by Various
"Tex, that ain't so plumb bad," said Andy admiringly.
"What I want to know is who's goin' to do the talkin' to the boss," asked Panhandle. "It mightn't be so hard to explain now. But after drivin' up to the ranch with a woman! You all know Springer's shy. Young an' rich, like he is, an' a bachelor--he's been fussed over so he's plumb afraid of girls. An' here you're fetchin' a middle-aged schoolmarm who's romantic an' mushy!--My Gawd; . . . I say send her home on the next train."
"Pan, you're wise as far as hosses an' cattle goes, but you don't know human nature, an' you're dead wrong about the boss," said Tex. "We're in a bad fix, I'll admit. But I lean more to fetchin' the lady up than sendin' her back. Somebody down Beacon way would get wise. Mebbe the schoolmarm might talk. She'd shore have cause. An' suppose Springer hears about it--that some of us or all of us has played a lowdown trick on a woman. He'd be madder at that than if we fetched her up.
"Likely he'll try to make amends. The boss may be shy on girls but he's the squarest man in Arizona. My idea is that we'll deny any of us is Frank Owens, and we'll meet Miss--Miss--what was her name?-- Miss Jane Stacey and fetch her up to the ranch, an' let her do the talkin' to Springer."
During the next several hours while Tex searched the town for a buckboard and team he could borrow, the other cowboys wandered from the saloon to the post office and back again, and then to the store, the restaurant and back again, and finally settled in the saloon.
When they emerged some time later they were arm in arm, and far from steady on their feet. They paraded up to one main street of Beacon, not in the least conspicuous on a Saturday afternoon. As they were neither hilarious nor dangerous, nobody paid any particular attention to them. Springer, their boss, met them, gazed at them casually, and passed by without sign of recognition. If he had studied the boys closely he might have received an impression that they were clinging to a secret, as well as to each other.
In due time the trio presented themselves at the railroad station. Tex was there, nervously striding up and down the platform, now and then looking at his watch. The afternoon train was nearly due. At the hitching rail below the platform stood a new buckboard and a rather spirited team of horses.
The boys, coming across the wide square, encountered this evidence of Tex's extremity, and struck a posture before it.
"Livery shtable outfit, my gosh," said Andy.
"Shon of a gun if it ain't," added Panhandle with a huge grin.
"Thish here Tex shpendin' his money royal," agreed Nevada.
Then Tex saw them. He stared. Suddenly he jumped straight up. Striding to the edge of the platform, with face red as a beet, he began to curse them.
"Whash masher, ole pard?" asked Andy, who appeared a little less stable than his two comrades.
Tex's reply was another volley of expressive profanity. And he ended with: "--you all yellow quitters to get drunk and leave me in the lurch. But you gotta get away from here. I shore won't have you about when the train comes in."
"But pard, we jist want to shee you meet our Jane from Missouri," said Andy.
"If you all ain't a lot of four-flushers I'll eat my chaps!" burst out Tex hotly.
Just then a shrill whistle announced the arrival of the train.
"You can sneak off now," he went on, "an' leave me to face the music. I always knew I was the only gentleman in Springer's outfit."
The three cowboys did not act upon Tex's sarcastic suggestion, but they hung back, looking at once excited and sheepish and hugely delighted.
The long gray dusty train pulled into the station and stopped with a complaining of brakes. There was only one passenger for Springer-- a woman--and she alighted from the coach near where the cowboys stood waiting. She wore a long linen coat and a brown veil that completely hid her face. She was not tall and she was much too slight for the heavy valise the porter handed down to her.
Tex strode swaggeringly toward her.
"Miss--Miss Stacey, ma'am?" he asked, removing his sombrero.
"Yes," she replied. "Are you Mr. Owens?"
Evidently the voice was not what Tex had expected and it disconcerted him.
"No, ma'am, I--I'm not Mister Owens," he said. "Please let me take your bag . . . I'm Tex Dillon, one of Springer's cowboys. An' I've come to meet you--and fetch you out to the ranch."
"Thank you, but I--I expected to be met by Mr. Owens," she replied.
