Bat Wing Bowles

by Dane Coolidge

  CHAPTER XV

  BURYING THE HATCHET

  To the hard-riding cowboy of the plains, the subtleties of emotion andromance are a closed book--just as the hand that whirls the rope is toocrabbed to play the violin. Some of us in this world must do the heavywork. Some hands must be knotted, some backs bent with labor, some browsfurrowed with wind and weather and the hard realities of life; but inreturn the laborers gain the strength of the wind-tossed oak and thepatience of the ages. There are others whose lot it is to write thepoetry and paint the pictures and reach out into the great unknown for athousand haunting chords and harmonies; but they are a people apart.Their very sensitiveness makes them unequal to the stress of life; theirslender hands cannot perform hard labor, and their hearts cannot endurethe monotony and anguish of unremitting toil--yet they have their placein the world.

  The time may come when the tasks and rewards will be divided again andeach of us be given a more equal share, but until that day men will fallinto classes--and neither will understand the other. Samuel Bowles hadlived the protected life, but Brigham had buffeted his way. At the storyof the Lady Christabel he stood agape, marveling at the man who couldperceive such subtle advances, wondering at the nature that would fleefor such a cause; but in the end he gazed upon him pityingly, andaccepted him for his friend.

  "I'll tell you, pardner," he said, as they drifted their cattle along;"I'm up ag'inst it, too. They's a gal over on the river--don't make nodifference about her name--but I used to think a lot of her. Wasn'tskeered of her none, the way I am with Dix. She was an awful good girl,too--no fly ways or nothin'--an' I was kinder fixin' to marry her when Ihad this racket with the bishop. My folks are all Mormons, of course,and so are hers, and I like 'em well enough in certain ways, but I can'tstand them dang priests. As long as I'm free I can pull out and go whereI please, but the minute I marry and settle down I'm up ag'inst itproper."

  "Why, what's the matter?" inquired Bowles, thinking of all the awfulthings he had heard about the Saints, but discreetly holding his peace."Will they punish you for running away?"

  "No," answered Brigham, shaking his head dolefully, "it ain't that--it'sthe things they make you do. I'm a renegade now--I don't pay tithes ornothin'--but if I settled down on the river I'd have to come in ag'in.Mebbe jist about the time I'm married they summon me fer a mission. Twoyears to some foreign country to bring in converts to the church--an'who's goin' to take care of my wife?"

  "Oh!" breathed Bowles sympathetically. "That _is_ bad! Why don't you getmarried and live somewhere else, then?"

  "That's jest it," frowned Brigham. "Gal's a Mormon too, and she won'tcome. So there I am!"

  "Ah!" said Bowles; and they rode a long time in silence.

  "That letter was from her," volunteered Brigham, jerking his head backtoward the place where they had been camped, and after that he said nomore. The old cynical look came into his squinted eyes, and he strungout the cattle methodically until they came to the home ranch. It wasfour o'clock in the afternoon then, and they lay over until the nextday.

  The Bat Wing bunk-house was hardly a cheery lounging place. Outside ofthe illustrated magazine literature with which the walls were papered,the library consisted of three books--a boot, spur and saddle catalogue,"Lin McLean," and that classic of the cow camps, "Three Weeks." When theentire outfit was at "the home," Happy Jack was in the habit of readingchoice passages of "Three Weeks" to his friends, he being the scholar ofthe bunch, and closing each selection with the remark: "Well, I reckonthat's plain enough for you, ain't it?" And the boys would generallyagree that it was.

  With the memory of Happy Jack still in mind, Bowles took shame tohimself and read Owen Wister's "Lin McLean" instead, finding there atenderfoot on another range who was worse even than himself. As thingswere coming now, Bowles hardly considered himself a tenderfoot any more.To be sure, he could not rope in the corral; but there were severallocal punchers in the same fix; and when it came to riding, he still hadWa-ha-lote in his string as a tribute to his skill as a fence jumper. Hehad also sat out a bucking fit or two when the boys put high-life on hishorse; and, taken all in all he was not the worst rider in the outfit,by any means. As a branding hand, also, he was able to do his share; hehad learned some of the rudiments of handling cattle; and his face hadpeeled off and tanned again, leaving him with a complexion in no wisedifferent from that of his bronzed companions. And then, to top it all,he had won the friendship of Brigham, who was so good that he passed fora cowman.

