by B. M. Bower
*CHAPTER IX*
*A PLEASANT EXCURSION*
After an early breakfast, early for him these days, Tex went down thestreet toward Carney's. As he passed Williams' stable he heardhammering, and paused to glance in at the door to see what his friend,Graves, was doing.
The stableman looked up and turned halfway around at the hail. "Hello!"he mumbled through a mouthful of nails. Removing them he nodded at thedoor. "Tryin' to fasten that lock so it'll do some good. It must 'a'been forced off more'n once, judgin' by th' split wood, which is so oldthat it ain't much good, anyhow. Th' nails sink into it like it wasputty."
Tex was about to suggest the sawing out of the poorest part of the plankand the in-letting of a new piece in its place, but some subconsciouswarning bade him hold his peace.
"Much ado about nothin', Graves," he said, smiling ironically. "Hossstealin' is a bigger risk in these parts than it is a profit; an'anyhow, th' slightest noise will wake you up, sleepin' like you do rightnext to th' door." He examined the wood. "Huh; them splits were madewhen th' wood was tough--it wouldn't split as dead as it is now: th'nails would just pull out. So you see it was done years ago. Hossstealin' has gone out of style since then. All you want is a catch tohold it shut ag'in' th' wind." He winced suddenly and held a handgently against his jaw. "That's all it wants."
"Reckon yo're right," agreed the stableman, glancing curiously at hiscompanion's hand. "What's th' matter? Toothache?"
Tex growled a profane malediction and nodded. "Reckon I'll have to goaround an' see th' doc, an' get some laudanum."
"An' pay that thief three prices!" expostulated Graves indignantly."Chances are he's so drunk he'll give you strychnine instead. Why don'tyou go up to Williams' store? He's got th' laudanum, an' knows how tofix it up for toothaches an' earaches, I reckon."
"Williams?" queried Tex in moderate surprise. "What you talkin' about?He ain't runnin' no drug-store! What's he doin' with drugs an' suchstuff?"
Graves laughed and contemplated the lock with strong disapproval. "No,it ain't no drug-store," he replied. "But th' doc drinks so hard heain't got no money left to carry a full line of drugs, so Williamscarries 'em for him, an' sells him stuff as he needs it. Besides, heallus did sell strychnine to th' ranchers, for coyotes an'wolves--though I ain't never heard it said that any wolves was everpoisoned. Sometimes they do get a coyote--but not no wolves. They'vebeen hunted so hard they just about know as much as th' hunters." Hestepped forward and felt of the wood around the lock. "I reckon yo'reright," he admitted; "though while I ain't nat'rally a sound sleeper, itwould take quite some racket to wake me up if I'd had a couple of drinksbefore goin' to bed, which I generally do have. I'll just let her staylike she is."
Tex looked at the lock and at the bolt receptacle on the door jamb. Thelock was fastened securely for most people, seeing that the pressurefrom being pushed inward would not work against it very much; but thereceptacle, the keystone of the door's defense, was nailed to evenpoorer wood than the lock itself and he saw at once that any real strainwould force it loose.
"Shore; good enough," he said. "Have an eye-opener?"
Graves accepted with alacrity and in a moment they were smiling acrossCarney's bar at the good-natured proprietor.
"That hoss ready?" asked Tex when the conversation lulled.
"In th' stall next to th' roan," answered Carney. "Th' stable boys wentto Europe last night an' won't be back till tomorrow; but I reckon youcan saddle her yoreself."
"I'd rather do it myself," replied Tex.
"Labor of love?" queried Carney, grinning.
"Measure of precaution," retorted Tex, a slight frown on his face.
Carney nodded endorsement. "Can't take too much," he rejoined. "Thatgoes for every kind, too. Nice gal, she is--though a little mite stuckup. I reckon she----"
"Nice day," interrupted Tex, looking straight into the eyes of theproprietor; "though it's hot, an' close," he added slowly.
