He shook his head. “I guess I know what I heard.”
“I’ll have to show that cook of yours how to make coffee,” remarked Corson a few minutes later.
Diana flushed. “I suppose We don’t get the best coffee out here,” she said, “but we are accustomed to it and learn to like it first rate. I think Wong does the best he can with what he has to do with.”
“Well, it won’t hurt him any to learn how to make coffee,” said Corson.
“He has been with us a great many years and is very faithful. I think he would be terribly hurt if a stranger criticized his coffee,” said Diana.
“Maurice is very particular about his food,” said Miss Manill. “It is really an education to hear him order a dinner at Delmonico’s, and the way he does flay the waiters if everything isn’t just so. I always get such a thrill — you can see people at the nearby tables listening to him, whispering to one another.”
“I can imagine,” said Diana, sweetly, but she did not say just what she could imagine.
Corson swelled visibly. “Call the Chink in, Miss Henders,” he said, “and I’ll give him a lesson now — you might learn something yourself. Way out here, so far from New York, you don’t get much chance, of course. There’s really nothing quite like the refining influences of the East to take the rough edges off of people.”
“I think I prefer to speak to Wong privately and in person, if I find it necessary,” said Diana.
“Well. just so I get some decent coffee hereafter,” said Corson, magnanimously.
Lillian Manill, having finished her breakfast, rose from the table.
“I’m going to put on my riding habit now, Maurice,” she said. “Go out and tell Mr. Colby to wait for me.”
Diana Henders bit her lip, but said nothing as Corson rose and walked toward the door. He was garbed in a New York tailor’s idea of the latest English riding mode, and again Diana bit her lip, but not in anger. Corson, setting his hat jauntily over one eve, stalked into the open and down toward the corrals where the men were saddling up for the day’s work.
He lighted a big, black cigar and puffed contentedly. As he hove in sight work in the corral ceased spontaneously.
‘‘My Gawd !” moaned Texas Pete.
“Who left the bars down?” inquired Idaho.
“Shut up,” cautioned Colby. “That feller’s likely to be boss around here.”
“He won’t never boss me,” said Shorty, “not with thet funny hat on. I wonder could I crease it?” and he reached for his gun.
“Don’t git funny, Shorty. They’s friends o’ Miss Henders,” whispered Colby. “It’d only make her feel bad.”
He could not have hit upon a stronger appeal to these men. Shorty lowered his hand from the butt of his gun and almost at once work was resumed. When Corson joined them he could not have guessed that he was the object either of ridicule or pity, though he was — of both.
“Say, Colby,” he said. “Saddle up a couple of safe horses for Miss Manill and me, and wait around until she comes out. I want you to give her a few lessons in riding.”
“Did Miss Henders say that it would be all right?” lie asked. “You know the work is pretty well laid out an’ we ain’t got none too many hands.”
“0h, that’s all right, my man,” Corson assured him. “You’ll be safe to do anything that I say. I’m handling Miss Manill’s interests and looking after everything in general until the estate is closed. Just trot along and saddle up a couple of horses, and see to it that they are gentle. I haven’t ridden for a number of years, although I was pretty good at it when I was a boy.”
Hal Colby eyed Mr. Maurice B. Corson for a long minute. What was transpiring in his mind it would have been difficult to guess from the expression on his face; though what should have been going on within the convolutions of his brain the other men knew full well, and so they lolled around, their faces immobile, waiting for the fun to begin, but they were doomed to disappointment, for there was no gunplay — Colby, they thought, might have at least “made the dude dance.” Instead he turned away without a word to Corson, gave some final directions for the day’s work, swung into the saddle and rode toward the office, utterly ignoring the Easterner’s instructions. Corson flushed angrily.
“Here you, one of you men,” he snapped, turning toward the punchers, most of whom had already mounted their ponies, “I want two horses saddled immediately — one for Miss Manill and one for me.”
Silently, ignoring him as completely as though he had not existed, the riders filed out of the corral past him. At a little distance they drew rein, waiting for Colby.
“I’ve saw gall before,” remarked Texas Pete in an undertone, “but thet there dude tenderfoot’s got more’n a brass monkey.”