"Ma'am, there's been a mistake--I've got to tell you--there ain't any Mister Owens," blurted out Tex manfully.
"Oh!" she said, with a little start.
"You see, it was this way," went on the confused cowboy. "One of Springer's cowboys--not ME--wrote them letters to you, signin' his name Owens. There ain't no such named cowboy in this whole country. Your last letter--an' here it is--fell into my hands--all by accident, ma'am, it shore was. I took my three friends heah--I took them into my confidence. An' we all came down to meet you."
She moved her head and evidently looked at the strange trio of cowboys Tex pointed out as his friends. They shuffled forward, not too eagerly, and they still held on to each other. Their condition, not to consider their state of excitement, could not have been lost even upon a tenderfoot from Missouri.
"Please return my--my letter," she said, turning again to Tex, and she put out a small gloved hand to take it from him. "Then--there is no Mr. Frank Owens?"
"No ma'am, there shore ain't," said Tex miserably.
"Is there--no--no truth in his--is there no schoolteacher wanted here?" she faltered.
"I think so, ma'am," he replied. "Springer said he needed one. That's what started us answerin' the advertisement an' the letters to you. You can see the boss an'--an' explain. I'm shore it will be all right. He's one swell feller. He won't stand for no joke on a poor old schoolmarm."
In his bewilderment Tex had spoken his thoughts, and his last slip made him look more miserable than ever, and made the boys appear ready to burst.
"Poor old schoolmarm!" echoed Miss Stacey. "Perhaps the deceit has not been wholly on one side."
Whereupon she swept aside the enveloping veil to reveal a pale yet extremely pretty face. She was young. She had clear gray eyes and a sweet sensitive mouth. Little curls of chestnut hair straggled down from under her veil. And she had tiny freckles.
Tex stared at this lovely apparition.
"But you--you--the letter says she wasn't over forty," he exclaimed.
"She's not," rejoined Miss Stacey curtly.
Then there were visible and remarkable indication of a transformation in the attitude of the cowboy. But the approach of a stranger suddenly seemed to paralyze him. The newcomer was very tall. He strolled up to them. He was booted and spurred. He halted before the group and looked expectantly from the boys to the strange young woman and back again. But for the moment the four cowboys appeared dumb.
"Are--are you Mr. Springer?" asked Miss Stacey.
"Yes," he replied, and he took off his sombrero. He had a deeply tanned frank face and keen blue eyes.
"I am Jane Stacey," she explained hurriedly. "I'm a schoolteacher. I answered an advertisement. And I've come from Missouri because of letters I received from a Mr. Frank Owens, of Springer's Ranch. This young man met me. He has not been very--explicit. I gather there is no Mr. Owens--that I'm the victim of a cowboy joke . . . But he said that Mr. Springer wouldn't stand for a joke on a poor old schoolmarm."
"I sure am glad to meet you, Miss Stacey," said the rancher, with an easy Western courtesy that must have been comforting to her. "Please let me see the letters."
She opened a handbag, and searching in it, presently held out several letters. Springer never even glanced at his stricken cowboys. He took the letters.
"No, not that one," said Miss Stacey, blushing scarlet. "That's one I wrote to Mr. Owens, but didn't mail. It's--hardly necessary to read that."
While Springer read the others she looked at him. Presently he asked her for the letter she had taken back. Miss Stacey hesitated, then refused.
He looked cool, serious, businesslike. Then his keen eyes swept over the four ill-at-ease cowboys.
"Tex, are you Mr. Frank Owens?" he asked sharply.
"I--shore--ain't," gasped Tex.
Springer asked each of the other boys the same question and received decidedly maudlin but negative answers. Then he turned to the girl.
"Miss Stacey, I regret to say that you are indeed the victim of a lowdown cowboy trick," he said. "I'd apologize for such heathen if I knew how. All I can say is I'm sorry."
"Then--then there isn't any school to teach--any place for me--out here?" she asked, and there were tears in her eyes.
"That's another matter," he said, with a pleasant smile. "Of course there's a place for you. I've wanted a schoolteacher for a long time. Some of the men out at the ranch have kids and they sure need a teacher badly."