  Poor old Brigham! He never said what was in that letter from his girl,but Bowles knew he was wrestling with his problem. His carefree laughwas silenced for the time and, after cooking up a little food in thekitchen that stood next to the bunk-house, he had caught up a freshmount and ridden off alone. The windmill man and the fence mender wereout on their rounds, and Bowles was reading "The Winning of theBiscuit-shooter" and wondering if it was true, when a horse trotted intothe yard. Presently he heard a saddle hit the ground, and the pasturegate swing to, and then there was a clank of spurs on the stoop. Thedoor swung open, and as he glanced up from where he lay he saw Dixie Leelooking in at him.

  The instincts of a lifetime prompted Bowles to rise to his feet and bow,but other instincts were crowding in on him now, and he only nodded hishead. The memory, perhaps, of a fake letter to Samuel Houghton gavecolor to his indifference, and for the first time in his life he gazedat her with a shadow of disapproval. She was glorious indeed to lookupon; but it is the heart that counts, and Dixie had seemed a littleunkind. So he lay there with the book before him, and waited for her tospeak. It was the first time they had been alone together since he hadleft her at Chula Vista, and it was not his part to make advances afterwhat she had told him then.

  As for Dixie, she seemed suddenly embarrassed and ill at ease, thoughshe carried it off with her usual frontier recklessness.

  "Hello there, cowboy!" she said, dropping down on the steps. "Where'dyou come from?"

  "I came from the upper water with Brig," answered Bowles, speaking forhis part with decorous politeness. "We brought down a bunch of twos."

  A smile swept over Dixie Lee's face at this lapse into the vernacular,but she brushed it away as he frowned.

  "Bunch of twos, eh?" she repeated. "Say, you're getting to be a regularcowboy now, ain't you?

  "Where's Brig?" she inquired, when she saw that her remark displeasedhim; and once more he answered and fell silent.

  "He's a great fellow, old Brig," she went on, settling herselfcomfortably against the door-sill and indicating that the conversationwas on; "you seem to be pretty thick with him!"

  "Yes," agreed Bowles, sitting up and laying his book aside; "I likeBrigham very much."

  "He's a great fellow to tell stories," continued Dixie; "always talkingand laughing, too--I never did see such a good-natured man."

  "Yes," assented Bowles a little doubtfully; "I guess he's awfullygood-natured--but even fat folks have their troubles, you know."

  "Why, what's the matter with Brig? Has he run out of chewing tobacco?"

  "Well, no," said Bowles; "it's not that. I guess it's that letter yougave him."

  "Letter!" repeated Dixie incredulously. "What, from his girl? Oh, he'llbe all right in a day or so--who ever heard of a cowboy going into adecline? And say, talking about letters, why didn't you take that one Iwrote you the other day? I had something mighty special to communicateto you in that, but you'll never get it now! I hope the boys didsomething to you!"

  "Yes," answered Bowles serenely; "they hazed me for a day or two. Youseem to have a great many admirers out here, Miss Lee."

  Dixie May's eyes flashed at the evident implication, and she had aretort on her lips, but something in his manner restrained her.

  "How can I help it if the boys get foolish?" she demanded severely. "Andyou don't want to let your Eastern ideas deceive you--it's the custom ofthe country out here."

  "Yes, indeed," purled Bowles; "and a very pretty custom, too. Have youjust come back from Chula
Vista?"

  "Yes, I have!" snapped Dixie. "But you don't need to get so superiorabout it! I guess I can do what I please, can't I?"

  "Why, certainly," assented Bowles.

  "Well, then, what do you want to get so supercilious for?" raged Dixie."I don't know, there's something about the way you talk that fairlymaddens me! I've a good mind to tell the boys who you are, and have themrun you out of the country! Why didn't you take that letter I wroteyou?"

  She was angry now, and her voice was pitched high for a scolding, butBowles showed no signs of fear.

  "The letter you wrote was addressed to Samuel Houghton," he said; "andthat is not my name."

  "Well, what is your name, then?" demanded Dixie. "Bowles?"

  For a moment Bowles gazed at her, and there was a pained look in hiseyes--what if his beloved should turn out to be a scold?

  "Why do you ask?" he inquired; and so gently did he say it that shefaltered, as if ashamed.

  "Well," she said, "I guess it isn't any of my business, _is_ it? I don'tknow what I'm doing here, anyway. If there's any one thing that makesMother furious, it's to see me hanging around the bunk-house. She thinksI----"

  She rose suddenly, and shook out her skirt, but Bowles did not protest.

  "You don't seem to care whether I go or not?" she pouted.

  "Quite the contrary, I assure you, Miss Lee," declared Bowles earnestly."But I'm not on my own ground now, and--well, I don't wish to takeadvantage of your hospitality."

