Jim Waring of Sonora-Town; Or, Tang of Life

by Henry Herbert Knibbs

  Chapter XXI

  _A Slim Whip of a Girl_

  When Bronson opened his door to the thin sunlight and the crisp chill ofthe morning, he chuckled. He had made too many camps in the outlands tobe surprised by an unexpected gift of game out of season. His neighborwas a ranger, and all rangers were incidentally game wardens. Bronsonbelieved heartily in the conservation of game, and in this instance hedid not intend to let that turkey spoil.

  He called to his daughter.

  Her brown eyes grew big. "Why, it's a turkey!"

  Bronson laughed. "And to-day is Sunday. We'll have a housewarming andinvite the ranger to dinner."

  "Did he give it to you? Isn't it beautiful! What big wings--and thebreast feathers are like little bronze flames! Do wild turkeys reallyfly?"

  "Well, rather. It's a fine sight to see them run to a rim rock and floatoff across a canon."

  "Did you tell him about our horses? Is he nice? What did he say? But Icould never imagine a turkey like that flying. I always think of turkeysas strutting around a farmyard with their heads held back and all puffedout in front. This one is heavy! I can't see how he could even begin tofly."

  "They have to get a running start. Then they usually flop along andsail up into a tree. Once they are in a tree, they can float off intospace easily. They seem to fly slowly, but they can disappear fastenough. The ranger seems to be a nice chap."

  "Did he really give the turkey to us?"

  "It was hanging right here when I came out. I can't say that he gave itto us. You see, it is closed season for turkey."

  "But we must thank him."

  "We will. Let's ask him to dinner. He seems to be a pleasant chap; quitenatural. He said we were welcome to keep our horses in his corral. Butif you want to have him for a real friendly neighbor, Dorothy, don'tmention the word 'turkey.' We'll just roast it, make biscuits and gravy,and ask him to dinner. He will understand."

  "Then I am going to keep the wings and tail to put on the wall of myroom. How funny, not to thank a person for such a present."

  "The supervisor would reprimand him for killing game out of season, ifhe heard about it."

  "But just one turkey?"

  "That isn't the idea. If it came to Mr. Shoop that one of his men wasbreaking the game laws, Mr. Shoop would have to take notice of it. Notthat Shoop would care about one of his men killing a turkey to eat, butit would hurt the prestige of the Service. The natives would takeadvantage of it and help themselves to game."

  "Of course, you know all about those matters. But can't I even say'turkey' when I ask him to have some?"

  "Oh," laughed Bronson, "call it chicken. He'll eat just as heartily."

  "The ranger is up," said Dorothy. "I can hear him whistling."

  "Then let's have breakfast and get this big fellow ready to roast. Itwill take some time."

  An hour later, Lorry, fresh-faced and smiling, knocked on the lintel oftheir open doorway.

  Bronson, in his shirt-sleeves and wearing a diminutive apron to whichclung a fluff of turkey feathers, came from the kitchen.

  "Good-morning. You'll excuse my daughter. She is busy."

  "I just came over to ask how she was."

  "Thank you. She is much better. We want you to have dinner with us."

  "Thanks. But I got some beans going--"

  "But this is chicken, man! And it is Sunday."

  Lorry's gray eyes twinkled. "Chickens are right scarce up here. Andchicken sure tastes better on Sunday. Was you goin' to turn your stockout with mine?"

  "That's so!"

  They turned Bronson's horses out, and watched them charge down the mesatoward the three animals grazing lazily in the morning sunshine.

  "Your horses will stick with mine," said Lorry. "They won't stray now."

  "Did I hear a piano this morning, or did I dream that I heard some oneplaying?"

  "Oh, it was me, foolin' with Bud's piano in there. Bud's got an amazin'music-box. Ever see it?"

  "No. I haven't been in your cabin."

  "Well, come right along over. This was Bud's camp when he washomesteadin'. Ever see a piano like that?"

  Bronson gazed at the carved and battered piano, stepping close to it toinspect the various brands. "It is rather amazing. I didn't know Mr.Shoop was fond of music."