“If he don’t c’ral thet jaw o’ his pronto,” growled Shorty, “I ain’t a-goin’ to be responsible fer what happens — I cain’t hold myself much longer.”
“I wouldn’t a-took what Colby did,” said Idaho.
“Some blokes’ll take a lot to hold their jobs,” said Shorty.
“They c’n hev mine right now,” stated Texas Pete, “ef I gotta take thet dude’s lip.”
“Here comes the boss now,” said Idaho. “She’ll settle things, durn her pretty little hide,” he added affectionately.
Diana had stopped just below the house to listen to Colby, whom the men could see was talking earnestly to her.
“Look here, Di,” he sas saying, “I want to know ef I gotta take orders from thet tin-horn lawyer feller. Is he boss round these diggin’s, or is you?”
“Why, I supposed I was, Hal,” she replied, “though I must admit there appears to be a suspicion of doubt on the subject in Mr. Corson’s mind. What has he said to you?”
Colby told her, repeating Corson’s words as nearly as he could, and the girl could not suppress a laugh.
“Oh, I reckon it’s funny, all right,” he said, testily, “but I don’t see the joke — hevin’ a paper-collared cracker- fed dude like that-un callin’ me ‘my man’ an’ orderin’ me to saddle up a hoss fer him, right in front o’ all the boys. ‘Trot along,’ he says, ‘an saddle up a couple o’ hosses, an’ see to it thet they’re plumb gentle.’ My Gawd, Di! you don’t expect me to take thet sort o’ jaw, do you?”
Diana, by this time, was frankly in tears from laughter, and finally Colby himself was unable to longer repress a smile.
“Don’t mind him, Hal,” she said, finally. “He is just one of those arrogant, conceited, provincial New
Yorkers. They are mighty narrow and disagreeable, but we’ve got to put up with him for a short time and we might as well make the best of it. Go and ask Willie to saddle up two horses for them, and be sure that the one for Miss Manill is plumb gentle.” She accompanied her last instructions with the faintest trace of a wink.
Colby wheeled his pony and loped off to the corral, where he imparted the boss’s orders to the chore boy, Willie, lank, raw- boned and pimply. Willie, who always thought of himself as Wild Bill, swaggered off to catch up the two ponies, grinning inwardly as he roped Gimlet for Mr. Maurice B. Corson.
Corson, seeing Diana approaching, had gone to meet her. He was still red and angry.
“Look here, Miss Henders,” he exclaimed. “You’ve got to tell those fellows who I am. I asked them to saddle up a couple of horses and they absolutely ignored me. You tell them that when I give orders they are to be obeyed.”
“I think it will be less confusing if the orders come from me, Mr. Corson,” she replied. “It is never well to have too many bosses, and then, you see, these men are peculiar. They are unlike the sort of men you have apparently been accustomed to dealing with. You cannot talk to them as you would to a Delmonico waiter — unless you are tired of life, Mr. Corson. They are accustomed to me — we are friends — and they will take orders from me without question, so I think that it will be better all around if you will explain your wants to me in the future. Colby told me what you wanted just now and the hor
ses are being saddled.”
He started to speak and then, evidently reconsidering, caught himself with a palpable effort. “Very well,” he said, presently, “we’ll let it pass this time.”
Together they walked toward the corral where Willie was saddling a quiet, old horse for Miss Manill. Beside him stood Gimlet with drooping head and dejected mien.
“Which one is for me, sonny?” demanded Corson.
Wild Bill glanced up in sullen scorn, eyed Mr. Corson for a brief moment and then jerked a soiled thumb in the direction of Gimlet.
“What! that old crow-bait?” exclaimed the New Yorker.
“You said you wanted a gentle hoss,” explained Colby, lolling in his saddle nearby, .”an’ Gimlet won’t pitch.”
“I don’t want to ride a skate,” growled Corson. “When I’m on a horse I want to know I’m on something.”
“You’ll know you’re on Gimlet,” Colby assured him, sweetly, “he ain’t so dumb as he looks. Jest stick your spurs into him an’ he’ll act quite lively.”
“All right,” said Corson, glumly; “tell him to hurry — I see Miss Manill coming now.”
There were others who saw her coming, too. Texas Pete was only one of them.