"It is that," muttered Carney. "As I was sayin', you'll find bothhosses ready for saddles," he vouchsafed with slight confusion.
"Much obliged," answered Tex with a smile, turning toward the rear door."See you boys later," he said, going out. In a few minutes they saw himride past on a nettlesome black which put down its white feet as thoughspurning contact with the earth.
"Whitefoot shore glistens," observed Graves.
"She ought to," replied Carney. He mopped off the bar and looked up."Beats all how them fellers ride," he observed. "They sit a saddle likethey'd growed there. An'," he cogitated, "beats all how touchy some of'em are. I can't figger him, a-tall," whereupon ensued an exhaustivecritique of cowpunchers, their manners, and dispositions.
Meanwhile the particular cowpuncher who had started the discussion wasriding briskly northeastward along the trail which he knew led to the CBar, and after he had put a few miles behind him he took a package fromhis pocket and sowed black powder along the edge of the trail. After ashort while he turned and rode back again.
Jane Saunders answered the knock and smiled at the self-possessedpuncher who faced her, hat in hand. "Come in a moment," she invited,stepping aside. "This coffee is hardly cool enough to be put into thebottles, but it won't be long before it is. I am so glad you havebrought Whitefoot. I have ridden her before."
"She's quite a horse," he replied. "Gaited as easy as any I ever rode."
She flashed him a suspicious glance. "Then you've ridden her? When,and what for?"
"I thought it would do no harm to learn her disposition," he answeredcarelessly. "She hasn't been out of the stable for two weeks. We had anice five-mile ride, and she took it with plenty of spirit. She's a goodhoss."
After awhile Jane filled two bottles with coffee and placed them withthe lunch on the table. Tex took down a blackened tin pail from a hookover the stove and, picking up the bottles and the lunch, went out tohis horse, followed by Jane, who had at the last moment buckled on acartridge belt and the .38 Colt.
Tex looked at them and cogitated. "That'll be quite heavy and annoying,bobbing up and down at every step," he observed. "Why not leave thebelt behind and let me slip the gun into my pocket?"
"But I should get accustomed to it," she protested.
"Intend to wear it steadily?"
"No; hardly that," she laughed.
"Then there's no reason to get accustomed to it," he replied. "Surpriseis a great factor, because what is known can be guarded against. Willyou allow me to advise you in a matter of this kind?"
"Jerry says I couldn't have a better adviser," she replied. Sheregarded him with level gaze. "Of course, Mr. Jones; but I want tocarry it: you have too much without taking it. Frankly, I'm amused byyour suggestion that I learn to use it, by Jerry's earnestness that I dolearn, and by Tim's fear that I will not. Let us start out by beingfrank: Why do you think it necessary that I do?"
"Necessary?" asked Tex. "Why, I am not claiming that it is necessary;but I do know that it is a very pleasant diversion. Miss Saunders,there is a great deal said and written about the chivalry of westernmen. I won't say that most of it, or even nearly all of it is notdeserved, for I believe that it is; but I will say that there are menwho have no idea of chivalry, honesty, or even decency. You find themwherever men are, be it any point of the compass, or in any stratum ofsociety. The West has some of them, even if less than its proportionateshare; and this town of Windsor was not overlooked in theirdistribution. I know of no particular reason why you should learn theuse of a revolver; but we are dealing with generalities. They suffice.With the odds a hundred to one that you never will have need to callupon knowledge of firearms, why refuse that knowledge when it is soeasily acquired; and when the acquirement not only will be a pleasurebut will lead to further pleasures? Shooting calls for thatcoordination of nerves and muscles which make all sports sport. And letme say, further, that the feeling of confidence, of security, whichcomes from the prope
r handling of a six-shooter is well worth whatlittle effort has been expended to learn its use. Later I hope you willmake use of my rifle--after I reduce the powder charges a little--butthe short gun should come first. And I would much prefer that you carryit yourself, and make its carrying a habit rather than an exception."