  "No," said Dixie with gentle irony, "nothing like that! You want to becareful how you treat these Arizona girls--they're liable tomisunderstand your motives!"

  "'YOU WANT TO BE CAREFUL HOW YOU TREAT THESE ARIZONAGIRLS!'"]

  Bowles' eyes lighted up with a merry twinkle, but he preserved his pokerface.

  "Oh, I hope not!" he said; and then both of them smiled very knowingly.

  "The reason I wanted to get your name," observed Dixie, sitting down andsmoothing out her skirt again, "was in case you got hurt or killed. Whoam I going to write to in case you go out like Dunbar? Houghton? Bowles?Or who-all? You know, I feel kind of responsible for you, consideringthe way you got out here, and----"

  "Oh, don't think of that!" protested Bowles, coming over and sittingnear her. "If I get hurt, the boys will take care of me; and if I getkilled--well, it won't matter then what you do."

  "Well, don't get killed," urged Dixie kindly. "And if you get hurt,Mother and I will nurse you back to health and strength."

  "Oh, will you?" cried Bowles. "I'll remember that, you may be sure! But,speaking of names, has there been any one in Chula Vista inquiring forSamuel Houghton?"

  "Now, you see!" exclaimed Dixie Lee triumphantly. "If you'd opened thatletter I had for you, you'd have found out about it. As it is, you'lljust have to keep on guessing--I'm mad!"

  "I'm sorry," said Bowles. "The reason I asked was, Brig and I areplanning to make a little trip somewhere, and if I thought there was anyone searching for me I'd----"

  "Oh, you don't need to run away!" explained Dixie hurriedly. "I'll tellyou when to skip--but you don't know what you missed by not reading thatletter I wrote you!"

  "Well, direct the next one to Bowles, then!" he pleaded. "But, nojoking, I wish you wouldn't call attention to that other name--it'slikely to get me into difficulties."

  "What kind of difficulties?" inquired Dixie Lee demurely; but Bowlesonly shook his head.

  "I'm very sorry I can't tell you," he said; "but it means a great dealto me."

  "Maybe I can help you," she suggested.

  "Yes, indeed, you can!" assured Bowles, drawing nearer and smiling hisnaive smile. "Just don't tell anybody what you know, and let me have achance. I've always been shut off from the world, you know--I've neverhad a chance. Just let me fight my way and see if I'm not a man. I knowI'm new, and there are lots of things that come hard for me; but give mea chance to stay and maybe I'll win out. You don't know, Miss Lee, howmuch I treasure those stories you told me--when we were coming West onthe train, you know. Don't you know, I think you have more of thefeeling, more of the fine spirit of the West, than any one I have met.These cowboys seem so barren, some way; they seem to take it as a matterof course. And they all stay away from me--except Brigham. I don't getmany stories now."

  He paused and Dixie May eyed him curiously. He was not the same man whohad traveled with her on the train. A month had made a difference withhim. But there was still the boyish innocence that she liked.

  "You mean stories about outlaws and Indians?" she said. "Hunting andtrapping, and all that?"

  "Yes!" nodded Bowles, glancing over at her appealingly. "Where does thatold trapper, Bill Jump, live? You know--the one you were telling about!"

  "Oh, Bill? He lives up here on the Black Mesa--anywhere between here andthe New Mexico line--and he sure is one of the grandest liars that everbreathed, too. I remember one time----"

  Bowles settled himself inside the doorway and drank in the magical tale.It was as if the Old West rose up before him, blotting out thebarbed-wire fences and the lonely homes of the nesters and bringing backthe age of romance that he sought. He questioned her eagerly, stillwatching her with his boyish, admiring eyes, and Dixie plunged intoanother. The sun, which was getting low, swung lower and a door slammedup at the big house. Then a reproachful voice came floating down, andDixie jumped up from her seat.

  "Oh, dear!" she exclaimed. "There's Maw--seems like I never get anypeace! But, anyway, this old bear with the trap on his foot picked upBill's gun and threw the chamber open, then he looked up into the treewhere Bill was hanging and crooked his finger--like that! And Bill Jumpsaid he knowed it jest as if that ol' b'ar spoke--he was signaling himto throw him down a cartridge, so he could put Bill out of his misery!Or that was what Bill said. But, say, I've got to be running--come up tothe house to-night and let me tell you the rest of it! Oh, pshaw, weknow what your motives are! Come along anyhow! And bring Brig with you!All right--good-by!"

  She gave him a dizzy smile over her shoulder as she fled, and Bowlesblinked his eyes to find the world so fair.