came back from wondering how Mona Stevens' mouth looked + when she was pleased with one, and he nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there's a lot in this country that ain't ever been wrote about, I + guess; at least if it was I never read it, and I read considerable. But + the trouble is, them that know ain't in the writing business, and them + that write don't know. The way I've figured it, they set back East + somewhere and write it like they think maybe it is; and it's a hell of a + job they make of it.” + </p> + <p> + Thurston, remembering the time when he, too, “set back East” and wrote it + like he thought maybe it was, blushed guiltily. He was thankful that his + stories of the West had, without exception, been rejected as of little + worth. He shuddered to think of one of them falling into the hands of Park + Holloway. + </p> + <p> + “I came out to learn, and I want to learn it thoroughly,” he said, in the + face of much physical discomfort. Just then the horses slowed for a climb, + and he breathed thanks. “In the first place,” he began again when he had + readjusted himself carefully in the saddle, “I wish you'd tell me just + where you are going with the wagons, and what you mean by trailing a + herd.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I thought I said we were going to Billings,” Park answered, + surprised. “What we're going to do when we get there is to receive a + shipment of cattle young steer that's coming up from the Panhandle which + is a part uh Texas. And we trail 'em up here and turn 'em loose this side + the river. After that we'll start the calf roundup. The Lazy Eight runs + two wagons, yuh know. I run one, and Deacon Smith runs the other; we work + together, though, most of the time. It makes quite a crew, twenty-five or + thirty men.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know,” said Thurston dubiously, “that you ever shipped cattle + into this country. I supposed you shipped them out. Is Mr. Graves buying + some?” + </p> + <p> + “Hank? I guess yes! six thousand head uh yearlings and two year-olds, this + spring; some seasons it's more. We get in young stock every year and turn + 'em loose on the range till they're ready to ship. It's cheaper than + raising calves, yuh know. When yuh get to Billings, Bud, you'll see some + cattle! Why, our bunch alone will make seven trains, and that ain't a + commencement. Cattle's cheap down South, this year, and seems like + everybody's buying. Hank didn't buy as much as some, because he runs quite + a bunch uh cows; we'll brand six or seven thousand calves this spring. + Hank sure knows how to rake in the coin.” + </p> + <p> + Thurston agreed as politely as he could for the jolting. They had again + struck the level and seven miles, at Park's usual pace, was heartbreaking + to a man not accustomed to the saddle. Thurston had written, just before + leaving home, a musical bit of verse born of his luring dreams, about “the + joy of speeding fleetly where the grassland meets the sky,” and he was + gritting his teeth now over the idiotic lines. + </p> + <p> + When they reached the ranch and Mona's mother came to the door and invited + them in, he declined almost rudely, for he had a feeling that once out of + the saddle he would have difficulty in getting into it again. Besides, + Mona was not at home, according to her mother. + </p> + <p> + So they did not tarry, and Thurston reached the Lazy Eight alive, but with + the glamour quite gone from his West. If he had not been the son of his + father, he would have taken the first train which pointed its nose to the + East, and he would never again have essayed the writing of Western stories + or musical verse which sung the joys of galloping blithely off to the + sky-line. He had just been galloping off to a sky-line that was always + just before and he had not been blithe; nor did the memory of it charm. Of + a truth, the very thought of things Western made him swear mild, city-bred + oaths. + </p> + <p> + He choked back his awe of the cook and asked him, quite humbly, what was + good to take the soreness from one's muscles; afterward he had crept + painfully up the stairs, clasping to his bosom a beer bottle filled with + pungent, home-made liniment which the cook had gravely declared “out uh + sight for saddle-galls.” + </p> + <p> + Hank Graves, when he heard the story, with artistic touches from the cook, + slapped his thigh and laughed one of his soundless chuckles. “The + son-of-a-gun! He's the right stuff. Never whined, eh? I knew it. He's his + dad over again, from the ground up.” And loved him the better. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. THE TRAIL-HERD + </h2> + <p> + Thurston tucked the bulb of his camera down beside the bellows and closed + the box with a snap. “I wonder what old Reeve would say to that view,” he + mused aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Old who?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a fellow back in New York. Jove! he'd throw up his dry-point heads + and take to oils and landscapes if he could see this.” + </p> + <p> + The “this” was a panoramic view of the town and surrounding valley of + Billings. The day was sunlit and still, and far objects stood up with + sharp outlines in the clear atmosphere. Here and there the white tents of + waiting trail-outfits splotched the bright green of the prairie. Horsemen + galloped to and from the town at top speed, and a long, grimy red stock + train had just snorted out on a siding by the stockyards where the + bellowing of thirsty cattle came faintly like the roar of pounding surf in + the distance. + </p> + <p> + Thurston—quite a different Thurston from the trim, pale young man + who had followed the lure of the West two weeks before—drew a long + breath and looked out over the hurrying waters of the Yellowstone. It was + good to be alive and young, and to live the tented life of the plains; it + was good even to be “speeding fleetly where the grassland meets the sky “—for + two weeks in the saddle had changed considerably his view-point. He turned + again to the dust and roar of the stockyards a mile or so away. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” he remarked hopefully, “the next train will be ours.” Strange + how soon a man may identify himself with new conditions and new aims. He + had come West to look upon the life from the outside, and now his chief + thought was of the coming steers, which he referred to unblushingly as + “our cattle.” Such is the spell of the range. + </p> + <p> + “Let's ride on over, Bud,” Park proposed. “That's likely the Circle Bar + shipment. Their bunch comes from the same place ours does, and I want to + see how they stack up.” + </p> + <p> + Thurston agreed and went to saddle up. He had mastered the art of saddling + and could, on lucky days and when he was in what he called “form,” rope + the horse he wanted; to say nothing of the times when his loop settled + unexpectedly over the wrong victim. Park Holloway, for instance, who once + got it neatly under his chin, much to his disgust and the astonishment of + Thurston. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to take my Kodak,” said he. “I like to watch them unload, and I + can get some good pictures, with this sunlight.” + </p> + <p> + “When you've hollered 'em up and down the chutes as many times as I have,” + Park told him, “yuh won't need no pictures to help yuh remember what it's + like.” + </p> + <p> + It was an old story with Park, and Thurston's enthusiasm struck him as a + bit funny. He perched upon a corner of the fence out of the way, and + smoked cigarettes while he watched the cattle and shouted pleasantries to + the men who prodded and swore and gesticulated at the wild-eyed huddle in + the pens. Soon his turn would come, but just now he was content to look on + and take his ease. + </p> + <p> + “For the life of me,” cried Thurston, sidling gingerly over to him, “I + can't see where they all come from. For two days these yards have never + been empty. The country will soon be one vast herd.” + </p> + <p> + “Two days—huh! this thing'll go on for weeks, m'son. And after all + is over, you'll wonder where the dickens they all went to. Montana is some + bigger than you realize, I guess. And next fall, when shipping starts, + you'll think you're seeing raw porterhouse steaks for the whole world. + Let's drift out uh this dust; you'll have time to get a carload uh + pictures before our bunch rolls in.” + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact, it was two weeks before the Lazy Eight consignment + arrived. Thurston haunted the stockyards with his Kodak, but after the + first two or three days he took no pictures. For every day was but a + repetition of those that had gone before: a great, grimy engine shunting + cars back and forth on the siding; an endless stream of weary, young + cattle flowing down the steep chutes into the pens, from the pens to the + branding chutes, where they were burned deep with the mark of their new + owners; then out through the great gate, crowding, pushing, wild to flee + from restraint, yet held in and guided by mounted cowboys; out upon the + green prairie where they could feast once more upon sweet grasses and + drink their fill from the river of clear, mountain water; out upon the + weary march of the trail, on and on for long days until some boundary + which their drivers hailed with joy was passed, and they were free at last + to roam at will over the wind-brushed range land; to lie down in some + cool, sweet-scented swale and chew their cuds in peace. + </p> + <p> + Two weeks, and then came a telegram for Park. In the reading of it he + shuffled off his attitude of boyish irresponsibility and became in a + breath the cool, business-like leader of men. Holding the envelope still + in his hand he sought out Thurston, who was practicing with a rope. As + Park approached him he whirled the noose and cast it neatly over the peak + of the night-hawk's teepee. + </p> + <p> + “Good shot,” Park encouraged, “but I'd advise yuh to take another target. + You'll have the tent down over Scotty's ears, and then you'll think yuh + stirred up a mess uh hornets. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Bud, our cattle are coming, and I'm going to be short uh men. If + you'd like a job I'll take yuh on, and take chances on licking yuh into + shape. Maybe the wages won't appeal to yuh, but I'm willing to throw in + heaps uh valuable experience that won't cost yuh a cent.” He lowered an + eyelid toward the cook-tent, although no one was visible. + </p> + <p> + Thurston studied the matter while he coiled his rope, and no longer. + Secretly he had wanted all along to be a part of the life instead of an + onlooker. “I'll take the job, Park—if you think I can hold it down.” + The speech would doubtless have astonished Reeve-Howard in more ways than + one; but Reeve-Howard was already a part of the past in Thurston's mind. + He was for living the present. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” Park retorted, “it'll be your own funeral if yuh get fired. Better + stake yourself to a pair uh chaps; you'll need 'em on the trip.” + </p> + <p> + “Also a large, rainbow-hued silk handkerchief if I want to look the part,” + Thurston bantered. + </p> + <p> + “If yuh don't want your darned neck blistered, yuh mean,” Park flung over + his shoulders. “Your wages and schooling start in to-morrow at sunup.” + </p> + <p> + It was early in the morning when the first train arrived, hungry, thirsty, + tired, bawling a general protest against fate and man's mode of travel. + Thurston, with a long pole in his hand, stood on the narrow plank near the + top of a chute wall and prodded vaguely at an endless, moving incline of + backs. Incidentally he took his cue from his neighbors, and shouted till + his voice was a croak-though he could not see that he accomplished + anything either by his prodding or his shouting. + </p> + <p> + Below him surged the sea of hide and horns which was barely suggestive of + the animals as individuals. Out in the corrals the dust-cloud hung low, + just as it had hovered every day for more than two weeks; just as it would + hover every day for two weeks longer. Across the yards near the big, outer + gate Deacon Smith's crew was already beginning to brand. The first train + was barely unloaded when the second trailed in and out on the siding; and + so the third came also. Then came a lull, for the consignment had been + split in two and the second section was several hours behind the first. + </p> + <p> + Thurston rode out to camp, aching with the strain and ravenously hungry, + after toiling with his muscles for the first time in his life; for his had + been days of physical ease. He had yet to learn the art of working so that + every movement counted something accomplished, as did the others; besides, + he had been in constant fear of losing his hold on the fence and plunging + headlong amongst the trampling hoofs below, a fate that he shuddered to + contemplate. He did not, however, mention that fear, or his muscle ache, + to any man; he might be green, but he was not the man to whine. + </p> + <p> + When he went back into the dust and roar, Park ordered him curtly to tend + the branding fire, since both crews would brand that afternoon and get the + corrals cleared for the next shipment. Thurston thanked Park mentally; + tending branding-fire sounded very much like child's play. + </p> + <p> + Soon the gray dust-cloud took on a shade of blue in places where the smoke + from the fires cut through; a new tang smote the nostrils: the rank odor + of burning hair and searing hides; a new note crept into the clamoring + roar: the low-keyed blat of pain and fright. + </p> + <p> + Thurston turned away his head from the sight and the smell, and piled on + wood until Park stopped him with. “Say, Bud, we ain't celebrating any + election! It ain't a bonfire we want, it's heat; just keep her going and + save wood all yuh can.” After an hour of fire-tending Thurston decided + that there were things more wearisome than “hollering 'em down the + chutes.” His eyes were smarting intolerably with smoke and heat, and the + smell of the branding was not nice; but through the long afternoon he + stuck to the work, shrewdly guessing that the others were not having any + fun either. Park and “the Deacon” worked as hard as any, branding the + steers as they were squeezed, one by one, fast in the little branding + chutes. The setting sun shone redly through the smoke before Thurston was + free to kick the half-burnt sticks apart and pour water upon them as + directed by Park. + </p> + <p> + “Think yuh earned your little old dollar and thirty three cents, Bud?” + Park asked him. And Thurston smiled a tired, sooty smile that seemed all + teeth. + </p> + <p> + “I hope so; at any rate, I have a deep, inner knowledge of the joys of + branding cattle.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait 'till yuh burn Lazy Eights on wriggling, blatting calves for two or + three hours at a stretch before yuh talk about the joys uh branding.” Park + rubbed eloquently his aching biceps. + </p> + <p> + At dusk Thurston crept into his blankets, feeling that he would like the + night to be at least thirty six hours long. He was just settling into a + luxurious, leather-upholstered dream chair preparatory to telling + Reeve-Howard his Western experiences when Park's voice bellowed into the + tent: + </p> + <p> + “Roll out, boys—we got a train pulling in!” + </p> + <p> + There was hurried dressing in the dark of the bed-tent, hasty mounting, + and a hastier ride through the cool night air. There were long hours at + the chutes, prodding down at a wavering line of moving shadows, while the + “big dipper” hung bright in the sky and lighted lanterns bobbed back and + forth along the train waving signals to one another. At intervals Park's + voice cut crisply through the turmoil, giving orders to men whom he could + not see. + </p> + <p> + The east was lightening to a pale yellow when the men climbed at last into + their saddles and galloped out to camp for a hurried breakfast. Thurston + had been comforting his aching body with the promise of rest and sleep; + but three thousand cattle were milling impatiently in the stockyards, so + presently he found himself fanning a sickly little blaze with his hat + while he endeavored to keep the smoke from his tired eyes. Of a truth, + Reeve-Howard would have stared mightily at sight of him. + </p> + <p> + Once Park, passing by, smiled down upon him grimly. “Here's where yuh get + the real thing in local color,” he taunted, but Thurston was too busy to + answer. The stress of living had dimmed his eye for the picturesque. + </p> + <p> + That night, one Philip Thurston slept as sleeps the dead. But he awoke + with the others and thanked the Lord there were no more cattle to unload + and brand. + </p> + <p> + When he went out on day-herd that afternoon he fancied that he was getting + into the midst of things and taking his place with the veterans. He would + have been filled with resentment had he suspected the truth: that Park + carefully eased those first days of his novitiate. That was why none of + the night-guarding fell to him until they had left Billings many miles + behind them. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. THE STORM + </h2> + <p> + The third night he was detailed to stand with Bob MacGregor on the middle + guard, which lasts from eleven o'clock until two. The outfit had camped + near the head of a long, shallow basin that had a creek running through; + down the winding banks of it lay the white-tented camps of seven other + trail-herds, the cattle making great brown blotches against the green at + sundown. Thurston hoped they would all be there in the morning when the + sun came up, so that he could get a picture. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, they'll be miles away by then,” Bob assured him unfeelingly. “By the + signs, you can take snap-shots by lightning in another hour. Got your + slicker, Bud?” + </p> + <p> + Thurston said he hadn't, and Bob shook his head prophetically. “You'll + sure wish yuh had it before yuh hit camp again; when yuh get wise, you'll + ride with your slicker behind the cantle, rain or shine. They'll need + singing to, to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Thurston prudently kept silent, since he knew nothing whatever about it, + and Bob gave him minute directions about riding his rounds, and how to + turn a stray animal back into the herd without disturbing the others. + </p> + <p> + The man they relieved met them silently and rode away to camp. Off to the + right an animal coughed, and a black shape moved out from the shadows. + </p> + <p> + Bob swung towards it, and the shape melted again into the splotch of shade + which was the sleeping herd. He motioned to the left. “Yuh can go that + way; and yuh want to sing something, or whistle, so they'll know what yuh + are.” His tone was subdued, as it had not been before. He seemed to drift + away into the darkness, and soon his voice rose, away across the herd, + singing. As he drew nearer Thurston caught the words, at first disjointed + and indistinct, then plainer as they met. It was a song he had never heard + before, because its first popularity had swept far below his social plane. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “She's o-only a bird in a gil-ded cage, + A beautiful sight to see-e-e; + You may think she seems ha-a-aappy and free from ca-a-re..” + </pre> + <p> + The singer passed on and away, and only the high notes floated across to + Thurston, who whistled softly under his breath while he listened. Then, as + they neared again on the second round, the words came pensively: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Her beauty was so-o-old + For an old man's go-o-old, She's a bird in a gilded ca-a-age.” + </pre> + <p> + Thurston rode slowly like one in a dream, and the lure of the range-land + was strong upon him. The deep breathing of three thousand sleeping cattle; + the strong, animal odor; the black night which grew each moment blacker, + and the rhythmic ebb and flow of the clear, untrained voice of a cowboy + singing to his charge. If he could put it into words; if he could but + picture the broody stillness, with frogs cr-ekk, er-ekking along the reedy + creek-bank and a coyote yapping weirdly upon a distant hilltop! From the + southwest came mutterings half-defiant and ominous. A breeze whispered + something to the grasses as it crept away down the valley. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I stood in a church-yard just at ee-eve, + While the sunset adorned the west.” + </pre> + <p> + It was Bob, drawing close out of the night. “You're doing fine, Kid; keep + her a-going,” he commended, in an undertone as he passed, and Thurston + moistened his unaccustomed lips and began industriously whistling “The + Heart Bowed Down,” and from that jumped to Faust. Fifteen minutes + exhausted his memory of the whistleable parts, and he was not given to + tiresome repetitions. He stopped for a moment, and Bob's voice chanted + admonishingly from somewhere, “Keep her a-go-o-ing, Bud, old boy!” So + Thurston took breath and began on “The Holy City,” and came near laughing + at the incongruity of the song; only he remembered that he must not + frighten the cattle, and checked the impulse. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” Bob began when he came near enough, “do yuh know the words uh that + piece? It's a peach; I wisht you'd sing it.” He rode on, still humming the + woes of the lady who married for gold. + </p> + <p> + Thurston obeyed while the high-piled thunder-heads rumbled deep + accompaniment, like the resonant lower tones of a bass viol. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Last night I lay a-sleeping, there came a dream so fair; + I stood in old Jerusalem, beside the temple there.” + </pre> + <p> + A steer stepped restlessly out of the herd, and Thurston's horse, trained + to the work, of his own accord turned him gently back. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I heard the children singing; and ever as they sang, + Me thought the voice of angels from heaven in answer rang.” + </pre> + <p> + From the west the thunder boomed, drowning the words in its deep-throated + growl. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, lift up your gates and sing.” + </pre> + <p> + “Hit her up a little faster, Bud, or we'll lose some. They're getting on + their feet with that thunder.” + </p> + <p> + Sunfish, in answer to Thurston's touch on the reins, quickened to a trot. + The joggling was not conducive to the best vocal expression, but the + singer persevered: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Hosanna in the highest, + Hosanna to your King!” + </pre> + <p> + Flash! the lightning cut through the storm-clouds, and Bob, who had + contented himself with a subdued whistling while he listened, took up the + refrain: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Jerusalem, Jerusalem.” + </pre> + <p> + It was as if a battery of heavy field pieces boomed overhead. The entire + herd was on its feet and stood close-huddled, their tails to the coming + storm. Now the horses were loping steadily in their endless circling—a + pace they could hold for hours if need be. For one blinding instant + Thurston saw far down the valley; then the black curtain dropped as + suddenly as it had lifted. + </p> + <p> + “Keep a-hollering, Bud!” came the command, and after it Bob's voice + trilled high above the thunder-growl: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Hosanna in the high-est. + Hosanna to your King!” + </pre> + <p> + A strange thrill of excitement came to Thurston. It was all new to him; + for his life had been sheltered from the rages of nature. He had never + before been out under the night sky when it was threatening as now. He + flinched when came an ear-splitting crash that once again lifted the black + curtain and showed him, white-lighted, the plain. In the dark that + followed came a rhythmic thud of hoofs far up the creek, and the rattle of + living castanets. Sunfish threw up his head and listened, muscles + a-quiver. + </p> + <p> + “There's a bunch a-running,” called Bob from across the frightened herd. + “If they hit us, give Sunfish his head, he's been there before—and + keep on the outside!” + </p> + <p> + Thurston yelled “All right!” but the pounding roar of the stampede drowned + his voice. A whirlwind of frenzied steers bore down upon him—twenty-five + hundred Panhandle two-year-olds, though he did not know it then, his mind + was all a daze, with one sentence zigzagging through it like the lightning + over his head, “Give Sunfish his head, and keep on the outside!” + </p> + <p> + That was what saved him, for he had the sense to obey. After a few minutes + of breathless racing, with a roar as of breakers in his ears and the + crackle of clashing horns and the gleaming of rolling eyeballs close upon + his horse's heels, he found himself washed high and dry, as it were, while + the tumult swept by. Presently he was galloping along behind and wondering + dully how he got there, though perhaps Sunfish knew well enough. + </p> + <p> + In his story of the West—the one that had failed to be convincing—he + had in his ignorance described a stampede, and it had not been in the + least like this one. He blushed at the memory, and wondered if he should + ever again feel qualified to write of these things. + </p> + <p> + Great drops of rain pounded him on the back as he rode—chill drops, + that went to the skin. He thought of his new canary-colored slicker in the + bed-tent, and before he knew it swore just as any of the other men would + have done under similar provocation; it was the first real, able-bodied + oath he had ever uttered. He was becoming assimilated with the raw + conditions of life. + </p> + <p> + He heard a man's voice calling to him, and distinguished the dim shape of + a rider close by. He shouted that password of the range, “Hello!” + </p> + <p> + “What outfit is this?” the man cried again. + </p> + <p> + “The Lazy Eight!” snapped Thurston, sure that the other had come with the + stampede. Then, feeling the anger of temporary authority, “What in hell + are you up to, letting your cattle run?” If Park could have heard him say + that for Reeve-Howard! + </p> + <p> + Down the long length of the valley they swept, gathering to themselves + other herds and other riders as incensed as were themselves. It is not + pretty work, nor amusing, to gallop madly in the wake of a stampede at + night, keeping up the stragglers and taking the chance of a broken neck + with the rain to make matters worse. + </p> + <p> + Bob MacGregor sought Thurston with much shouting, and having found him + they rode side by side. And always the thunder boomed overhead, and by the + lightning flashes they glimpsed the turbulent sea of cattle fleeing, they + knew not where or why, with blind fear crowding their heels. + </p> + <p> + The noise of it roused the camps as they thundered by; men rose up, peered + out from bed-tents as the stampede swept past, cursed the delay it would + probably make, hoped none of the boys got hurt, and thanked the Lord the + tents were pitched close to the creek and out of the track of the maddened + herds. + </p> + <p> + Then they went back to bed to wait philosophically for daylight. + </p> + <p> + When Sunfish, between flashes, stumbled into a shallow washout, and sent + Thurston sailing unbeautifully over his head, Bob pulled up and slid off + his horse in a hurry. + </p> + <p> + “Yuh hurt, Bud?” he cried anxiously, bending over him. For Thurston, from + the very frankness of his verdant ignorance, had won for himself the + indulgent protectiveness of the whole outfit; not a man but watched + unobtrusively over his welfare—and Bob MacGregor went farther and + loved him whole-heartedly. His voice, when he spoke, was unequivocally + frightened. + </p> + <p> + Thurston sat up and wiped a handful of mud off his face; if it had not + been so dark Bob would have shouted at the spectacle. “I'm 'kinda sorter + shuck up like,”' he quoted ruefully. “And my nose is skinned, thank you. + Where's that devil of a horse?” + </p> + <p> + Bob stood over him and grinned. “My, I'm surprised at yuh, Bud! What would + your Sunday-school teacher say if she heard yuh? Anyway, yuh ain't got any + call to cuss Sunfish; he ain't to blame. He's used to fellows that can + ride.” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up!” Thurston commanded inelegantly. “I'd like to see you ride a + horse when he's upside down!” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, come on,” urged Bob, giving up the argument. “We'll be plumb lost + from the herd if we don't hustle.” + </p> + <p> + They got into their saddles again and went on, riding by sound and the + rare glimpses the lightning gave them as it flared through the storm away + to the east. + </p> + <p> + “Wet?” Bob sung out sympathetically from the streaming shelter of his + slicker. Thurston, wriggling away from his soaked clothing, grunted a + sarcastic negative. + </p> + <p> + The cattle were drifting now before the storm which had settled to a + monotonous downpour. The riders—two or three men for every herd that + had joined in the panic—circled, a veritable picket line without the + password. There would be no relief ride out to them that night, and they + knew it and settled to the long wait for morning. + </p> + <p> + Thurston took up his station next to Bob; rode until he met the next man, + and then retraced his steps till he faced Bob again; rode until the world + seemed unreal and far away, with nothing left but the night and the riding + back and forth on his beat, and the rain that oozed through his clothes + and trickled uncomfortably down inside his collar. He lost all count of + time, and was startled when at last came gray dawn. + </p> + <p> + As the light grew brighter his eyes widened and forgot their sleep-hunger; + he had not thought it would be like this. He was riding part way across + one end of a herd larger than his imagination had ever pictured; three + thousand cattle had seemed to him a multitude—yet here were more + than twenty thousand, wet, draggled, their backs humped miserably from the + rain which but a half hour since had ceased. He was still gazing and + wondering when Park rode up to him. + </p> + <p> + “Lord! Bud, you're a sight! Did the bunch walk over yuh?” he greeted. + </p> + <p> + “No, only Sunfish,” snapped Thurston crossly. Time was when Philip + Thurston would not have answered any man abruptly, however great the + provocation. He was only lately getting down to the real, elemental man of + him; to the son of Bill Thurston, bull-whacker, prospector, follower of + dim trails. He rode silently back to camp with Bob, ate his breakfast, got + into dry clothes and went out and tied his slicker deliberately and + securely behind the cantle of his saddle, though the sun was shining + straight into his eyes and the sky fairly twinkled, it was so clean of + clouds. + </p> + <p> + Bob watched him with eyes that laughed. “My, you're an ambitious + son-of-a-gun,” he chuckled. “And you've got the slicker question settled + in your mind, I see; yuh learn easy; it takes two or three soakings to + learn some folks.” + </p> + <p> + “We've got to go back and help with the herd, haven't we?” Thurston asked. + “The horses are all out.” + </p> + <p> + “Yep. They'll stay out, too, till noon, m'son. We hike to bed, if anybody + should ask yuh.” + </p> + <p> + So it was not till after dinner that he rode back to the great herd—with + his Kodak in his pocket—to find the cattle split up into several + bunches. The riders at once went to work separating the different brands. + He was too green a hand to do anything but help hold the “cut,” and that + was so much like ordinary herd-ing that his interest flagged. He wanted, + more than anything, to ride into the bunch and single out a Lazy Eight + steer, skillfully hazing him down the slope to the cut, as he saw the + others do. + </p> + <p> + Bob told him it was the biggest mix-up he had ever seen, and Bob had + ridden the range in every State where beef grows wild. He was in the + thickest of the huddle, was Bob, working as if he did not know the meaning + of fatigue. Thurston, watching him thread his way in and out of the + restless, milling herd, only to reappear unexpectedly at the edge with a + steer just before the nose of his horse, rush it out from among the others—wheeling, + darting this way and that, as it tried to dodge back, and always coming + off victor, wondered if he could ever learn to do it. + </p> + <p> + Being in pessimistic mood, he told himself that he would probably always + remain a greenhorn, to be borne with and coached and given boy's work to + do; all because he had been cheated of his legacy of the dim trails and + forced to grow up in a city, hedged about all his life by artificial + conditions, his conscience wedded to convention. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. THE BIG DIVIDE + </h2> + <p> + The long drive was nearly over. Even Thurston's eyes brightened when he + saw, away upon the sky-line, the hills that squatted behind the home ranch + of the Lazy Eight. The past month had been one of rapid living under new + conditions, and at sight of them it seemed only a few days since he had + first glimpsed that broken line of hills and the bachelor household in the + coulee below. + </p> + <p> + As the travel-weary herd swung down the long hill into the valley of the + Milk River, stepping out briskly as they sighted the cool water in the + near distance, the past month dropped away from Thurston, and what had + gone just before came back fresh as the happenings of the morning. There + was the Stevens ranch, a scant half mile away from where the tents already + gleamed on their last camp of the long trail; the smoke from the cook-tent + telling of savory meats and puddings, the bare thought of which made one + hurry his horse. + </p> + <p> + His eyes dwelt longest, however, upon the Stevens house half hidden among + the giant cottonwoods, and he wondered if Mona would still smile at him + with that unpleasant uplift at the corner of her red mouth. He would take + care that she did not get the chance to smile at him in any fashion, he + told himself with decision. + </p> + <p> + He wondered if those train-robbers had been captured, and if the one Park + wounded was still alive. He shivered when he thought of the dead man in + the aisle, and hoped he would never witness another death; involuntarily + he glanced down at his right stirrup, half expecting to see his boot red + with human blood. It was not nice to remember that scene, and he gave his + shoulders an impatient hitch and tried to think of something else. + </p> + <p> + Mindful of his vow, he had bought a gun in Billings, but he had not yet + learned to hit anything he aimed at; for firearms are hushed in roundup + camps, except when dire necessity breeds a law of its own. Range cattle do + not take kindly to the popping of pistols. So Thurston's revolver was yet + unstained with powder grime, and was packed away inside his bed. He was + promising his pride that he would go up on the hill, back of the Lazy + Eight corrals, and shoot until even Mona Stevens must respect his + marksmanship, when Park galloped back to him—“The world has moved + some while we was gone,” he announced in the tone of one who has news to + tell and enjoys thoroughly the telling. “Yuh mind the fellow I laid out in + the hold-up? He got all right again, and they stuck him in jail along with + another one old Lauman, the sheriff, glommed a week ago. Well, they didn't + do a thing last night but knock a deputy in the head, annex his gun, swipe + a Winchester and a box uh shells out uh the office and hit the high + places. Old Lauman is hot on their trail, but he ain't met up with 'em + yet, that anybody's heard. When he does, there'll sure be something doing! + They say the deputy's about all in; they smashed his skull with a big iron + poker.