“By gollies!” he exclaimed. “Look what’s got loose!”
Lillian Manill was approaching jauntily, clothed in a black riding habit, with a long, voluminous skirt, a man’s collar and tie and black silk hat, with a flowing veil wound around it. Shorty eyed her for a long minute, then he let his gaze wander to Mr. Corson.
“It wouldn’t never be safe fer me to go to New York,” he confided to Idaho. “I’d shore laugh myself to death.”
By the time Miss Manill joined the group the two horses were saddled and Willie had led them out of the corral.
“Mercy!” exclaimed Miss Manill. “Haven’t you a side-saddle? I could never ride one of those horrid things.”
“I’m sorry,” said Diana, “but we haven’t one. I doubt if there is a side-saddle in the county. I think you can work it though, if you will put your leg around the horn. Next time I’ll fix you up with a skirt like mine and then you can ride astride.”
“Are you sure the horse is perfectly safe?” inquired Lillian. “I’ll have to have a few lessons before I can ride one of those bouncing ones. Oh, Mr. Colby, good morning! Here I am all ready for my first lesson.”
Her eyes took in the punchers grouped a few yards away. “I see you are going to have quite a class this morning. Mr. Pete told me, though, that you taught the cow-gentlemen in the afternoon.”
Colby shot a quick glance at Pete, who had just been overcome by a violent fit of coughing, and knowing Texas Pete, as he did, grasped the situation at once.
“Oh, I had to give up the afternoon class,” he told her, “after I found they was a few like Mr. Pete who wouldn’t never larn to ride.”
“Isn’t that too bad,” she said, politely. Then she turned toward Corson. “I think you’d better try it first, Maurice. I’ll watch how you do it.”
“All right,” said he. “It’s been a long time since I have ridden, but I guess it’ll come back to me quick enough. I might be able to give you a few pointers at that.”
He walked up to Gimlet’s off side and took hold of the saddlehorn, neglecting the reins, which Willie still held. Gimlet eyed him sadly. When he essayed to place a foot in the stirrup the pony side-stepped rapidly in the opposite direction.
“You’d better mount from the other side, Mr. Corson,” advised Diana. “These horses are not broken to work with from the off side.”
“I knew all along he was a damn Injun,” remarked Idaho.
“An’ you better take the reins, you may need ‘em,” supplemented Willie, who, at bottom, had a kind heart and shrank from bloodshed.
Corson walked to the near side of Gimlet, gathered the reins loosely in his right hand, stuck a foot into the stirrup, took hold of the horn with both hands and pulled himself laboriously into the saddle. Gimlet stood quietly.
“Giddap!” said Mr. Corson, but Gimlet moved not.
“Throw the hooks into him!” shouted Willie, gleefully.
“Why don’t the old skate go?” demanded Corson, shaking the reins.
“Use your spurs!” called one of the cowboys. “That’s what you bought ’em fer, ain’t it?”
Mr. Corson used his spurs. The result was electrical, galvanizing Gimlet into instant and surprising action — action which glowingly elucidated the derivation of his name. He wheeled dizzily round and round upon the same spot, and with lightning rapidity.
Mr. Corson’s funny hat flew off. He clawed at the horn in intervals that he was not clawing at the loose reins in a mad effort to gather them. Then Gimlet stopped and commenced wheeling again. Mr. Corson lost a stirrup. Then he let go both reins and seized the horn with two hands.
“Stop him!” he yelled. “Stop him! Whoa! Whoa!”
“Rip him open!” shrieked Willie. “Spur him in the eyes!”
“Ride him, cowboy!” yelled Idaho.
Again Gimlet bolted and this time Mr. Corson commenced to slip dangerously to one side. A hundred-yard sprint back to where he had started and Gimlet paused to wheel once more. It was the end. Mr. Corson spun off, alighting on his back. He rolled over with surprising agility and on his hands and knees crawled rapidly away from this man eater that he was sure was pursuing him. But Gimlet was only standing dejectedly, with drooping ears.
Corson came to his feet. The men about him — rough fellows with none of the finer sensibilities of New Yorkers — were laughing rudely.
“It was a put-up job,” he spluttered. “It was a put-up job. You’ll suffer for this, Colby! You told me that animal was gentle.”
