CHAPTER VIII
THE D BAR LAZY R BOYS MEET AN ANGEL
Joyce came flying to her father's arms. The white lace of a nightgownshowed beneath the dressing-robe she had hurriedly donned. A plait ofdark hair hung across her shoulder far below the waist. She threw herselfat Crawford with a moaning little sob.
"Oh Dad ... Dad ... Dad!" she cried, and her slender arms went round hisneck.
"'T's all right, sweetheart. Yore old dad's not even powder-burnt. Youbeen worryin' a heap, I reckon." His voice was full of rough tenderness.
She began to cry.
He patted her shoulder and caressed her dark head drawing it close to hisshoulder. "Now--now--now sweetheart, don't you cry. It's all right, li'l'honey bug."
"You're not ... hurt," she begged through her tears.
"Not none. Never was huskier. But I got a boy out here that's beat upsome. Come in, Dave--and you, Bob. They're good boys, Joy. I want you tomeet 'em both."
The girl had thought her father alone. She flung one startled glance intothe night, clutched the dressing-gown closer round her throat, and fledher barefoot way into the darkness of the house. To the boys, hangingback awkwardly at the gate, the slim child-woman was a vision wonderful.Their starved eyes found in her white loveliness a glimpse of heaven.
Her father laughed. "Joy ain't dressed for callers. Come in, boys."
He lit a lamp and drew Dave to a lounge. "Lemme look at yore haid, son.Bob, you hot-foot it for Doc Green."
"It's nothin' a-tall to make a fuss about," Dave apologized. "Only a lovetap, compliments of Shorty, and some kicks in the slats, kindness of Mr.Miller."
In spite of his debonair manner Dave still had a bad headache and was sosore around the body that he could scarcely move without groaning. Hekept his teeth clamped on the pain because he had been brought up inthe outdoor code of the West which demands of a man that he grin andstand the gaff.
While the doctor was attending to his injuries, Dave caught sight onceor twice of Joyce at the door, clad now in a summer frock of white with ablue sash. She was busy supplying, in a brisk, competent way, the demandsof the doctor for hot and cold water and clean linen.
Meanwhile Crawford told his story. "I was right close to the club whenDoble met me. He pulled a story of how his brother Dug had had troublewith Steelman and got shot up. I swallowed it hook, bait, and sinker.Soon as I got into the house they swarmed over me like bees. I didn'teven get my six-gun out. Brad wanted me to sign a relinquishment. I toldhim where he could head in at."
"What would have happened if the boys hadn't dropped along?" asked Dr.Green as he repacked his medicine case.
The cattleman looked at him, and his eyes were hard and bleak. "Why, Doc,yore guess is as good as mine." he said.
"Mine is, you'd have been among the missing, Em. Well, I'm leaving asleeping-powder for the patient in case he needs it in an hour or two.In the morning I'll drop round again," the doctor said.
He did, and found Dave much improved. The clean outdoors of therough-riding West builds blood that is red. A city man might have kepthis bed a week, but Dave was up and ready to say good-bye withinforty-eight hours. He was still a bit under par, a trifle washed-out,but he wanted to take the road in pursuit of Miller and Doble, who hadagain decamped in a hurry with the two horses they had stolen.
"They had the broncs hid up Frio Canon way, I reckon," explained Hart."But they didn't take no chances. When they left that 'dobe house theylit a-runnin' and clumb for the high hills on the jump. And they didn'tleave no address neither. We'll be followin' a cold trail. We're notliable to find them after they hole up in some mountain pocket."
"Might. Never can tell. Le's take a whirl at it anyhow," urged Dave.
"Hate to give up yore paint hoss, don't you?" said Bob with his friendlygrin. "Ain't blamin' you none whatever, I'd sleep on those fellows' trailif Chiquito was mine. What say we outfit in the mornin' and pull ourfreights? Maybeso we'll meet up with the thieves at that. Yo no se (Idon't know)."
When Joyce was in the room where Dave lay on the lounge, the young mannever looked at her, but he saw nobody else. Brought up in a saddle onthe range, he had never before met a girl like her. It was not only thatshe was beautiful and fragrant as apple-blossoms, a mystery of maidenhoodwhose presence awed his simple soul. It was not only that she seemed sodelicately precious, a princess of the blood royal set apart by reason ofher buoyant grace, the soft rustle of her skirts, the fine texture of thesatiny skin. What took him by the throat was her goodness. She wasenshrined in his heart as a young saint. He would have thought itsacrilege to think of her as a wide-awake young woman subject to all thevanities of her sex. And he could have cited evidence. The sweetness ofher affection for rough Em Crawford, the dear, maternal tenderness withwhich she ruled her three-year-old brother Keith, motherless since theweek of his birth, the kindness of the luminous brown eyes to the uncouthstranger thrown upon her hospitality: Dave treasured them all as signs ofangelic grace, and they played upon his heartstrings disturbingly.
Joyce brought Keith in to say good-bye to Dave and his friend beforethey left. The little fellow ran across the room to his new pal, whohad busied himself weaving horsehair playthings for the youngster.
"You turn back and make me a bwidle, Dave," he cried.
"I'll sure come or else send you one," the cowpuncher promised, rising tomeet Joyce.
She carried her slender figure across the room with perfect ease andrhythm, head beautifully poised, young seventeen as self-possessed asthirty. As much could not be said for her guests. They were all legs andgangling arms, red ears and dusty boots.
"Yes, we all want you to come back," she said with a charming smile. "Ithink you saved Father's life. We can't tell you how much we owe you. Canwe, Keith?"
"Nope. When will you send the bwidle?" he demanded.
"Soon," the restored patient said to the boy, and to her: "That wasn'tnothin' a-tall. From where I come from we always been use to standin' byour boss."
He shifted awkwardly to the other foot, flushing to the hair while heburied her soft little hand in his big freckled one. The girl showed noshyness. Seventeen is sometimes so much older than twenty.
"Tha's what us D Bar Lazy R boys are ridin' with yore paw's outfit for,Miss--to be handy when he needs us," Bob added in his turn. "We're suretickled we got a chanct to go to Brad Steelman's party. I'm ce'tainlyglad to 'a' met you, Miss Joyce." He ducked his head and scraped back afoot in what was meant to be a bow.
Emerson Crawford sauntered in, big and bluff and easy-going. "Hittin' thetrail, boys? Good enough. Hope you find the thieves. If you do, play yorecards close. They're treacherous devils. Don't take no chances with 'em.I left an order at the store for you to draw on me for another pair ofboots in place of those you lost in the brush, Dave. Get a good pair,son. They're on me. Well, so long. Luck, boys. I'll look for you-all backwith the D Bar Lazy R when you've finished this job."
The punchers rode away without looking back, but many times in the daysthat followed their hearts turned to that roof which had given the wordhome a new meaning to them both.
Gunsight Pass: How Oil Came to the Cattle Country and Brought a New West Page 8