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could handle a gun,” Thurston said between his teeth. “I'd go + after them myself. I wish I'd been left to grow up out here where I + belong. I'm all West but the training—and I never knew it till a + month ago! I ought to ride and rope and shoot with the best of you, and I + can't do a thing. All I know is books. I can criticize an opera and a new + play, and I'm considered something of an authority on clothes, but I can't + shoot.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, go easy,” Park laughed at him. “What if yuh can't do the double-roll? + Riding and shooting and roping's all right—we couldn't very well get + along without them accomplishments. But that's all they are; just + accomplishments. We know a man when we see him, and it don't matter + whether he can ride a bronk straight up, or don't know which way a saddle + sets on a horse. If he's a man he gets as square a deal as we can give + him.” Park reached for his cigarette book. “And as for hunting outlaws,” + he finished, “we've got old Lauman paid to do that. And he's dead onto his + job, you bet; when he goes out after a man he comes pretty near getting + him, m'son. But I sure do wish I'd killed that jasper while I was about + it; it would have saved Lauman a lot uh hard riding.” + </p> + <p> + Thurston could scarcely explain to Park that his desire to hunt + train-robbers was born of a half-defiant wish to vindicate to Mona Stevens + his courage, and so he said nothing at all. He wondered if Park had heard + her whisper, that day, and knew how he had failed to obey her commands; + and if he had heard her call him a coward. He had often wondered that, but + Park had a way of keeping things to himself, and Thurston could never + quite bring himself to open the subject boldly. At any rate, if Park had + heard, he hoped that he understood how it was and did not secretly despise + him for it. Women, he told himself bitterly, are never quite just. + </p> + <p> + After the four o'clock supper he and Bob MacGregor went up the valley to + relieve the men on herd. There was one nice thing about Park as a foreman: + he tried to pair off his crew according to their congeniality. That was + why Thurston usually stood guard with Bob, whom he liked better than any + of the others-always excepting Park himself. + </p> + <p> + “I brought my gun along,” Bob told him apologetically when they were left + to themselves. “It's a habit I've got when I know there's bad men + rampaging around the country. The boys kinda gave me the laugh when they + seen me haul it out uh my war bag, but I just told 'em to go to thunder.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think those—” + </p> + <p> + “Naw. Uh course not. I just pack it on general principles, same as an old + woman packs her umbrella.” + </p> + <p> + “Say, this is dead easy! The bunch is pretty well broke, ain't it? I'm + sure glad to see old Milk River again; this here trailing cattle gets + plumb monotonous.” He got down and settled his back comfortably against a + rock. Below them spread the herd, feeding quietly. “Yes, sir, this is sure + a snap,” he repeated, after he had made himself a smoke. “They's only two + ways a bunch could drift if they wanted to which they don't-up the river, + or down. This hill's a little too steep for 'em to tackle unless they was + crowded hard. Good feed here, too. + </p> + <p> + “Too bad yuh don't smoke, Bud. There's nothing like a good, smooth rock to + your back and a cigarette in your face, on a nice, lazy day like this. + It's the only kind uh day-herding I got any use for.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll take the rock to my back, if you'll just slide along and make room,” + Thurston laughed. “I don't hanker for a cigarette, but I do wish I had my + Kodak.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, t'ell with your Kodak!” Bob snorted. “Can't yuh carry this layout in + your head? I've got a picture gallery in mine that I wouldn't trade for a + farm; I don't need no Kodak in mine, thankye. You just let this here view + soak into your system, Bud, where yuh can't lose it.” + </p> + <p> + Thurston did. Long after he could close his eyes and see it in every + detail; the long, green slope with hundreds of cattle loitering in the + rank grass-growth; the winding sweep of the river and the green, rolling + hills beyond; and Bob leaning against the rock beside him, smoking + luxuriously with half-closed eyes, while their horses dozed with drooping + heads a rein-length away. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Bud,” Bob's voice drawled sleepily, “I wisht you'd sing that + Jerusalem song. I want to learn the words to it; I'm plumb stuck on that + piece. It's different from the general run uh songs, don't yuh think? Most + of 'em's about your old home that yuh left in boyhood's happy days, and go + back to find your girl dead and sleeping in a little church-yard or else + it's your mother; or your girl marries the other man and you get it handed + to yuh right along—and they make a fellow kinda sick to his stomach + when he's got to sing 'em two or three hours at a stretch on night-guard, + just because he's plumb ignorant of anything better. This here Jerusalem + one sounds kinda grand, and—the cattle seems to like it, too, for a + change.” + </p> + <p> + “The composer would feel flattered if he heard that,” Thurston laughed. He + wanted to be left alone to day-dream and watch the clouds trail lazily + across to meet the hills; and there was an embryonic poem forming, phrase + by phrase, in his mind. But he couldn't refuse Bob anything, so he sat a + bit straighter and cleared his throat. He sang well—well enough + indeed to be sought after at informal affairs among his set at home. When + he came to the refrain Bob took his cigarette from between his lips and + held it in his fingers while he joined his voice lustily to Thurston's: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, + Lift up your gates and sing + Hosanna in the high-est. + Hosanna to your King!” + </pre> + <p> + The near cattle lifted their heads to stare stupidly a moment, then moved + a few steps slowly, nosing for the sweetest grass-tufts. The horses + shifted their weight, resting one leg with the hoof barely touching the + earth, twitched their ears at the flies and slept again. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And then me thought my dream was changed, + The streets no longer rang, + Hushed were the glad Hosannas + The little children sang—” + </pre> + <p> + Tamale lifted his head and gazed inquiringly up the hill; but Bob was not + observant of signs just then. He was Striving with his recreant memory for + the words that came after: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The sun grew dark with mystery, + The morn was cold and still, + As the shadow of a cross arose + Upon a lonely hill.” + </pre> + <p> + Tamale stirred restlessly with head uplifted and ears pointed straight + before up the steep bluff. Old Ironsides, Thurston's mount, was not the + sort to worry about anything but his feed, and paid no attention. Bob + turned and glanced the way Tamale was looking; saw nothing, and settled + down again on the small of his back. + </p> + <p> + “He sees a badger or something,” he Said. “Go on, Bud, with the chorus.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, + Lift up your gates and sing.” + </pre> + <p> + “Lift up your hands damn quick!” mimicked a voice just behind. “If yuh + ain't got anything to do but lay in the shade of a rock and yawp, we'll + borrow your cayuses. You ain't needin' 'em, by the looks!” + </p> + <p> + They squirmed around until they could stare into two black gun-barrels—and + then their hands went up; their faces held a particularly foolish + expression that must have been amusing to the men behind the guns. + </p> + <p> + One of the gun-barrels lowered and a hand reached out and quietly took + possession of Tamale's reins; the owner of the hand got calmly into Bob's + saddle. Bob gritted his teeth. It was evident their movements had been + planned minutely in advance, for, once settled to his liking, the fellow + tested the stirrups to make sure they were the right length, and raising + his gun pointed it at the two in a business-like manner that left no doubt + of his meaning. Whereupon the man behind them came forward and + appropriated Old Ironsides to his own use. + </p> + <p> + “Too bad we had to interrupt Sunday-school,” he remarked ironically. “You + can go ahead with the meetin' now—the collection has been took up.” + He laughed without any real mirth in his voice and gathered up the reins. + “If yuh want our horses, they're up on the bench. I don't reckon they'll + ever turn another cow, but such as they are you're quite welcome. Better + set still, boys, till we get out uh sight; one of us'll keep an eye peeled + for yuh. So long, and much obliged.” They turned and rode warily down the + slope. + </p> + <p> + “Now, wouldn't that jar yuh?” asked Bob in deep disgust His hands dropped + to his sides; in another second he was up and shooting savagely. “Get + behind the rock, Bud,” he commanded. + </p> + <p> + Just then a rifle cracked, and Bob toppled drunkenly and went limply to + the grass. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” cried Thurston, and didn't know that he spoke. He snatched up + Bob's revolver and fired shot after shot at the galloping figures. Not one + seemed to do any good; the first shot hit a two-year-old square in the + ribs. After that there were no cattle within rifle range. + </p> + <p> + One of the outlaws stopped, took deliberate aim with the stolen Winchester + and fired, meaning to kill; but he miscalculated the range a bit and + Thurston crumpled down with a bullet in his thigh. The revolver was empty + now and fell smoking at his feet. So he lay and cursed impotently while he + watched the marauders ride out of sight up the valley. + </p> + <p> + When the rank timber-growth hid their flying figures he crawled over to + where Bob lay and tried to lift him. + </p> + <p> + “Art you hurt?” was the idiotic question he asked. + </p> + <p> + Bob opened his eyes and waited a breath, as if to steady his thought. “Did + I get one, Bud?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid not,” Thurston confessed, and immediately after wished that he + had lied and said yes. “Are you hurt?” he repeated senselessly. + </p> + <p> + “Who, me?” Bob's eyes wavered in their directness. “Don't yuh bother none + about me,” evasively. + </p> + <p> + “But you've got to tell me. You—they—” He choked over the + words. + </p> + <p> + “Well—I guess they got me, all right. But don't let that worry yuh; + it don't me.” He tried to speak carelessly and convincingly, but it was a + miserable failure. He did not want to die, did Bob, however much he might + try to hide the fact. + </p> + <p> + Thurston was not in the least imposed upon. He turned away his head, + pretending to look after the outlaws, and set his teeth together tight. He + did not want to act a fool. All at once he grew dizzy and sick, and lay + down heavily till the faintness passed. + </p> + <p> + Bob tried to lift himself to his elbow; failing that, he put out a hand + and laid it on Thurston's shoulder. “Did they—get you—too?” he + queried anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “The damn coyotes!” + </p> + <p> + “It's nothing; just a leg put out of business,” Thurston hurried to assure + him. “Where are you hurt, Bob?” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, I ain't any X-ray,” Bob retorted weakly but gamely. “Somewheres + inside uh me. It went in my side but the Lord knows where it wound up. It + hurts, like the devil.” He lay quiet a minute. “I wish—do yuh feel—like + finishing—that song, Bud?” + </p> + <p> + Thurston gulped down a lump that was making his throat ache. When he + answered, his voice was very gentle: + </p> + <p> + “I'll try a verse, old man.” + </p> + <p> + “The last one—we'd just come to the last. It's most like church. I—I + never went—much on religion, Bud; but when a fellow's—going + out over the Big Divide.” + </p> + <p> + “You're not!” Thurston contradicted fiercely, as if that could make it + different. He thought he could not bear those jerky sentences. + </p> + <p> + “All right—Bud. We won't fight over it. Go ahead. The last verse.” + </p> + <p> + Thurston eased his leg to a better position, drew himself up till his + shoulders rested against the rock and began, with an occasional, odd break + in his voice: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I saw the holy city + Beside the tideless Sea; + The light of God was on its street + The gates were open wide. + And all who would might enter + And no one was denied.” + </pre> + <p> + “Wonder if that there—applies—to bone-headed—cowpunchers,” + Bob muttered drowsily. “'And all—who would—” Thurston glanced + quickly at his face; caught his breath sharply at what he saw there + written, and dropped his head upon his arms. + </p> + <p> + And so Park and his men, hurrying to the sound of the shooting, found them + in the shadow of the rock. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. AT THE STEVENS PLACE + </h2> + <p> + When the excitement of the outrage had been pushed aside by the insistent + routine of everyday living, Thurston found himself thrust from the + fascination of range life and into the monotony of invalidism, and he was + anything but resigned. To be sure, he was well cared for at the Stevens + ranch, where Park and the boys had taken him that day, and Mrs. Stevens + mothered him as he could not remember being mothered before. + </p> + <p> + Hank Graves rode over nearly every day to sit beside the bed and curse the + Wagner gang back to their great-great-grandfathers and down to more than + the third generation yet unborn, and to tell him the news. On the second + visit he started to give him the details of Bob's funeral; but Thurston + would not listen, and told him so plainly. + </p> + <p> + “All right then, Bud, I won't talk about it. But we sure done the right + thing by the boy; had the best preacher in Shellanne out, and flowers till + further notice: a cross uh carnations, and the boys sent up to Minot and + had a spur made uh—oh, well, all right; I'll shut up about it, I + know how yuh feel, Bud; it broke us all up to have him go that way. He + sure was a white boy, if ever there was one, and—ahem!” + </p> + <p> + “I'd give a thousand dollars, hard coin, to get my hands on them Wagners. + It would uh been all off with them, sure, if the boys had run acrost 'em. + I'd uh let 'em stay out and hunt a while longer, only old Lauman'll get + 'em, all right, and we're late as it is with the calf roundup. Lauman'll + run 'em down—and by the Lord! I'll hire Bowman myself and ship him + out from Helena to help prosecute 'em. They're dead men if he takes the + case against 'em, Bud, and I'll get him, sure—and to hell with the + cost of it! They'll swing for what they done to you and Bob, if it takes + every hoof I own.” + </p> + <p> + Thurston told him he hoped they would be caught and—yes, hanged; + though he had never before advocated capital punishment. + </p> + <p> + But when he thought of Bob, the care-naught, whole-souled fellow. + </p> + <p> + He tried not to think of him, for thinking unmanned him. He had the + softest of hearts where his friends were concerned, and there were times + when he felt that he could with relish officiate at the Wagners' + execution. + </p> + <p> + He fought against remembrance of that day; and for sake of diversion he + took to studying a large, pastel portrait of Mona which hung against the + wall opposite his bed. It was rather badly; done, and at first, when he + saw it, he laughed at the thought that even the great, still plains of the + range land cannot protect one against the ubiquitous picture agent. In the + parlor, he supposed there would be crayon pictures of grandmothers and + aunts-further evidence of the agent's glibness. + </p> + <p> + He was glad that it was Mona who smiled down at him instead of a + grand-mother or an aunt. For Mona did smile, and in spite of the cheap + crudity the smile was roguish, with little dimply creases at the corners + of the mouth, and not at all unpleasant. If the girl would only look like + that in real life, he told himself, a fellow would probably get to liking + her. He supposed she thought him a greater coward than ever now, just + because he hadn't got killed. If he had, he would be a hero now, like Bob. + Well, Bob was a hero; the way he had jumped up and begun shooting required + courage of the suicidal sort. He had stood up and shot, also and had + succeeded only in being ridiculous; he hoped nobody had told Mona about + his hitting that steer. When he could walk again he would learn to shoot, + so that the range stock wouldn't suffer from his marksmanship. + </p> + <p> + After a week of seeing only Mrs. Stevens or sympathetic men acquaintances, + he began to wonder why Mona stayed so persistently away. Then one morning + she came in to take his breakfast things out. She did not, however, stay a + second longer than was absolutely necessary, and she was perfectly + composed and said good morning in her most impersonal tone. At least + Thurston hoped she had no tone more impersonal than that. He decided that + she had really beautiful eyes and hair; after she had gone he looked up at + the picture, told himself that it did not begin to do her justice, and + sighed a bit. He was very dull, and even her companionship, he thought, + would be pleasant if only she would come down off her pedestal and be + humanly sociable. + </p> + <p> + When he wrote a story about a fellow being laid up in the same house with + a girl—a girl with big, blue-gray eyes and ripply brown hair—he + would have the girl treat the fellow at least decently. She would read + poetry to him and bring him flowers, and do ever so many nice things that + would make him hate to get well. He decided that he would write just that + kind of story; he would idealize it, of course, and have the fellow in + love with the girl; you have to, in stories. In real life it doesn't + necessarily follow that, because a fellow admires a girl's hair and eyes, + and wants to be on friendly terms, he is in love with her. For example, he + emphatically was not in love with Mona Stevens. He only wanted her to be + decently civil and to stop holding a foolish grudge against him for not + standing up and letting himself be shot full of holes because she + commanded it. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoons, Mrs. Stevens would sit beside him and knit things and + talk to him in a pleasantly garrulous fashion, and he would lie and listen + to her—and to Mona, singing somewhere. Mona sang very well, he + thought; he wondered if she had ever had any training. Also, he wished he + dared ask her not to sing that song about “She's only a bird in a gilded + cage.” It brought back too vividly the nights when he and Bob stood guard + under the quiet stars. + </p> + <p> + And then one day he hobbled out into the dining-room and ate dinner with + the family. Since he sat opposite Mona she was obliged to look at him + occasionally, whether she would or no. Thurston had a strain of obstinacy + in his nature, and when he decided that Mona should not only look at him, + but should talk to him as well, he set himself diligently to attain that + end. He was not the man to sit down supinely and let a girl calmly ignore + him; so Mona presently found herself talking to him with some degree of + cordiality; and what is more to the point, listening to him when he + talked. It is probable that Thurston never had tried so hard in his life + to win a girl's attention. + </p> + <p> + It was while he was still hobbling with a cane and taxing his imagination + daily to invent excuses for remaining, that Lauman, the sheriff, rode up + to the door with a deputy and asked shelter for themselves and the two + Wagners, who glowered sullenly down from their weary horses. When they had + been safely disposed in Thurston's bedroom, with one of the ranch hands + detailed to guard them, Lauman and his man gave themselves up to the joy + of a good meal. Their own cooking, they said, got mighty tame especially + when they hadn't much to cook and dared not have a fire. + </p> + <p> + They had come upon the outlaws by mere accident, and it is hard telling + which was the most surprised. But Lauman was, perhaps, the quickest man + with a gun in Valley County, else he would not have been serving his + fourth term as sheriff. He got the drop and kept it while his deputy did + the rest. It had been a hard chase, he said, and a long one if you counted + time instead of miles. But he had them now, harmless as rattlers with + their fangs fresh drawn. He wanted to get them to Glasgow before people + got to hear of their capture; he thought they wouldn't be any too safe if + the boys knew he had them. + </p> + <p> + If he had known that the Lazy Eight roundup had just pulled in to the home + ranch that afternoon, and that Dick Farney, one of the Stevens men, had + slipped out to the corral and saddled his swiftest horse, it is quite + possible that Lauman would not have lingered so long over his supper, or + drank his third cup of coffee—with real cream in it—with so + great a relish. And if he had known that the Circle Bar boys were camped + just three miles away within hailing distance of the Lazy Eight trail, he + would doubtless have postponed his after-supper smoke. + </p> + <p> + He was sitting, revolver in hand, watching the Wagners give a practical + demonstration of the extent of their appetites, when Thurston limped in + from the porch, his eyes darker than usual. “There are a lot of riders + coming, Mr. Lauman,” he announced quietly. “It sounds like a whole + roundup. I thought you ought to know.” + </p> + <p> + The prisoners went white, and put down knife and fork. If they had never + feared before, plainly they were afraid then. + </p> + <p> + Lauman's face did not in the least change. “Put the hand-cuffs on, + Waller,” he said. “If you've got a room that ain't easy to get at from the + outside, Mrs. Stevens, I guess I'll have to ask yuh for the use of it.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Stevens had lived long in Valley County, and had learned how to meet + emergencies. “Put 'em right down cellar,” she invited briskly. “There's + just the trap-door into it, and the windows ain't big enough for a cat to + go through. Mona, get a candle for Mr. Lauman.” She turned to hurry the + girl, and found Mona at her elbow with a light. + </p> + <p> + “That's the kind uh woman I like to have around,” Lauman chuckled. “Come + on, boys; hustle down there if yuh want to see Glasgow again.” + </p> + <p> + Trembling, all their dare-devil courage sapped from them by the menace of + Thurston's words, they stumbled down the steep stairs, and the darkness + swallowed them. Lauman beckoned to his deputy. + </p> + <p> + “You go with 'em, Waller,” he ordered. “If anybody but me offers to lift + this trap, shoot. Don't yuh take any chances. Blow out that candle soon as + you're located.” + </p> + <p> + It was then that fifty riders clattered into the yard and up to the front + door, grouping in a way that left no exit unseen. Thurston, standing in + the doorway, knew them almost to a man. Lazy Eight boys, they were; men + who night after night had spread their blankets under the tent-roof with + him and with Bob MacGregor; Bob, who lay silently out on the hill back of + the home ranch-house, waiting for the last, great round-up. They glanced + at him in mute greeting and dismounted without a word. With them mingled + the Circle Bar boys, as silent and grim as their fellows. Lauman came up + and peered into the dusk; Thurston observed that he carried his Winchester + unobtrusively in one hand. + </p> + <p> + “Why, hello, boys,” he greeted cheerfully. But for the rifle you never + would have guessed he knew their errand. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Lauman,” answered Park, matching him for cheerfulness. Then: + </p> + <p> + “We rode over to hang them Wagners.” Lauman grinned. “I hate to disappoint + yuh, Park, but I've kinda set my heart on doing that little job myself. + I'm the one that caught 'em, and if you'd followed my trail the last month + you'd say I earned the privilege.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe so,” Park admitted pleasantly, “but we've got a little personal + matter to settle up with those jaspers. Bob MacGregor was one of us, yuh + remember.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll hang 'em just as dead as you can,” Lauman argued. + </p> + <p> + “But yuh won't do it so quick,” Park lashed back. “They're spoiling the + air every breath they draw. We want 'em, and I guess that pretty near + settles it.” + </p> + <p> + “Not by a damn sight it don't! I've never had a man took away from me yet, + boys, and I've been your sheriff a good many years. You hike right back to + camp; yuh can't have 'em.” + </p> + <p> + Thurston could scarcely realize the deadliness of their purpose. He knew + them for kind-hearted, laughter-loving young fellows, who would give their + last dollar to a friend. He could not believe that they would resort to + violence now. Besides, this was not his idea of a mob; he had fancied they + would howl threats and wave bludgeons, as they did in stories. Mobs always + “howled and seethed with passion” at one's doors; they did not stand about + and talk quietly as though the subject was trivial and did not greatly + concern them. + </p> + <p> + But the men were pressing closer, and their very calmness, had he known + it, was ominous. Lauman shifted his rifle ready for instant aim. + </p> + <p> + “Boys, look here,” he began more gravely, “I can't say I blame yuh, + looking at it from your view-point. If you'd caught these men when yuh was + out hunting 'em, you could uh strung 'em up—and I'd likely uh had + business somewhere else about that time. But yuh didn't catch 'em; yuh + give up the chase and left 'em to me. And yuh got to remember that I'm the + one that brought 'em in. They're in my care. I'm sworn to protect 'em and + turn 'em over to the law—and it ain't a question uh whether they + deserve it or not. That's what I'm paid for, and I expect to go right + ahead according to orders and hang 'em by law. You can't have 'em—unless + yuh lay me out first, and I don't reckon any of yuh would go that far.” + </p> + <p> + “There's never been a man hung by law in this county yet,” a voice cried + angrily and impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “That ain't saying there never will be,” Lauman flung back. “Don't yuh + worry, they'll get all that's coming to them, all right.” + </p> + <p> + “How about the time yuh had 'em in your rotten old jail, and let 'em get + out and run loose around the country, killing off white men?” drawled + another-a Circle-Bar man. + </p> + <p> + “Now boys.” + </p> + <p> + A hand—the hand of him who had stood guard over the Wagners in the + bedroom during supper—reached out through the doorway and caught his + rifle arm. Taken unawares from behind, he whirled and then went down under + the weight of men used to “wrassling” calves. Even old Lauman was no match + for them, and presently he found himself stretched upon the porch with + three Lazy Eight boys sitting on his person; which, being inclined to + portliness, he found very uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + Moved by an impulse he had no name for, Thurston snatched the sheriff's + revolver from its scabbard. As the heap squirmed pantingly upon the porch + he stepped into the doorway to avoid being tripped, which was the wisest + move he could have made, for it put him in the shadow—and there were + men of the Circle Bar whose trigger-finger would not have hesitated, just + then, had he been in plain sight and had they known his purpose. + </p> + <p> + “Just hold on there, boys,” he called, and they could see the glimmer of + the gun-barrel. Those of the Lazy Eight laughed at him. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, put it down, Bud,” Park admonished. “That's too dangerous a toy for + you to be playing with—and yuh know damn well yuh can't hit + anything.” + </p> + <p> + “I killed a steer once,” Thurston reminded him meekly, whereat the laugh + hushed; for they remembered. + </p> + <p> + “I know I can't shoot straight,” he went on frankly, “but you're taking + that much the greater chance. If I have to, I'll cut loose—and + there's no telling where the bullets may strike.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” Park admitted. “Stand still, boys; he's more dangerous + than a gun that isn't loaded. What d'yuh want, m'son?” + </p> + <p> + “I want to talk to you for about five minutes. I've got a game leg, so + that I can neither run nor fight, but I hope you'll listen to me. The + Wagners can't get away—they're locked up, with a deputy standing + over them with a gun; and on top of that they're handcuffed. They're as + helpless, boys, as two trapped coyotes.” He looked down over the crowd, + which shifted uneasily; no one spoke. + </p> + <p> + “That's what struck me most,” he continued. “You know what I thought of + Bob, don't you? And I didn't thank them for boring a hole in my leg; it + wasn't any kindness of theirs that it didn't land higher—they + weren't shooting at me for fun. And I'd have killed them both with a clear + conscience, if I could. I tried hard enough. But it was different then; + out in the open, where a man had an even break. I don't believe if I had + shot as straight as I wanted to that I'd ever have felt a moment's + compunction. But now, when they're disarmed and shackled and altogether + helpless, I couldn't walk up to them deliberately and kill them could you? + </p> + <p> + “It could be done, and done easily. You have Lauman where he can't do + anything, and I'm not of much account in a fight; so you've really only + one deputy sheriff and two women to get the best of. You could drag these + men out and hang them in the cottonwoods, and they couldn't raise a hand + to defend themselves. We could do it easily—but when it was done and + the excitement had passed I'd have a picture in my memory that I'd hate to + look at. I'd have an hour in my life that would haunt me. And so would + you. You'd hate to look back and think that one time you helped kill a + couple of men who couldn't fight back. + </p> + <p> + “Let the law do it, boys. You don't want them to live, and I don't; nobody + does, for they deserve to die. But it isn't for us to play judge and jury + and hangman here to-night. Let them get what's coming to them at the hands + of the officers you've elected for that purpose. They won't get off. Hank + Graves says they will hang if it takes every hoof he owns. He said he + would bring Bowman down here to help prosecute them. I don't know Bowman—” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” a voice spoke, somewhere in the darkness. “Lawyer from Helena. + Never lost a case.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad to hear it, for he's the man that will prosecute. They haven't a + ghost of a show to get out of it. Lauman here is responsible for their + safe keeping and I guess, now that he knows them better, we needn't be + afraid they'll escape again. And it's as Lauman said; he'll hang them + quite as dead as you can. He's drawing a salary to do these things, make + him earn it. It's a nasty job, boys, and you wouldn't get anything out of + it but a nasty memory.” + </p> + <p> + A hand that did not feel like the hand of a man rested for an instant on + his arm. Mona brushed by him and stepped out where the rising moon shone + on her hair and into her big, blue-gray eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you all would please go away,” she said. “You are making mamma + sick. She's got it in her head that you are going to do something awful, + and I can't convince her you're not. I told her you wouldn't do anything + so sneaking, but she's awfully nervous about it. Won't you please go, + right now?” + </p> + <p> + They looked sheepishly at one another; every man of them feared the + ridicule of his neighbor. + </p> + <p> + “Why, sure we'll go,” cried Park, rallying. “We were going anyway in a + minute. Tell your mother we were just congratulating Lauman on rounding up + these Wagners. Come on, boys. And you, Bud, hurry up and get well again; + we miss yuh round the Lazy Eight.” + </p> + <p> + The three who were sitting on Lauman got up, and he gave a sigh of relief. + “Say, yuh darned cowpunchers don't have no mercy on an old man's carcass + at all,” he groaned, in exaggerated self-pity. “Next time yuh want to + congratulate me, I wish you'd put it in writing and send it by mail.” + </p> + <p> + A little ripple of laughter went through the crowd. Then they swung up on + their horses and galloped away in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. A QUESTION OF NERVE + </h2> + <p> + “That was your victory, Miss Stevens. Allow me to congratulate you.” If + Thurston showed any ill grace in his tone it was without intent. But it + did seem unfortunate that just as he was waxing eloquent and felt sure of + himself and something of a hero, Mona should push him aside as though he + were of no account and disperse a bunch of angry cowboys with half a dozen + words. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him with her direct, blue-gray eyes, and smiled. And her + smile had no unpleasant uplift at the corners; it was the dimply, roguish + smile of the pastel portrait only several times nicer. Re could hardly + believe it; he just opened his eyes wide and stared. When he came to a + sense of his rudeness, Mona was back in the kitchen helping with the + supper dishes, just as though nothing had happened—unless one + observed the deep, apple-red of her cheeks—while her mother, who + showed not the faintest symptoms of collapse, flourished a dish towel made + of a bleached flour sack with the stamp showing a faint pink and blue XXXX + across the center. + </p> + <p> + “I knew all the time they wouldn't do anything when it came right to the + point,” she declared. “Bless their hearts, they thought they would—but + they're too soft-hearted, even when they are mad. If yuh go at 'em right + yuh can talk 'em over easy. It done me good to hear yuh talk right up to + 'em, Bud.” Mrs. Stevens had called hi Bud from the first time she laid + eyes on him. “That's all under the sun they needed—just somebody to + set 'em thinking about the other side. You're a real good speaker; seems + to me you ought to study to be a preacher.” + </p> + <p> + Thurston's face turned red. But presently he forgot everything in his + amazement, for Mona the dignified, Mona of the scornful eyes and the + chilly smile, actually giggled—giggled like any ordinary girl, and + shot him a glance that had in it pure mirth and roguish teasing, and a + dash of coquetry. He sat down and giggled with her, feeling idiotically + happy and for no reason under the sun that he could name. + </p> + <p> + He had promised his conscience that he would go home to the Lazy Eight in + the morning, but he didn't; he somehow contrived, overnight, to invent a + brand new excuse for his conscience to swallow or not, as it liked. Hank + Graves had the same privilege; as for the Stevens trio, he blessed their + hospitable souls for not wanting any excuse whatever for his staying. They + were frankly glad to have him there; at least Mrs. Stevens and Jack were. + As for Mona, he was not so sure, but he hoped she didn't mind. + </p> + <p> + This was the reason inspired by his great desire: he was going to write a + story, and Mona was unconsciously to furnish the material for his heroine, + and so, of course, he needed to be there so that he might study his + subject. That sounded very well, to himself, but to Hank Graves, for some + reason, it seemed very funny. When Thurston told him, Hank was taken with + a fit of strangling that turned his face a dark purple. Afterward he + explained brokenly that something had got down his Sunday throat—and + Thurston, who had never heard of a man's Sunday throat, eyed him with + suspicion. Hank blinked at him with tears still in his quizzical eyes and + slapped him on the back, after the way of the West—and any other + enlightened country where men are not too dignified to be their real + selves—and drawled, in a way peculiar to himself: + </p> + <p> + “That's all right, Bud. You stay right here as long as yuh want to. I + don't blame yuh—if I was you I'd want to spend a lot uh time + studying this particular brand uh female girl myself. She's out uh sight, + Bud—and I don't believe any uh the boys has got his loop on her so + far; though I could name a dozen or so that would be tickled to death if + they had. You just go right ahead and file your little, old claim—” + </p> + <p> + “You're getting things mixed,” Thurston interrupted, rather testily. “I'm + not in love with her. I, well, it's like this: if you were going to paint + a picture of those mountains off there, you'd want to be where you could + look at them—wouldn't you? You wouldn't necessarily want to—to + own them, just because you felt they'd make a fine picture. Your interest + would be, er, entirely impersonal.” + </p> + <p> + “Uh-huh,” Hank agreed, his keen eyes searching Phil's face amusedly. + </p> + <p> + “Therefore, it doesn't follow that I'm getting foolish about a girl just + because I—hang it! what the Dickens makes you look at a fellow that + way? You make me?” + </p> + <p> + “Uh-huh,” said Hank again, smoothing the lower half of his face with one + hand. “You're a mighty nice little boy, Bud. I'll bet Mona thinks so, too + and when yuh get growed up you'll know a whole lot more than yuh do right + now. Well, I guess I'll be moving. When yuh get that—er—story + done, you'll come back to the ranch, I reckon. Be good.” + </p> + <p> + Thurston watched him ride away, and then flounced, oh, men do flounce at + times, in spirit, if not in deed; and there would be no lack of the deed + if only they wore skirts that could rustle indignantly in sympathy with + the wearer—to his room. Plainly, Hank did not swallow the excuse any + more readily than did his conscience. + </p> + <p> + To prove the sincerity of his assertion to himself, his conscience, and to + Hank Graves, he straightway got out a thick pad of paper and sharpened + three lead pencils to an exceeding fine point. Then he sat him down by the + window—where he could see the kitchen door, which was the one most + used by the family—and nibbled the tip off one of the pencils like + any school-girl. For ten minutes he bluffed himself into believing that he + was trying to think of a title; the plain truth is, he was wondering if + Mona would go for a ride that afternoon and if so, might he venture to + suggest going with her. + </p> + <p> + He thought of the crimply waves in Mona's hair, and pondered what + adjectives would best describe it without seeming commonplace. “Rippling” + was too old, though it did seem to hit the case all right. He laid down + the pad and nearly stood on his head trying to reach his Dictionary of + Synonyms and Antonyms without getting out of his chair. While he was + clawing after it—it lay on the floor, where he had thrown it that + morning because it refused to divulge some information he wanted—he + heard some one open and close the kitchen door, and came near kinking his + neck trying to get up in time to see who it was. He failed to see anyone, + and returned to the dictionary. + </p> + <p> + “'Ripple—to have waves—like running water.'” (That was just + the way her hair looked, especially over the temples and at the nape of + her neck—Jove, what a tempting white neck it was!) “Um-m. 'Ripple; + wave; undulate; uneven; irregular.'” (Lord, what fools are the men who + write dictionaries!) “'Antonym—hang the antonyms!” + </p> + <p> + The kitchen door slammed. He craned again. It was Jack—going to town + most likely. Thurston shrewdly guessed that Mrs. Stevens leaned far more + upon Mona than she did upon Jack, although he could hardly accuse her of + leaning on anyone. But he observed that the men looked to her for orders. + </p> + <p> + He perceived that the point was gone from his pencil, and proceeded to + sharpen it. Then he heard Mona singing in the kitchen, and recollected + that Mrs. Stevens had promised him warm doughnuts for supper. Perhaps Mona + was frying them at that identical moment—and he had never seen + anyone frying doughnuts. He caught up his cane and limped out to + investigate. That is how much his heart just then was set upon writing a + story that would breathe of the plains. + </p> + <p> + One great hindrance to the progress of his story was the difficulty he had + in selecting a hero for his heroine. Hank Graves suggested that he use + Park, and even went so far as to supply Thurston with considerable data + which went to prove that Park would not be averse to figuring in a love + story with Mona. But Thurston was not what one might call enthusiastic, + and Hank laughed his deep, inner laugh when he was well away from the + house. + </p> + <p> + Thurston, on the contrary, glowered at the world for two hours after. Park + was a fine fellow, and Thurston liked him about as well as any man he knew + in the West, but—And thus it went. On each and every visit to the + Stevens ranch—and they were many—Hank, learning by direct + inquiry that the story still suffered for lack of a hero, suggested some + fellow whom he had at one time and another caught “shining” around Mona. + And with each suggestion Thurston would draw down his eyebrows till he + came near getting a permanent frown. + </p> + <p> + A love story without a hero, while it would no doubt be original and all + that, would hardly appeal to an editor. Phil tried heroes wholly + imaginary, but he had a trick of making his characters seem very real to + himself and sometimes to other people as well. So that, after a few + passages of more or less ardent love-making, he would in a sense grow + jealous and spoil the story by annihilating the hero thereof. + </p> + <p> + Heaven only knows how long the thing would have gone on if he hadn't, one + temptingly beautiful evening, reverted to the day of the hold-up and + apologized for not obeying her command. He explained as well as he could + just why he sat petrified with his hands in the air. + </p> + <p> + And then having brought the thing freshly to her mind, he somehow lost + control of his wits and told her he loved her. He told her a good deal in + the next two minutes that he might better have kept to himself just then. + But a man generally makes a glorious fool of himself once or twice in his + life and it seems the more sensible the man the more thorough a job he + makes of it. + </p> + <p> + Mona moved a little farther away from him, and when she answered she did + not choose her words. “Of all things,” she said, evenly, “I admire a brave + man and despise a coward. You were chicken-hearted that day, and you know + it; you've just admitted it. Why, in another minute I'd have had that gun + myself, and I'd have shown you—but Park got it before I really had a + chance. I hated to seem spectacular, but it served you right. If you'd had + any nerve I wouldn't have had to sit there and tell you what to do. If + ever I marry anybody, Mr. Thurston, it will be a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Which means, I suppose, that I'm not one?” he asked angrily. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know yet.” Mona smiled her unpleasant smile—the one that + did not belong in the story he was going to write. “You're new to the + country, you see. Maybe you've got nerve; you haven't shown much, so far + as I know—except when you talked to the boys that night. But you + must have known that they wouldn't hurt you anyway. A man must have a + little courage as much as I have; which isn't asking much—or I'd + never marry him in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Not even if you—liked him?” his smile was wistful. + </p> + <p> + “Not even if I loved him!” Mona declared, and fled into the house. + </p> + <p> + Thurston gathered himself together and went down to the stable and + borrowed a horse of Jack, who had just got back from town, and rode home + to the Lazy Eight. + </p> + <p> + When Hank heard that he was home to stay—at least until he could + join the roundup again—he didn't say a word for full five minutes. + Then, “Got your story done?” he drawled, and his eyes twinkled. + </p> + <p> + Thurston was going up the stairs to his old room, and Hank could not swear + positively to the reply he got. But he thought it sounded like, “Oh, damn + the story!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. THE DRIFT OF THE HERDS + </h2> + <p> + Weeks slipped by, and to Thurston they seemed but days. His + world-weariness and cynicism disappeared the first time he met Mona after + he had left there so unceremoniously; for Mona, not being aware of his + cynicism, received him on the old, friendly footing, and seemed to have + quite forgotten that she had ever called him a coward, or refused to marry + him. So Thurston forgot it also—so long as he was with her. + </p> + <p> + How he filled in the hours he could scarcely have told; certain it is that + he accomplished nothing at all so far as Western stories were concerned. + Reeve-Howard wrote in slightly shocked phrases to ask what was keeping him + so long; and assured him that he was missing much by staying away. + Thurston mentally agreed with him long enough to begin packing his trunk; + it was idiotic to keep staying on when he was clearly receiving no benefit + thereby. When, however, he picked up a book which he had told Mona he + would take over to her the next time he went, he stopped and considered: + </p> + <p> + There was the Wagner trial coming off in a month or so; he couldn't get + out of attending it, for he had been subpoenaed as a witness for the + prosecution. And there was the beef roundup going to start before long—he + really ought to stay and take that in; there would be some fine chances + for pictures. And really he didn't care so much for the Barry Wilson bunch + and the long list of festivities which trailed ever in its wake; at any + rate, they weren't worth rushing two-thirds across the continent for. + </p> + <p> + He sat down and wrote at length to Reeve-Howard, explaining very carefully—and + not altogether convincingly—just why he could not possibly go home + at present. After that he saddled and rode over to the Stevens place with + the book, leaving his trunk yawning emptily in the middle of his badly + jumbled belongings. + </p> + <p> + After that he spent three weeks on the beef roundup. At first he was full + of enthusiasm, and worked quite as if he had need of the wages, but after + two or three big drives the novelty wore off quite suddenly, and nothing + then remained but a lot of hard work. For instance, standing guard on + long, rainy nights when the cattle walked and walked might at first seem + picturesque and all that, but must at length, cease to be amusing. + </p> + <p> + Likewise the long hours which he spent on day-herd, when the wind was raw + and penetrating and like to blow him out of the saddle; also standing at + the stockyard chutes and forcing an unwilling stream of rollicky, + wild-eyed steers up into the cars that would carry them to Chicago. + </p> + <p> + After three weeks of it he awoke one particularly nasty morning and + thanked the Lord he was not obliged to earn his bread at all, to say + nothing of earning it in so distressful a fashion. There was a lull in the + shipping because cars were not then available. He promptly took advantage + of it and rode by the very shortest trail to the ranch—and Mona. But + Mona was visiting friends in Chinook, and there was no telling when she + would return. Thurston, in the next few days, owned to himself that there + was no good reason for his tarrying longer in the big, un-peopled West, + and that the proper thing for him to do was go back home to New York. + </p> + <p> + He had come to stay a month, and he had stayed five. He could ride and + rope like an old-timer, and he was well qualified to put up a stiff + gun-fight had the necessity ever arisen—which it had not. + </p> + <p> + He had three hundred and seventy-one pictures of different phases of range + life, not counting as many that were over-exposed or under-exposed or out + of focus. He had six unfinished stories, in each of which the heroine had + big, blue-gray eyes and crimply hair, and the title and bare skeleton of a + seventh, in which the same sort of eyes and hair would probably develop + later. He had proposed to Mona three times, and had been three times + rebuffed—though not, it must be owned, with that tone of finality + which precludes hope. + </p> + <p> + He was tanned a fine brown, which became him well. His eyes had lost the + dreamy, introspective look of the student and author, and had grown keen + with the habit of studying objects at long range. He walked with that + peculiar, stiff-legged gait which betrays long hours spent in the saddle, + and he wore a silk handkerchief around his neck habitually and had + forgotten the feel of a dress-suit. + </p> + <p> + He answered to the name “Bud” more readily than to his own, and he made + practical use of the slang and colloquialisms of the plains without any + mental quotation marks. + </p> + <p> + By all these signs and tokens he had learned his West, and should have + taken himself back to civilization when came the frost. He had come to get + into touch with his chosen field of fiction, that he might write as one + knowing whereof he spoke. So far as he had gone, he was in touch with it; + he was steeped to the eyes in local color—and there was the rub The + lure of it was strong upon him, and he might not loosen its hold. He was + the son of his father; he had found himself, and knew that, like him, he + loved best to travel the dim trails. + </p> + <p> + Gene Wasson came in and slammed the door emphatically shut after him. + “She's sure coming,” he complained, while he pulled the icicles from his + mustache and cast them into the fire. “She's going to be a real, old + howler by the signs. What yuh doing, Bud? Writing poetry?” + </p> + <p> + Thurston nodded assent with certain mental reservations; so far the + editors couldn't seem to make up their minds that it was poetry. + </p> + <p> + “Well, say, I wish you'd slap in a lot uh things about hazy, lazy, daisy + days in the spring—that jingles fine!