“I told you he wouldn’t pitch mister!” snapped Colby. “An’ he didn’t pitch.”
Miss Manill had started back toward the house. “I think I’ll not ride this morning,” she said.
12. CORSON SPEAKS
“‘Come here!’ he yells then to the rest o’ us boys,
‘Step up to the fun’ral an’ don’t make no noise
The while we inter all the barb-wire what’s here,
After which we’ll dispose o’ the seegars an’ beer.’”
sang Texas Pete. “Hello! See who’s came!”
Bull entered the bunk-house with a grin and a nod. “Still singin’ I see, Pete,” he said. “Ain’t you finished thet one yit?”
Two weeks had slipped by since the arrival of Corson and Miss Manill. Bull had just been relieved from duty as bullion guard and was only now returning to the home ranch. In the weeks that he had brought the gold down from the mine there had been no holdup — The Black Coyote or Gregorio had not once been seen.
“How’s everything?” asked Bull.
“So-so,” replied Texas Pete.
“Where’s Colby? I gotta report to him.”
“Up at the house — he eats there now.”
Bull made no comment. He thought he understood why Hal Colby ate at the house. One day soon, doubtless, he would sleep there, too, as master.
“This Manill heifer got stuck on him an’ insists on his eatin’ there,” explained Pete. “Things ain’t been the same since them two shorthorns hit the diggin’s. The boss she looks tired and worried all the time an’ sadlike. I reckon she ain’t got no more use fer ’em than the rest o’ us.”
“Is Colby gone on this Manill girl?” asked Bull.
“I dunno. Sometimes I reckons he is an’ sometimes I reckons he ain’t. Looks like as if he weren’t quite sure which side his bread was buttered on an’ he’s waitin’ to find out.”
Bull busied himself arranging his blankets on his old bunk, working in silence. Texas Pete eyed him surreptitiously. There was a troubled look in Pete’s eyes. Presently he coughed nervously. The two men were alone in the bunkhouse.
“Say, Bull,” Pete finally broke the silence, “you an’ me’s ben good pals.”
Bull looked up from the work of folding h
is tarpaulin. “Who said we ain’t?” he inquired.
“Nobody ain’t said we ain’t,” Pete assured him.
“Then what’s eatin’ you?”
“It’s only just what everybody’s sayin’, Bull,” said Pete. “I thort you’d better know about it.”
“What?”
“Thet you an’ The Black Coyote air the same feller. Not thet it makes any difference with me. I ain’t askin’ whether you air or whether you ain’t. I’m just a-tellin’ you fer your own good.”
Bull smiled one of his slow smiles. “If I wasn’t I’d say so, wouldn’t I?” he asked.
“I reckon you would.”
“An’ if I was I’d say I wasn’t, wouldn’t I?”
“I reckon you would,” assented Pete.
“Then what the hell’s the use o’ sayin’ anything?” he demanded. “And ‘specially when I don’t give a damn what they think.”
Pete shook his head. “I dunno,” he said.
Bull started for the doorway. “I’m goin’ up to the house to report to Colby,” he said.
“Look out thet Manill heifer don’t git her grubhooks on you,” cautioned Pete.
In the office he found Diana Henders writing a letter. She looked up with a little start as she heard his voice.
“Oh, Bull!” she cried, “I’m so glad you’re back.”
“Thanks, Miss. I come up to report to Colby, but I see he ain’t here.”
“He’s in the living-room with Mr. Corson and Miss Manill,” she told him.
“I reckon I’ll see him later then.” He started to leave.
“Don’t go, Bull,” she said. “I want to talk with you. Please sit down.”
He walked toward her and lowered himself into the big easy chair that had been her father’s. His movements were like those of a lion — silent, powerful and yet without stealth.
For the first time in weeks the sense of loneliness that had constantly oppressed her vanished. Bull was back! It was as if a big brother had come home after a long absence — that was why she was so glad to see him. Her heart forgot the thing that her reason had been practically convinced of - that Bull was the bandit of Hell’s Bend — that it was Bull who had been robbing her father and her for months — that it was
Delphi Collected Works of Edgar Rice Burroughs (Illustrated) (Series Four Book 26) Page 561