"Oh, I'm--so glad," she murmured, in evident relief. "I was afraid I'd have to go all the way back. You see I'm not so strong as I used to be--and my doctor advised a change of climate--dry Western air."
"You don't look sick," he said, with his keen eyes on her. "You look very well to me."
"Oh, indeed, but I'm not very strong," she said quickly. "But I must confess I wasn't altogether truthful about my age."
"I was wondering about that," he said, gravely. There seemed just a glint of a twinkle in his eye. "Not over forty."
Again she blushed and this time with confusion.
"It wasn't altogether a lie. I was afraid to mention that I was only--young. And I wanted to get the position so much. . . . I'm a good--a competent teacher, unless the scholars are too grown-up."
"The scholars you'll have at my ranch are children," he replied. "Well, we'd better be starting if we are to get there before dark. It's a long ride."
A few weeks altered many things at Springer's Ranch. There was a marvelous change in the dress and deportment of the cowboys when off duty. There were some clean and happy and interested children. There was a rather taciturn and lonely young rancher who was given to thoughtful dreams and whose keen blue eyes kept watch on the little adobe schoolhouse under the cottonwoods. And in Jane Stacey's face a rich bloom and tan had begun to drive out the city pallor.
It was not often that Jane left the schoolhouse without meeting one of Springer's cowboys. She met Tex most frequently, and according to Andy, that fact was because Tex was foreman and could send the boys off to the end of the range when he had the notion.
One afternoon Jane encountered the foreman. He was clean-shaven, bright and eager, a superb figure of a man. Tex had been lucky enough to have a gun with him one day when a rattlesnake had frightened the schoolteacher and he had shot the reptile. Miss Stacey had leaned against him in her fright; she had been grateful; she had admired his wonderful skill with a gun and had murmured that a woman always would be safe with such a man. Thereafter Tex packed his gun, unmindful of the ridicule of his rivals.
"Miss Stacey, come for a little ride, won't you?" he asked eagerly.
The cowboys had already taught her how to handle a horse and to ride; and if all they said of her appearance and accomplishment were true she was indeed worth watching.
"I'm sorry," said Jane. "I promised Nevada I'd ride with him today."
"I reckon Nevada is miles and miles up the valley by now," replied Tex. "He won't be back till long after dark."
"But he made an engagement with me," protested the schoolmistress.
"An' shore he has to work. He's ridin' for Springer, an' I'm foreman of this ranch," said Tex.
"You sent him off on some long chase," said Jane severely. "Now didn't you?"
"I shore did. He comes crowin' down to the bunk-house--about how he's goin' to ride with you an' how we all are not in the runnin'."
"Oh! he did--And what did you say?"
"I says, 'Nevada, I reckon there's a steer mired in the sand up in Cedar Wash. You ride up there and pull him out.'"
"And then what did he say?" inquired Jane curiously.
"Why, Miss Stacey, shore I hate to tell you. I didn't think he was so--so bad. He just used the most awful language as was ever heard on this here ranch. Then he rode off."
"But was there a steer mired up in the wash?"
"I reckon so," replied Tex, rather shamefacedly. "Most always is one."
Jane let scornful eyes rest upon the foreman. "That was a mean trick," she said.
"There's been worse done to me by him, an' all of them. An' all's fair in love an' war . . . Will you ride with me?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I think I'll ride off alone up Cedar Wash and help Nevada find that mired steer."
"Miss Stacey, you're shore not goin' to ride off alone. Savvy that."
"Who'll keep me from it?" demanded Jane with spirit.
"I will. Or any of the boys, for that matter. Springer's orders."
Jane started with surprise and then blushed rosy red. Tex, also, appeared confused at his disclosure.
"Miss Stacey, I oughtn't have said that. It slipped out. The boss said we needn't tell you, but you were to be watched an' taken care of. It's a wild range. You could get lost or thrown from a hoss."
"Mr. Springer is very kind and thoughtful," murmured Jane.
"The fact is, this ranch is a different place since you came," went on Tex as if suddenly emboldened. "An' this beatin' around the bush doesn't suit me. All the boys have lost their heads over you."
"Indeed? How flattering!" said Jane, with just a hint of mockery. She was fond of all her admirers, but there were four of them she had not yet forgiven.