—and green grass and the + sun shining and making the hills all goldy yellow, and prairie dogs + chip-chip-chipping on the 'dobe flats. (Prairie dogs would go all right in + poetry, wouldn't they? They're sassy little cusses, and I don't know of + anything that would rhyme with 'em, but maybe you do.) And read it all out + to me after supper. Maybe it'll make me kinda forget there's a blizzard + on.” + </p> + <p> + “Another one?” Thurston got up to scratch a trench in the half-inch layer + of frost on the cabin window. “Why, it only cleared up this morning after + three days of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't help that. This is just another chapter uh that same story. When + these here Klondike Chinooks gets to lapping over each other they never + know when to quit. Every darn one has got to be continued tacked onto the + tail of it the winter. All the difference is, you can't read the writing; + but I can.” + </p> + <p> + “I've got some mail for yuh, Bud. And old Hank wanted me to ask yuh if + you'd like to go to Glasgow next Thursday and watch old Lauman start the + Wagner boys for wherever's hot enough. He can get yuh in, you being in the + writing business. He says to tell yuh it's a good chance to take notes, so + yuh can write a real stylish story, with lots uh murder and sudden death + in it. We don't hang folks out here very often, and yuh might have to go + back East after pointers, if yuh pass this up.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, go easy. It turns me sick when I think about it; how they looked when + they got their sentence, and all that. I certainly don't care to see them + hanged, though they do deserve it. Where are the letters?” Thurston + sprawled across the table for them. One was from Reeve-Howard; he put it + by. Another had a printed address in the corner—an address that + started his pulse a beat or two faster; for he had not yet reached that + blase stage where he could receive a personal letter from one of the + “Eight Leading” without the flicker of an eye-lash. He still gloated over + his successes, and was cast into the deeps by his failures. + </p> + <p> + He held the envelope to the light, shook it tentatively, like any woman, + guessed hastily and hopefully at the contents, and tore off an end + impatiently. From the great fireplace Gene watched him curiously and half + enviously. He wished he could get important-looking letters from New York + every few days. It must make a fellow feel that he amounted to something. + </p> + <p> + “Gene, you remember that story I read to you one night—that yarn + about the fellow that lived alone in the hills, and how the wolves used to + come and sit on the ridge and howl o' nights—you know, the one you + said was 'out uh sight'? They took it, all right, and—here, what do + you think of that?” He tossed the letter over to Gene, who caught it just + as it was about to be swept into the flame with the draught in Thurston, + in the days which he spent one of the half-dozen Lazy Eight line-camps + with Gene, down by the river, had been writing of the West—writing + in fear and trembling, for now he knew how great was his subject and his + ignorance of it. In the long evenings, while the fire crackled and the + flames played a game they had invented, a game where they tried which + could leap highest up the great chimney; while the north wind whoo-ooed + around the eaves and fine, frozen snow meal swished against the one little + window; while shivering, drifting range cattle tramped restlessly through + the sparse willow-growth seeking comfort where was naught but cold and + snow and bitter, driving wind; while the gray wolves hunted in packs and + had not long to wait for their supper, Thurston had written better than he + knew. He had sent the cold of the blizzards and the howl of the wolves; he + had sent bits of the wind-swept plains back to New York in long, white + envelopes. And the editors were beginning to watch for his white envelopes + and to seize them eagerly when they came, greedy for what was within. Not + every day can they look upon a few typewritten pages and see the + range-land spread, now frowning, now smiling, before them. + </p> + <p> + “Gee! they say here they want a lot the same brand, and at any old price + yuh might name. I wouldn't mind writing stories myself.” Gene kicked a log + back into the flame where it would do the most good. His big, + square-shouldered figure stood out sharply against the glow. + </p> + <p> + Thurston, watching him meditatively, wanted to tell him that he was the + sort of whom good stories are made. But for men like Gene—strong, + purposeful, brave, the West would lose half its charm. He was like Bob in + many ways, and for that Thurston liked him and, stayed with him in the + line-camp when he might have been taking his ease at the home ranch. + </p> + <p> + It was wild and lonely down there between the bare hills and the frozen + river, but the wildness and the loneliness appealed to him. It was + primitive and at times uncomfortable. He slept in a bunk built against the + wall, with hard boards under him and a sod roof over his head. There were + times when the wind blew its fiercest and rattled dirt down into his face + unless he covered it with a blanket. And every other day he had to wash + the dishes and cook, and when it was Gene's turn to cook, Thurston chopped + great armloads of wood for the fireplace to eat o' nights. Also he must + fare forth, wrapped to the eyes, and help Gene drive back the cattle which + drifted into the river bottom, lest they cross the river on the ice and + range where they should not. + </p> + <p> + But in the evenings he could sit in the fire-glow and listen to the wind + and to the coyotes and the gray wolves, and weave stories that even the + most hyper-critical of editors could not fail to find convincing. By day + he could push the coffee-box that held his typewriter over by the frosted + window—when he had an hour or two to spare—and whang away at a + rate which filled Gene with wonder. Sometimes he rode over to the home + ranch for a day or two, but Mona was away studying music, so he found no + inducement to remain, and drifted back to the little, sod-roofed cabin by + the river, and to Gene. + </p> + <p> + The winter settled down with bared teeth like a bull-dog, and never a + chinook came to temper the cold and give respite to man or beast. + Blizzards that held them, in fear of their lives, close to shelter for + days, came down from the north; and with them came the drifting herds. By + hundreds they came, hurrying miserably before the storms. When the wind + lashed them without mercy even in the bottom-land, they pushed reluctantly + out upon the snow-covered ice of the Missouri. Then Gene and Thurston + watching from their cabin window would ride out and turn them pitilessly + back into the teeth of the storm. + </p> + <p> + They came by hundreds—thin, gaunt from cold and hunger. They came by + thousands, lowing their misery as they wandered aimlessly, seeking that + which none might find: food and shelter and warmth for their chilled + bodies. When the Canada herds pushed down upon them the boys gave over + trying to keep them north of the river; while they turned one bunch a + dozen others were straggling out from shore, the timid following single + file behind a leader more venturesome or more desperate than his fellows. + </p> + <p> + So the march went on and on: big, Southern-bred steer grappling the + problem of his first Northern winter; thin-flanked cow with shivering, + rough-coated calf trailing at her heels; humpbacked yearling with little + nubs of horns telling that he was lately in his calfhood; red cattle, + spotted cattle, white cattle, black cattle; white-faced Herefords, + Short-horns, scrubs; Texas longhorns—of the sort invariably pictured + in stampedes—still they came drifting out of the cold wilderness and + on into wilderness as cold. + </p> + <p> + Through the shifting wall of the worst blizzard that season Thurston + watched the weary, fruitless, endless march of the range. “Where do they + all come from?” he exclaimed once when the snow-veil lifted and showed the + river black with cattle. + </p> + <p> + “Lord! I dunno,” Gene answered, shrugging his shoulders against the pity + of it. “I seen some brands yesterday that I know belongs up in the Cypress + Hills country. If things don't loosen up pretty soon, the whole darned + range will be swept clean uh stock as far north as cattle run. I'm looking + for reindeer next.” + </p> + <p> + “Something ought to be done,” Thurston declared uneasily, turning away + from the sight. “I've had the bellowing of starving cattle in my ears day + and night for nearly a month. The thing's getting on my nerves.” + </p> + <p> + “It's getting on the nerves uh them that own 'em a heap worse,” Gene told + him grimly, and piled more wood on the fire; for the cold bit through even + the thick walls of the cabin when the flames in the fireplace died, and + the door hinges were crusted deep with ice. “There's going to be the + biggest loss this range has ever known.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the owners' fault,” snapped Thurston, whose nerves were in that + irritable state which calls loudly for a vent of some sort. Even argument + with Gene, fruitless though it perforce must be, would be a relief. “It's + their own fault. I don't pity them any—why don't they take care of + their stock? If I owned cattle, do you think I'd sit in the house and + watch them starve through the winter?” + </p> + <p> + “What if yuh owned more than yuh could feed? It'd be a case uh have-to + then. There's fifty thousand Lazy Eight cattle walking the range somewhere + today. How the dickens is old Hank going to feed them fifty thousand? or + five thousand? It takes every spear uh hay he's got to feed his calves.” + </p> + <p> + “He could buy hay,” Thurston persisted. + </p> + <p> + “Buy hay for fifty thousand cattle? Where would he get it? Say, Bud, I + guess yuh don't realize that's some cattle. All ails you is, yuh don't + savvy the size uh the thing. I'll bet yuh there won't be less than three + hundred thousand head cross this river before spring.” + </p> + <p> + “Some of them belong in Canada—you said so yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it, but look at all the country south of us: all the other cow + States. Why, Bud, when yuh talk about feeding every critter that runs the + range, you're plumb foolish.” + </p> + <p> + “Anyway, it's a damnable pity!” Thurston asserted petulantly. + </p> + <p> + “Sure it is. The grass is there, but it's under fourteen inches uh snow + right now, and more coming; they say it's twelve feet deep up in the + mountains. You'll see some great old times in the spring, Bud, if yuh + stay. You will, won't yuh?” + </p> + <p> + Thurston laughed shortly. “I suppose it's safe to say I will,” he + answered. “I ought to have gone last fall, but I didn't. It will probably + be the same thing over again; I ought to go in the spring, but I won't.” + </p> + <p> + “You bet you won't. Talk about big roundups! what yuh seen last spring + wasn't a commencement. Every hoof that crosses this river and lives till + spring will have to be rounded up and brought back again. They'll be + scattered clean down to the Yellowstone, and every Northern outfit has got + to go down and help work the range from there back. I tell yuh, Bud, yuh + want to lay in a car-load uh films and throw away all them little, + jerk-water snap-shots yuh got. There's going to be roundups like these old + Panhandle rannies tell about, when the green grass comes.” Gene, thinking + blissfully of the tented life, sprawled his long legs toward the snapping + blaze and crooned dreamily, while without the blizzard raged more + fiercely, a verse from an old camp song: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Out on the roundup, boys, I tell yuh what yuh get + Little chunk uh bread and a little chunk uh meat; + Little black coffee, boys, chuck full uh alkali, + Dust in your throat, boys, and gravel in your eye! + So polish up your saddles, oil your slickers and your guns, + For we're bound for Lonesome Prairie when the green grass comes.” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. THE CHINOOK + </h2> + <p> + One night in late March a sullen, faraway roar awakened Thurston in his + bunk. He turned over and listened, wondering what on earth was the matter. + More than anything it sounded like a hurrying freight train only the + railroad lay many miles to the north, and trains do not run at large over + the prairie. Gene snored peacefully an arm's length away. Outside the snow + lay deep on the levels, while in the hollows were great, white drifts that + at bedtime had glittered frostily in the moonlight. On the hill-tops the + gray wolves howled across coulees to their neighbors, and slinking coyotes + yapped foolishly at the moon. + </p> + <p> + Thurston drew the blanket up over his ears, for the fire had died to a + heap of whitening embers and the cold of the cabin made the nose of him + tingle. The roar grew louder and nearer-then the cabin shivered and + creaked in the suddenness of the blast that struck it. A clod of dirt + plumbed down upon his shoulder, bringing with it a shower of finer + particles. “Another blizzard!” he groaned, “and the worst we've had yet, + by the sound.” + </p> + <p> + The wind shrieked down the chimney and sought the places where the + chinking was loose. It howled up the coulees, putting the wolves + themselves to shame. Gene flopped over like a newly landed fish, grunted + some unintelligible words and slept again. + </p> + <p> + For an hour Thurston lay and listened to the blast and selfishly thanked + heaven it was his turn at the cooking. If the storm kept up like that, he + told himself, he was glad he did not have to chop the wood. He lifted the + blanket and sniffed tentatively, then cuddled back into cover swearing + that a thermometer would register zero at that very moment on his pillow. + </p> + <p> + The storm came in gusts as the worst blizzards do at times. It made him + think of the nursery story about the fifth little pig who built a cabin of + rocks, and how the wolf threatened: “I'll huff and I'll puff, and I'll + blow your house down!” It was as if he himself were the fifth little pig, + and as if the wind were the wolf. The wolf-wind would stop for whole + minutes, gather his great lungs full of air and then without warning would + “huff and puff” his hardest. But though the cabin was not built of rocks, + it was nevertheless a staunch little shelter and sturdily withstood the + shocks. + </p> + <p> + He pitied the poor cattle still fighting famine and frost as only + range-bred stock can fight. He pictured them drifting miserably before the + fury of the wind or crowding for shelter under some friendly cutback, + their tails to the storm, waiting stolidly for the dawn that would bring + no relief. Then, with the roar and rattle in his ears, he fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + In that particular line-camp on the Missouri the cook's duties began with + building a fire in the morning. Thurston waked reluctantly, shivered in + anticipation under the blankets, gathered together his fortitude and crept + out of his bunk. While he was dressing his teeth chattered like castanets + in a minstrel show. He lighted the fire hurriedly and stood backed close + before it, listening to the rage of the wind. He was growing very tired of + the monotony of winter; he could no longer see any beauty in the + high-turreted, snow-clad hills, nor the bare, red faces of the cliffs + frowning down upon him. + </p> + <p> + “I don't suppose you could see to the river bank,” he mused, “and Gene + will certainly tear the third commandment to shreds before he gets the + water-hole open.” + </p> + <p> + He went over to the window, meaning to scratch a peep-hole in the frost, + just as he had done every day for the past three months; lifted a hand, + then stopped bewildered. For instead of frost there was only steam with + ridges of ice yet clinging to the sash and dripping water in a tiny + rivulet. He wiped the steam hastily away with his palm and looked out. + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens, Gene!” he shouted in a voice to wake the Seven Sleepers. + “The world's gone mad overnight. Are you dead, man? Get up and look out. + The whole damn country is running water, and the hills are bare as this + floor!” + </p> + <p> + “Uh-huh!” Gene knuckled his eyes and sat up. “Chinook struck us in the + night. Didn't yuh hear it?” + </p> + <p> + Thurston pulled open the door and stood face to face with the miracle of + the West. He had seen Mother Nature in many a changeful mood, but never + like this. The wind blew warm from the southwest and carried hints of + green things growing and the song of birds; he breathed it gratefully into + his lungs and let it riot in his hair. The sky was purplish and soft, with + heavy, drifting clouds high-piled like a summer storm. It looked like + rain, he thought. + </p> + <p> + The bare hills were sodden with snow-water, and the drifts in the coulees + were dirt-grimed and forbidding. The great river lay, a gray stretch of + water-soaked snow over the ice, with little, clear pools reflecting the + drab clouds above. A crow flapped lazily across the foreground and perched + like a blot of fresh-spilled ink on the top of a dead cottonwood and cawed + raucous greeting to the spring. + </p> + <p> + The wonder of it dazed Thurston and made him do unusual things that + morning. All winter he had been puffed with pride over his cooking, but + now he scorched the oatmeal, let the coffee boil over, and blackened the + bacon, and committed divers other grievous sins against Gene's clamoring + appetite. Nor did he feel the shame that he should have felt. He simply + could not stay in the cabin five minutes at a time, and for it he had no + apology. + </p> + <p> + After breakfast he left the dishes un-washed upon the table and went out + and made merry with nature. He could scarce believe that yesterday he had + frosted his left ear while he brought a bucket of water up from the river, + and that it had made his lungs ache to breathe the chill air. Now the path + to the river was black and dry and steamed with warmth. Across the water + cattle were feeding greedily upon the brown grasses that only a few hours + before had been locked away under a crust of frozen snow. + </p> + <p> + “They won't starve now,” he exulted, pointing them out to Gene. + </p> + <p> + “No, you bet not!” Gene answered. “If this don't freeze up on us the + wagons 'll be starting in a month or so. I guess we can be thinking about + hitting the trail for home pretty soon now. The river'll break up if this + keeps going a week. Say, this is out uh sight! It's warmer out uh doors + than it is in the house. Darn the old shack, anyway! I'm plumb sick uh the + sight of it. It looked all right to me in a blizzard, but now—it's + me for the range, m'son.” He went off to the stable with long, swinging + strides that matched all nature for gladness, singing cheerily: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “So polish up your saddles, oil your slickers and your guns, + For we're hound for Lonesome Prairie when the green grass comes.” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. FOLLOWING THE DIM TRAILS! + </h2> + <p> + Thurston did not go on the horse roundup. He explained to the boys, when + they clamored against his staying, that he had a host of things to write, + and it would keep him busy till they were ready to start with the wagons + for the big rendezvous on the Yellowstone, the exact point of which had + yet to be decided upon by the Stock Association when it met. The editors + were after him, he said, and if he ever expected to get anywhere, in a + literary sense, it be-hooved him to keep on the smiley side of the + editors. + </p> + <p> + That sounded all right as far as it went, but unfortunately it did not go + far. The boys winked at one another gravely behind his back and jerked + their thumbs knowingly toward Milk River; by which pantomime they reminded + one another—quite unnecessarily that Mona Stevens had come home. + However, they kept their skepticism from becoming obtrusive, so that + Thurston believed his excuses passed on their face value. The boys, it + would seem, realized that it is against human nature for a man to declare + openly to his fellows his intention of laying last, desperate siege to the + heart of a girl who has already refused him three times, and to ask her + for the fourth time if she will reconsider her former decisions and marry + him. + </p> + <p> + That is really what kept Thurston at the Lazy Eight. His writing became + once more a mere incident in his life. During the winter, when he did not + see her, he could bring himself to think occasionally of other things; and + it is a fact that the stories he wrote with no heroine at all hit the mark + the straightest. + </p> + <p> + Now, when he was once again under the spell of big, clear, blue gray eyes + and crimply brown hair, his stories lost something of their virility and + verged upon the sentimental in tone. And since he was not a fool he + realized the falling off and chafed against it and wondered why it was. + Surely a man who is in love should be well qualified to write convincingly + of the obsession but Thurston did not. He came near going to the other + extreme and refusing to write at all. + </p> + <p> + The wagons were out two weeks—which is quite long enough for a + crisis to arise in the love affair of any man. By the time the horse + roundup was over, one Philip Thurston was in pessimistic mood and quite + ready to follow the wagons, the farther the better. Also, they could not + start too soon to please him. His thoughts still ran to blue-gray eyes and + ripply hair, but he made no attempt to put them into a story. + </p> + <p> + He packed his trunk carefully with everything he would not need on the + roundup, and his typewriter he put in the middle. He told himself bitterly + that he had done with crimply haired girls, and with every other sort of + girl. If he could figure in something heroic—only he said + melodramatic—he might possibly force her to think well of him. But + heroic situations and opportunities come not every day to a man, and girls + who demand that their knights shall be brave in face of death need not + complain if they are left knightless at the last. + </p> + <p> + He wrote to Reeve-Howard, the night before they were to start, and + apologized gracefully for having neglected him during the past three weeks + and told him he would certainly be home in another month. He said that he + was “in danger of being satiated with the Western tone” and would be glad + to shake the hand of civilized man once more. This was distinctly unfair, + because he had no quarrel with the masculine portion of the West. If he + had said civilized woman it would have been more just and more + illuminating to Reeve-Howard who wondered what scrape Phil had gotten + himself into with those savages. + </p> + <p> + For the first few days of the trip Thurston was in that frame of mind + which makes a man want to ride by himself, with shoulders hunched moodily + and eyes staring straight before the nose of his horse. + </p> + <p> + But the sky was soft and seemed to smile down at him, and the clouds + loitered in the blue of it and drifted aimlessly with no thought of + reaching harbor on the sky-line. From under his horse's feet the prairie + sod sent up sweet, earthy odors into his nostrils and the tinkle of the + bells in the saddle-bunch behind him made music in his ears—the sort + of music a true cowboy loves. Yellow-throated meadow larks perched swaying + in the top of gray sage bushes and sang to him that the world was good. + Sober gray curlews circled over his head, their long, funny bills thrust + out straight as if to point the way for their bodies to follow and cried, + “Kor-r-eck, kor-r-eck!”—which means just what the meadow larks sang. + So Thurston, hearing it all about him, seeing it and smelling it and + feeling the riot of Spring in his blood, straightened the hunch out of his + shoulders and admitted that it was all true: that the world was good. + </p> + <p> + At Miles City he found himself in the midst of a small army, the regulars + of the range—-which grew hourly larger as the outfits rolled in. The + rattle of mess-wagons, driven by the camp cook and followed by the + bed-wagon, was heard from all directions. Jingling cavvies (herds of + saddle horses they were, driven and watched over by the horse wrangler) + came out of the wilderness in the wake of the wagons. Thurston got out his + camera and took pictures of the scene. In the first, ten different camps + appeared; he mourned because two others were perforced omitted. Two hours + later he snapped the Kodak upon fifteen, and there were four beyond range + of the lens. + </p> + <p> + Park came along, saw what he was doing and laughed. “Yuh better wait till + they commence to come,” he said. “When yuh can stand on this little hill + and count fifty or sixty outfits camped within two or three miles uh here, + yuh might begin taking pictures.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you're loading me,” Thurston retorted calmly, winding up the roll + for another exposure. + </p> + <p> + “All right—suit yourself about it.” Park walked off and left him + peering into the view-finder. + </p> + <p> + Still they came. From Swift Current to the Cypress Hills the Canadian + cattlemen sent their wagons to join the big meet. From the Sweet Grass + Hills to the mouth of Milk River not a stock-grower but was represented. + From the upper Musselshell they came, and from out the Judith Basin; from + Shellanne east to Fort Buford. Truly it was a gathering of the clans such + as eastern Montana had never before seen. + </p> + <p> + For a day and a night the cowboys made merry in town while their foremen + consulted and the captains appointed by the Association mapped out the + different routes. At times like these, foremen such as Park and Deacon + Smith were shorn of their accustomed power, and worked under orders as + strict as those they gave their men. + </p> + <p> + Their future movements thoroughly understood, the army moved down upon the + range in companies of five and six crews, and the long summer's work + began; each rider a unit in the war against the chaos which the winter had + wrought; in the fight of the stockmen to wrest back their fortunes from + the wilderness, and to hold once more their sway over the range-land. + </p> + <p> + Their method called for concerted action, although it was simple enough. + Two of the Lazy Eight wagons, under Park and Gene Wasson (for Hank that + spring was running four crews and had promoted Gene wagon-boss of one), + joined forces with the Circle-Bar, the Flying U, and a Yellowstone outfit + whose wagon-boss, knowing best the range, was captain of the five crews; + and drove north, gathering and holding all stock which properly ranged + beyond the Missouri. + </p> + <p> + That meant day after day of “riding circle”—which is, being + interpreted, riding out ten or twelve miles from camp, then turning and + driving everything before them to a point near the center of the circle + thus formed. When they met the cattle were bunched, and all stock which + belonged on that range was cut out, leaving only those which had crossed + the river during the storms of winter. These were driven on to the next + camping place and held, which meant constant day-herding and + night-guarding work which cowboys hate more than anything else. + </p> + <p> + There would be no calf roundup proper that spring, for all calves were + branded as they were gathered. Many there were among the she-stock that + would not cross the river again; their carcasses made unsightly blots in + the coulee-bottoms and on the wind-swept levels. Of the calves that had + followed their mothers on the long trail, hundreds had dropped out of the + march and been left behind for the wolves. But not all. Range-bred cattle + are blessed with rugged constitutions and can bear much of cold and + hunger. The cow that can turn tail to a biting wind the while she ploughs + to the eyes in snow and roots out a very satisfactory living for herself + breeds calves that will in time do likewise and grow fat and strong in the + doing. He is a sturdy, self-reliant little rascal, is the range-bred calf. + </p> + <p> + When fifteen hundred head of mixed stock, bearing Northern brands, were in + the hands of the day-herders, Park and his crew were detailed to take them + on and turn them loose upon their own range north of Milk River. Thurston + felt that he had gleaned about all the experience he needed, and more than + enough hard riding and short sleeping and hurried eating. He announced + that he was ready to bid good-by to the range. He would help take the herd + home, he told Park, and then he intended to hit the trail for little, old + New York. + </p> + <p> + He still agreed with the meadow larks that the world was good, but he had + made himself believe that he really thought the civilized portion of it + was better, especially when the uncivilized part holds a girl who persists + in saying no when she should undoubtedly say yes, and insists that a man + must be a hero, else she will have none of him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. HIGH WATER + </h2> + <p> + It was nearing the middle of June, and it was getting to be a very hot + June at that. For two days the trail-herd had toiled wearily over the + hills and across the coulees between the Missouri and Milk River. Then the + sky threatened for a day, and after that they plodded in the rain. + </p> + <p> + “Thank the Lord that's done with,” sighed Park when he saw the last of the + herd climb, all dripping, up the north bank of the Milk River. “To-morrow + we can turn 'em loose. And I tell yuh, Bud, we didn't get across none too + soon. Yuh notice how the river's coming up? A day later and we'd have had + to hold the herd on the other side, no telling how long.” + </p> + <p> + “It is higher than usual; I noticed that,” Thurston agreed absently. He + was thinking more of Mona just then than of the river. He wondered if she + would be at home. He could easily ride down there and find out. It wasn't + far; not a quarter of a mile, but he assured himself that he wasn't going, + and that he was not quite a fool, he hoped Even if she were at home, what + good could that possibly do him? Just give him several bad nights, when he + would lie in his corner of the tent and listen to the boys snoring with a + different key for every man. Such nights were not pleasant, nor were the + thoughts that caused them. + </p> + <p> + From where they were camped upon a ridge which bounded a broad coulee on + the east, he could look down upon the Stevens ranch nestling in the + bottomland, the house half hidden among the cottonwoods. Through the last + hours of the afternoon he watched it hungrily. The big corral ran down to + the water's edge, and he noted idly that three panels of the fence + extended out into the river, and that the muddy water was creeping + steadily up until at sundown the posts of the first panel barely showed + above the water. + </p> + <p> + Park came up to him and looked down upon the little valley. “I never did + see any sense in Jack Stevens building where he did,” he remarked. “There + ain't a June flood that don't put his corral under water, and some uh + these days it's going to get the house. He was too lazy to dig a well back + on high ground; he'd rather take chances on having the whole business + washed off the face uh the earth.” + </p> + <p> + “There must be danger of it this year if ever,” Thurston observed + uneasily. “The river is coming up pretty fast, it seems to me. It must + have raised three feet since we crossed this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll course there's danger, with all that snow coming out uh the + mountains. And like as not Jack's in Shellanne roosting on somebody's pool + table and telling it scary, instead uh staying at home looking after his + stuff. Where yuh going, Bud?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to ride down there,” Thurston answered constrainedly. “The + women may be all alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll go along, if you'll hold on a minute. Jack ain't got a lick uh + sense. I don't care if he is Mona's brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Half brother,” corrected Thurston, as he swung up into the saddle. He had + a poor opinion of Jack and resented even that slight relation to Mona. + </p> + <p> + The road was soggy with the rain which fell steadily; down in the bottom, + the low places in the road were already under water, and the river, + widening almost perceptibly in its headlong rush down the narrow valley, + crept inch by inch up its low banks. When they galloped into the yard + which sloped from the house gently down to the river fifty yards away, + Mona's face appeared for a moment in the window. Evidently she had been + watching for some one, and Thurston's heart flopped in his chest as he + wondered, fleetingly, if it could be himself. When she opened the door her + eyes greeted him with a certain wistful expression that he had never seen + in them before. He was guilty of wishing that Park had stayed in camp. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm glad you rode over,” she welcomed—but she was careful, + after that first swift glance, to look at Park. “Jack wasn't at camp, was + he? He went to town this morning, and I looked for hi back long before + now. But it's a mistake ever to look for Jack until he's actually in + sight.” + </p> + <p> + Park smiled vaguely. He was afraid it would not be polite to agree with + her as emphatically as he would like to have done. But Thurston had no + smile ready, polite or otherwise. Instead he drew down his brows in a way + not complimentary to Jack. + </p> + <p> + “Where is your mother?” he asked, almost peremptorily. + </p> + <p> + “Mamma went to Great Falls last week,” she told him primly, just grazing + him with one of her impersonal glances which nearly drove him to + desperation. “Aunt Mary has typhoid fever—there seems to be so much + of that this spring and they sent for mamma. She's such a splendid nurse, + you know.” + </p> + <p> + Thurston did know, but he passed over the subject. “And you're alone?” he + demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not; aren't you two here?” Mona could be very pert when she + tried. “Jack and I are holding down the ranch just now; the boys are all + on roundup, of course. Jack went to town today to see some one. + </p> + <p> + “Um-m-yes, of course.” It was Park, still trying to be polite and not + commit himself on the subject of Jack. The “some one” whom Jack went + oftenest to see was the bartender in the Palace saloon, but it was not + necessary to tell her that. + </p> + <p> + “The river's coming up pretty fast, Mona,” he ventured. “Don't yuh think + yuh ought to pull out and go visiting?