  "Well, he can't play reg'lar. But he sure likes to try. You ought tohear him and Bondsman workin' out that 'Annie Laurie' duet. First off,you feel like laughin'. But Bud gets so darned serious you kind offorget he ain't a professional. 'Annie Laurie' ain't no dance tune--andwhen Bud and the dog get at it, it is right mournful."

  "I have seen a few queer things,"--and Bronson laughed,--"but this beatsthem all."

  "You'd be steppin' square on Bud's soul if you was to josh him aboutthat piano," said Lorry.

  "I wouldn't. But thank you just the same. You have a neat place here,Adams."

  "When you say 'neat' you say it all."

  "I detest a fussy camp. One gets enough of that sort of thing in town.Is that a Gallup saddle or a Frazier?"

  "Frazier."

  "I used a Heiser when I was in Mexico. They're all good."

  "That's what I say. But there's a hundred cranks to every make of saddleand every rig. You said you were in Mexico?"

  "Before I was married. As a young man I worked for some of the mines. Iwent there from college."

  "I reckon you've rambled some." And a new interest lightened Lorry'seyes. Perhaps this man wasn't a "plumb tenderfoot," after all.

  "Oh, not so much. I punched cattle down on the Hassayampa and in theMogollons. Then I drifted up to Alaska. But I always came back toArizona. New Mexico is mighty interesting, and so is Colorado.California is really the most wonderful State of all, but somehow Ican't keep away from Arizona."

  "Shake! I never been out of Arizona, except when I was a kid, but she'sthe State for me."

  A shadow flickered in the doorway. Lorry turned to gaze at a delicateslip of a girl, whose big brown eyes expressed both humor andtrepidation.

  "My daughter Dorothy, Mr. Adams. This is our neighbor, Dorothy."

  "I'm right glad to meet you, miss."

  And Lorry's strong fingers closed on her slender hand. To his robustsense of the physical she appealed as something exceedingly fragile andbeautiful, with her delicate, clear coloring and her softly glowingeyes. What a little hand! And what a slender arm! And yet Lorry thoughther arm pretty in its rounded slenderness. He smiled as he saw a turkeyfeather fluttering on her shoulder.

  "Looks like that chicken was gettin' the best of you," he said, smiling.

  "That's just it," she agreed, nothing abashed. "Father, you'll have tohelp."

  "You'll excuse us, won't you? We'll finish our visit at dinner."

  Lorry had reports to make out. He dragged a chair to the table. That manBronson was all right. Let's see--the thirtieth--looked stockier indaylight. Had a good grip, too, and a clear, level eye. One mattockmissing in the lookout cabin--and the girl; such a slender whip of agirl! Just like a young willow, but not a bit like an invalid. Buckleyreports that his man will have the sheep across the reservation by thefourth of the month. Her father had said she was not over-strong. Andher eyes! Lorry had seen little fawns with eyes like that--big,questioning eyes, startled rather than afraid.

  "Reckon everything she sees up here is just amazin' her at every jump.I'll bet she's happy, even if she _has_ got lungs. Now, a fella couldn'thelp but to like a girl like that. She would made a dandy sister, and afella would just about do anything in the world for such a sister. Andshe wouldn't have to ask, at that. He would just naturally want to dothings for her, because--well, because he couldn't help feeling thatway. Funny how some wimmin made a man feel like he wanted to just aboutworship them, and not because they did anything except be justthemselves. Now, there was that Mrs. Weston. She was a jim-dandywoman--but she was different. She always seemed to know just what shewas going to say and do. And Mrs. Weston's girl, Alice. Reckon I'd scrapwith her right frequent. She was still--"<
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  Dog-gone it! Where was he drifting to? Sylvestre's sheep were five dayscrossing the reserve. Smith reported a small fire north of the lookout.The Ainslee boys put the fire out. It hadn't done any great damage.

  Lorry sat back and chewed the lead pencil. As he gazed out of the windowacross the noon mesa a faint fragrance was wafted through the doorway.He sniffed and grinned. It was the warm flavor of wild turkey, a flavorthat suggested crispness, with juicy white meat beneath. Lorry jumped upand grabbed a pail as he left the cabin. On his way back from thespring, Bronson waved to him. Lorry nodded. And presently he presentedhimself at Bronson's cabin, his face glowing, his flannel shirt neatlybrushed, and a dark-blue silk bandanna knotted gracefully at his throat.