The tall foreman was not without spirit. "It's true all right, as you'll find out pretty quick." he replied. "If you had any eyes you'd see that cattle raisin' on this ranch is about to halt till somethin' is decided. Why, even Springer himself is sweet on you!"
"How dare you!" flashed Jane blushing furiously.
"I ain't afraid to tell the truth," said Tex stoutly. "He is. The boys all say so. He's grouchier than ever. He's jealous. Lord! he's jealous! He watches you--"
"Suppose I told him you had dared to say such things?" interrupted Jane, trembling on the verge of a strange emotion.
"Why, he'd be tickled to death. He hasn't got nerve enough to tell you himself."
Jane shook her head, but her face was still flushed. This cowboy, like all his comrades, was hopeless. She was about to change the topic of conversation when Tex suddenly took her into his arms. She struggled--and fought with all her might. But he succeeded in kissing her cheek and then the tip of her ear. Finally she broke away from him.
"Now--" she panted. "You've done it--you've insulted me! Now I'll never ride with you again--never even speak to you."
"Shore I didn't insult you," replied Tex. "Jane--won't you marry me?"
"No."
"Won't you be my sweetheart--till you care enough to--to--"
"No."
"But, Jane, you'll forgive me, an' be good friends with me again?"
"Never!"
Jane did not mean all she said. She had come to understand these men of the range--their loneliness--their hunger for love. But in spite of her sympathy and affection she needed sometimes to appear cold and severe with them.
"Jane, you owe me a great deal--more than you got any idea of," said Tex seriously.
"How so?"
"Didn't you ever guess about me?"
"My wildest flight at guessing would never make anything of you, Texas Jack."
"You'd never have been here but for me," he said solemnly.
Jane could only stare at him.
"I meant to tell you long ago. But I shore didn't have the nerve. Jane I--I was that there letter-writin' feller. I wrote them letters you got. I am Frank Owens."
"No!" exclaimed Jane.
She was startled. That matter of Frank Owens had never been cleared up to her satisfaction. It had ceased to rankle within her breast, but it had never been completely forgotten. She looked up earnestly into the big
fellow's face. It was like a mask. But she saw through it. He was lying. He was brazen. Almost, she thought, she saw a laugh deep in his eyes.
"I shore am that lucky man who found you a job when you was sick an' needed a change . . . An' that you've grown so pretty an' so well you owe all to me."
"Tex, if you really were Frank Owens, THAT would make a great difference; indeed I do owe him everything, I would--but I don't believe you are he."
"It's shore honest Gospel fact," declared Tex. "I hope to die if it ain't!"
Jane shook her head sadly at his monstrous prevarication. "I don't believe you," she said, and left him standing there.
It might have been coincidence that the next few days both Nevada and Panhandle waylaid the pretty schoolteacher and conveyed to her intelligence by divers and pathetic arguments the astounding fact that each was none other than Mr. Frank Owens. More likely, however, was it attributable to the unerring instinct of lovers who had sensed the importance and significance of this mysterious correspondent's part in bringing health and happiness into Jane Stacey's life. She listened to them with both anger and amusement at their deceit, and she had the same answer for both. "I don't believe you."
Because of these clumsy machinations of the cowboys, Jane had begun to entertain some vague, sweet, and disturbing suspicions of her own as to the identity of that mysterious cowboy, Frank Owens.
It came about that a dance was to be held at Beacon during the late summer. The cowboys let Jane know that it was something she could not very well afford to miss. She had not attended either of the cowboy dances which had been given since her arrival. This next one, however, appeared to be an annual affair, at which all the ranching fraternity for miles around would be attending.
Jane, as a matter of fact, was wild to go. However, she felt that she could not accept the escort of any one of her cowboy admirers without alienating the others. And she began to have visions of this wonderful dance fading away without a chance of her attending, when Springer accosted her one day.
"Who's the lucky cowboy to take you to our dance?" he asked.
"He seems to be as mysterious and doubtful as Mr. Frank Owens," replied Jane.
"Oh, you still remember him," said the rancher, his keen dark eyes quizzically on her.