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't.” Mona's tone was very decided. “I wouldn't drop down on a + neighbor without warning just because the river happens to be coming up. + It has 'come up' every June since we've been living here, and there have + been several of them. At the worst it never came inside the gate.” + </p> + <p> + “You can never tell what it might do,” Park argued. “Yuh know yourself + there's never been so much snow in the mountains. This hot weather we've + been having lately, and then the rain, will bring it a-whooping. Can't yuh + ride over to the Jonses? One of us'll go with yuh.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I can't.” Mona's chin went up perversely. “I'm no coward, I hope, + even if there was any danger which there isn't.” + </p> + <p> + Thurston's chin went up also, and he sat a bit straighter. Whether she + meant it or not, he took her words as a covert stab at himself. Probably + she did not mean it; at any rate the blood flew consciously to her cheeks + after she had spoken, and she caught her under lip sharply between her + teeth. And that did not help matters or make her temper more yielding. + </p> + <p> + “Anyway,” she added hurriedly, “Jack will be here; he's likely to come any + minute now.” + </p> + <p> + “Uh course, if Jack's got some new kind of half-hitch he can put on the + river and hold it back yuh'll be all right,” fleered Park, with the + freedom of an old friend. He had known Mona when she wore dresses to her + shoe-tops and her hair in long, brown curls down her back. + </p> + <p> + She wrinkled her nose at him also with the freedom of an old friend and + Thurston stirred restlessly in his chair. He did not like even Park to be + too familiar with Mona, though he knew there was a girl in Shellanne whose + name Park sometimes spoke in his sleep. + </p> + <p> + She lifted the big glass lamp down from its place on the clock shelf and + lighted it with fingers not quite steady. “You men,” she remarked, “think + women ought to be wrapped in pink cotton and put in a glass cabinet. If, + by any miracle, the river should come up around the house, I flatter + myself I should be able to cope with the situation. I'd just saddle my + horse and ride out to high ground!” + </p> + <p> + “Would yuh?” Park grinned skeptically. “The road from here to the hill is + half under water right now; the river's got over the bank above, and is + flooding down through the horse pasture. By the time the water got up here + the river'd be as wide and deep one side uh yuh as the other. Then where'd + yuh be at?” + </p> + <p> + “It won't get up here, though,” Mona asserted coolly. “It never has.” + </p> + <p> + “No, and the Lazy Eight never had to work the Yellowstone range on spring + roundup before either,” Park told her meaningly. + </p> + <p> + Whereupon Mona got upon her pedestal and smiled her unpleasant smile, + against which even Park had no argument ready. + </p> + <p> + They lingered till long after all good cowpunchers are supposed to be in + their beds—unless they are standing night-guard—but Jack + failed to appear. The rain drummed upon the roof and the river swished and + gurgled against the crumbling banks, and grumbled audibly to itself + because the hills stood immovably in their places and set bounds which it + could not pass, however much it might rage against their base. + </p> + <p> + When the clock struck a wheezy nine Mona glanced at it significantly and + smothered a yawn more than half affected. It was a hint which no man with + an atom of self-respect could overlook. With mutual understanding the two + rose. + </p> + <p> + “I guess we'll have to be going,” Park said with some ceremony. “I kept + think ing maybe Jack would show up; it ain't right to leave yuh here alone + like this.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see why not; I'm not the least bit afraid,” Mona said. Her tone + was impersonal and had in it a note of dismissal. + </p> + <p> + So, there being nothing else that they could do, they said good-night and + took themselves off. + </p> + <p> + “This is sure fierce,” Park grumbled when they struck the lower ground. + “Darn a man like Jack Stevens! He'll hang out there in town and bowl up on + other men's money till plumb daylight. It's a wonder Mona didn't go with + her mother. But no—it'd be awful if Jack had to cook his own grub + for a week. Say, the water has come up a lot, don't yuh think, Bud? If it + raises much more Mona'll sure have a chance to 'cope with the situation. + It'd just about serve her right, too.” + </p> + <p> + Thurston did not think so, but he was in too dispirited a mood to argue + the point. It had not been good for his peace of mind to sit and watch the + color come and go in Mona's cheeks, and the laughter spring unheralded + into her dear, big eyes, and the light tangle itself in the waves of her + hair. + </p> + <p> + He guided his horse carefully through the deep places, and noted uneasily + how much deeper it was than when they had crossed before. He cursed the + conventions which forbade his staying and watching over the girl back + there in the house which already stood upon an island, cut off from the + safe, high land by a strip of backwater that was widening and deepening + every minute, and, when it rose high enough to flow into the river below, + would have a current that would make a nasty crossing. + </p> + <p> + On the first rise he stopped and looked back at the light which shone out + from among the dripping cottonwoods. Even then he was tempted to go back + and brave her anger that he might feel assured of her safety. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come on,” Park cried impatiently. “We can't do any good sitting out + here in the rain. I don't suppose the water will get clear up to the + house; it'll likely do things to the sheds and corrals, though, and serve + Jack right. Come on, Bud. Mona won't have us around, so the sooner we get + under cover the better for us. She's got lots uh nerve; I guess she'll + make out all right.” + </p> + <p> + There was common sense in the argument, and Thurston recognized it and + rode on to camp. But instead of unsaddling, as he would naturally have + done, he tied Sunfish to the bed-wagon and threw his slicker over his back + to protect him from the rain. And though Park said nothing, he followed + Thurston's example. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. “I'll STAY—ALWAYS” + </h2> + <p> + For a long time Thurston lay with wide-open eyes staring up at nothing, + listening to the rain and thinking. By and by the rain ceased and he could + tell by the dim whiteness of the tent roof that the clouds must have been + swept away from before the moon, then just past the full. + </p> + <p> + He got up carefully so as not to disturb the others, and crept over two or + three sleeping forms on his way to the opening, untied the flap and went + out. The whole hilltop and the valley below were bathed in mellow + radiance. He studied critically the wide sweep of the river. He might + almost have thought it the Missouri itself, it stretched so far from bank + to bank; indeed, it seemed to know no banks but the hills themselves. He + turned toward where the light had shone among the cottonwoods below; there + was nothing but a great blot of shade that told him nothing. + </p> + <p> + A step sounded just behind. A hand, the hand of Park, rested upon his + shoulder. “Looks kinda dubious, don't it, kid? Was yuh thinking about + riding down there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Thurston answered simply. “Are you coming?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” Park assented. + </p> + <p> + They got upon their horses and headed down the trail to the Stevens place. + Thurston would have put Sunfish to a run, but Park checked him. + </p> + <p> + “Go easy,” he admonished. “If there's swimming to be done and it's a cinch + there will be, he's going to need all the wind he's got.” + </p> + <p> + Down the hill they stopped at the edge of a raging torrent and strained + their eyes to see what lay on the other side. While they looked, a light + twinkled out from among the tree-tops. Thurston caught his breath sharply. + </p> + <p> + “She's upstairs,” he said, and his voice sounded strained and unnatural. + “It's just a loft where they store stuff.” He started to ride into the + flood. + </p> + <p> + “Come on back here, yuh chump!” Park roared. “Get off and loosen the cinch + before yuh go in there, or yuh won't get far. Sunfish'll need room to + breathe, once he gets to bucking that current. He's a good water horse, + just give him his head and don't get rattled and interfere with him. And + we've got to go up a ways before we start in.” + </p> + <p> + He led the way upstream, skirting under the bluff, and Thurston, chafing + against the delay, followed obediently. Trees were racing down, their + clean-washed roots reaching up in a tangle from the water, their branches + waving like imploring arms. A black, tar-papered shack went scudding past, + lodged upon a ridge where the water was shallower, and sat there swaying + drunkenly. Upon it a great yellow cat clung and yowled his fear. + </p> + <p> + “That's old Dutch Henry's house,” Park shouted above the roar. “I'll bet + he's cussing things blue on some pinnacle up there.” He laughed at the + picture his imagination conjured, and rode out into the swirl. + </p> + <p> + Thurston kept close behind, mindful of Park's command to give Sunfish his + head. Sunfish had carried him safely out of the stampede and he had no + fear of him now. + </p> + <p> + His chief thought was a wish that he might do this thing quite alone. He + was jealous of Park's leading, and thought bitterly that Mona would thank + Park alone and pass him by with scant praise and he did so want to + vindicate himself. The next minute he was cursing his damnable + selfishness. A tree had swept down just before him, caught Park and his + horse in its branches and hurried on as if ashamed of what it had done. + Thurston, in that instant, came near jerking Sunfish around to follow; but + he checked the impulse as it was formed and left the reins alone which was + wise. He could not have helped Park, and he could very easily have drowned + himself. Though it was not thought of himself but of Mona that stayed his + hand. + </p> + <p> + They landed at the gate. Sunfish scrambled with his feet for secure + footing, found it and waded up to the front door. The water was a foot + deep on the porch. Thurston beat an imperative tattoo upon the door with + the butt of his quirt, and shouted. And Mona's voice, shorn of its + customary assurance, answered faintly from the loft. + </p> + <p> + He shouted again, giving directions in a tone of authority which must have + sounded strange to her, but which she did not seem to resent and obeyed + without protest. She had to wade from the stairs to the door and when + Thurston stooped and lifted her up in front of him, she looked as if she + were very glad to have him there. + </p> + <p> + “You didn't 'cope with the situation,' after all,” he remarked while she + was settling herself firmly in the saddle. + </p> + <p> + “I went to sleep and didn't notice the water till it was coming in at the + door,” she explained. “And then—” She stopped abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Then what?” he demanded maliciously. “Were you afraid?” + </p> + <p> + “A little,” she confessed reluctantly. + </p> + <p> + Thurston gloated over it in silence—until he remembered Park. After + that he could think of little else. As before, now Sunfish battled as + seemed to him best, for Thurston, astride behind the saddle, held Mona + somewhat tighter than he need to have done, and let the horse go. + </p> + <p> + So long as Sunfish had footing he braced himself against the mad rush of + waters and forged ahead. But out where the current ran swimming deep he + floundered desperately under his double burden. While his strength lasted + he kept his head above water, struggling gamely against the flood that + lapped over his back and bubbled in his nostrils. Thurston felt his + laboring and clutched Mona still tighter. Of a sudden the horse's head + went under; the black water came up around Thurston's throat with a hungry + swish, and Sunfish went out from under him like an eel. + </p> + <p> + There was a confused roaring in his ears, a horrid sense of suffocation + for a moment. But he had learned to swim when he was a boy at school, and + he freed one hand from its grip on Mona and set to paddling with much + vigor and considerably less skill. And though the under-current clutched + him and the weight of Mona taxed his strength, he managed to keep them + both afloat and to make a little headway until the deepest part lay behind + them. + </p> + <p> + How thankful he was when his feet touched bottom, no one but himself ever + knew! His ears hummed from the water in them, and the roar of the river + was to him as the roar of the sea; his eyes smarted from the clammy touch + of the dingy froth that went hurrying by in monster flakes; his lungs + ached and his heart pounded heavily against his ribs when he stopped, + gasping, beyond reach of the water-devils that lapped viciously behind. + </p> + <p> + He stood a minute with his arm still around her, and coughed his voice + clear. “Park went down,” he began, hardly knowing what it was he was + saying. “Park—” He stopped, then shouted the name aloud. “Park! + Oh-h, Park!” + </p> + <p> + And from somewhere down the river came a faint reassuring whoop. + </p> + <p> + “Thank the Lord!” gasped Thurston, and leaned against her for a second. + Then he straightened. “Are you all right?” he asked, and drew her toward a + rock near at hand—for in truth, the knees of him were shaking. They + sat down, and he looked more closely at her face and discovered that it + was wet with something more than river water. Mona the self-assured, Mona + the strong-hearted, was crying. And instinctively he knew that not the + chill alone made her shiver. He was keeping his arm around her waist + deliberately, and it pleased him that she let it stay. After a minute she + did something which surprised him mightily—and pleased him more: she + dropped her face down against the soaked lapels of his coat, and left it + there. He laid a hand tenderly against her cheek and wondered if he dared + feel so happy. + </p> + <p> + “Little girl—oh, little girl,” he said softly, and stopped. For the + crowding emotions in his heart and brain the English language has no + words. + </p> + <p> + Mona lifted her face and looked into his eyes. Her own were soft and + shining in the moonlight, and she was smiling a little—the roguish + little smile of the imitation pastel portrait. “You—you'll unpack + your typewriter, won't you please, and—and stay?” + </p> + <p> + Thurston crushed her close. “Stay? The range-land will never get rid of me + now,” he cried jubilantly. “Hank wanted to take me into the Lazy Eight, so + now I'll buy an interest, and stay—always.” + </p> + <p> + “You dear!” Mona snuggled close and learned how it feels to be kissed, if + she had never known before. + </p> + <p> + Sunfish, having scrambled ashore a few yards farther down, came up to them + and stood waiting, as if to be forgiven for his failure to carry them safe + to land, but Thurston, after the first inattentive glance, ungratefully + took no heed of him. + </p> + <p> + There was a sound of scrambling foot-steps and Park came dripping up to + them. “Well, say!” he greeted. “Ain't yuh got anything to do but set here + and er—look at the moon? Break away and come up to camp. I'll rout + out the cook and make him boil us some coffee.” + </p> + <p> + Thurston turned joyfully toward him. “Park, old fellow, I was afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “Yuh better reform and quit being afraid,” Park bantered. “I got out uh + the mix-up fine, but I guess my horse went on down—poor devil. I was + poking around below there looking for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mona, I see yuh was able to 'cope with the situation,' all right—but + yuh needed Bud mighty bad, I reckon. The chances is yuh won't have no + house in the morning, so Bud'll have to get busy and rustle one for yuh. I + guess you'll own up, now, that the water can get through the gate.” He + laughed in his teasing way. + </p> + <p> + Mona stood up, and her shining eyes were turned to Thurston. “I don't + care,” she asserted with reddened cheeks. “I'm just glad it did get + through.” + </p> + <p> + “Same here,” said Thurston with much emphasis. + </p> + <p> + Then, with Mona once more in the saddle, and with Thurston leading Sunfish + by the bridle-rein, they trailed damply and happily up the long ridge to + where the white tents of the roundup gleamed sharply against the sky-line. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lure of the Dim Trails, by +by (AKA B. M. Sinclair) B. M. 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