  "This is the princess," said Bronson, gesturing toward his daughter."And here is the feast."

  "And it was a piano," continued Bronson as they sat down.

  "Really? 'Way up here?"

  "My daughter plays a little," explained Bronson.

  "Well, you're sure welcome to use that piano any time. If I'm gone, thedoor is unlocked just the same."

  "Thank you, Mr. Adams, I only play to amuse myself now."

  Lorry fancied there was a note of regret in her last word. He glanced ather. She was gazing wistfully out of the window. It hurt him to see thattinge of hopelessness on her young face.

  "This here chicken is fine!" he asserted.

  The girl's eyes were turned to him. She smiled and glanced roguishly ather father. Lorry laughed outright.

  "What is the joke?" she demanded.

  "Nothin'; only my plate is empty, Miss Bronson."

  Bronson grabbed up carving-knife and fork. "Great Caesar! I must havebeen dreaming. I _was_ dreaming. I was recalling a turkey hunt down inVirginia with Colonel Stillwell and his man Plato. Plato was a goodcaller--but we didn't get a turkey. Now, this is as tender as--as itought to be. A little more gravy? And as we came home, the colonel, whowas of the real mint-julep type, proposed as a joke that Plato see whathe could do toward getting some kind of bird for dinner that night. Andwhen Plato lifted the covers, sure enough there was a fine, fat roastchicken. The colonel, who lived in town and did not keep chickens, askedPlato how much he had paid for it. Plato almost dropped the cover.'Mars' George,' he said with real solicitude in his voice,' is yousick?' And speaking of turkeys--"

  "Who was speaking of turkeys?" asked Dorothy.

  "Why, I think this chicken is superior to any domestic turkey I evertasted," concluded Bronson.

  "Was you ever in politics?" queried Lorry. And they all laughedheartily.

  After dinner Lorry asked for an apron.

  Dorothy shook her finger at him. "It's nice of you--but you don't meanit."

  "Now, ma wouldn't 'a' said that, miss. She'd 'a' just tied one of heraprons on me and turned me loose on the dishes. I used to help her likethat when I was a kid. Ma runs the hotel at Stacey."

  "Why, didn't we stop there for dinner?" asked Dorothy.

  "Yes, indeed. All right, Adams, I'll wash 'em and you can dry 'em, andDorothy can rest."

  "It's a right smilin' little apron," commented Lorry as Dorothy handedit to him.

  "And you do look funny! My, I didn't know you were so big! I'll have toget a pin."

  "I reckon it's the apron looks funny," said Lorry.

  "I made it," she said, teasing him.

  "Then that's why it is so pretty," said Lorry gravely.

  Dorothy decided to change the subject. "I think you should let me washthe dishes, father."

  "You cooked the dinner, Peter Pan."

  "Then I'll go over and try the piano. May I?"

  "If you'll play for us when we come over, Miss Bronson."

  Bronson and Lorry sat on the veranda and smoked. Dorothy was playing asprightly melody. She ceased to play, and presently the sweet old tune"Annie Laurie" came to them. Lorry, with cigarette poised in hisfingers, hummed the words to himself. Bronson was watching himcuriously. The melody came to an end. Lorry sighed.

  "Sounds like that ole piano was just singin' its heart out all byitself," he said. "I wish Bud could hear that."

  Almost immediately came the sprightly notes of "Anitra's Dance."

  "And that's these here woods--and the water prancin' down the rocks, anda slim kind of a girl dancin' in the sunshine and then runnin' away tohide in the woods again." And Lorry laughed softly at his own conceit.

  "Do you know the tune?" queried Bronson.

  "Nope. I was just makin' that up."

  "That's just Dorothy," said Bronson.

  Lorry turned and gazed at him. And without knowing how it came about,Lorry understood that there had been another Dorothy who had played andsung and danced in the sunshine. And that this sprightly, slender girlwas a bud of that vanished flower, a bud whose unfolding Bronson watchedwith such deep solicitude.