"You are a very difficult man to argue against successfully, Mr. Jones,"she said smiling. "I believe, quite the hardest I ever have met."
She took off the belt, slipped the gun inside her waist and hung thebelt on a branch of a small tree beside her.
Tex dismounted, took the belt and carried it into the house and,returning, lifted her into the saddle, which she wisely sat astride.Swinging onto the roan he led the way toward town. She was about tospeak of the direction when she decided to keep silent, and, glancingsidewise at him, smiled to herself at his easy assurance and ratherliked his open defiance of the townspeople. She had no illusions as towhat effect their ride together might have in certain minds, and sheallowed her feelings, if not her thoughts, to choose her words.
"What a relief it is to have a day's freedom," she exulted, patting theblack.
Tex nodded understandingly. "Yes," he said. "Being cooped up and hedgedaround does get tiresome, I suspect. Well," he laughed, "the fences areall down today. We ride where we listeth and let no man say us nay."
She looked at him smilingly. "Do you know that you are something of anenigma? I'm curious to know what's going on in your head," she daringlydeclared. "You just said the fences are all down, you know."
He laughed and glanced down the main street, into which they at thatmoment turned, and a certain grimness came to his face, which she didnot miss. "Why allow yourself to be disappointed?" he asked. "Illusionshave their worth; and a mystery solved loses its interest. As a matterof fact, the less that is known of what goes on in my head, the betterfor my reputation for wisdom and common sense. It reminds me of themouse in the cave."
"Yes?"
"Yes. It was such a big cave and such a little mouse," he explained."And except for the little mouse the cave was empty."
"I admire your humility; it is refreshing, especially in this country;but I fear it is a very great illusion. Like the other illusions towhich you just referred, has it its worth?"
"Confession is good for the soul, and always has worth."
While he spoke he saw a lounger before the hotel come to startled lifeand hurry inside. Down the street three conversing miners stopped theirwords to stare open-mouthed at the two riders nonchalantly jogging theirway. The door of the hotel became jammed and curious, surprised facespeered from its dirty windows, among them the angry countenance of HenryWilliams.
The ordeal of proceeding naturally and carelessly down that street undersuch frank scrutiny would have tried the balance of any poise, and Jane,flushing and trying to ignore the stares, flashed a searching glance ather companion and felt a quick admiration for him. She could imagineTommy under these conditions. For all she could detect, her companionmight have been riding across the uninhabited plains with no observingeyes within a day's ride of him. Swaying rhythmically to the motion ofhis horse, relaxed, unconcerned, and natural, he talked with ease andsmoothness; and unknowingly made an impression on her which time neverwould efface.
"That simile of the mouse in the cave," he was saying, "naturally setsup a train of thought--all thought being an unbroken, closely connected,although not necessarily manifest to us, concatenation--and leads to theass in the lion's skin, being helped materially by the great number ofasses in sight, despite the scarcity of even the skins of the noblerbeasts. The dual combination does not end there, however; there arejackals in lobos' hides, and vultures posing as eagles. Even the lowlyskunk has found a braver skin and bids for a reputation sweeter to bearthan the one earned by his own striking peculiarity. For such a onethere is nothing so disconcerting as a six-gun appearing from a placewhere no six-gun should be--and it loses none of its potency even if thebore be small and the charge light. Have you ever had the opportunityto study animals at close range, Miss Saunders?"
His companion, bent over the saddle horn in her mirth, gasped that shenever had enjoyed such an opportunity, especially before today,whereupon he continued.
"The ass in the lion's skin was all right and got along famously untilhe brayed," he explained; "but the skunk fools no one for one instant,not even himself. He can't even fool Oh My, here," and he slapped theglossy neck of the roan.
"Who?" demanded Jane, her face red from laughter.
"Oh My; my horse," he answered. "He was named by one Windy Barrett,when that person awakened from a stupor acquired by pouring libations toBacchus. The rest of the name is Cayenne."
"Why, that's an exclamation, not a name--Oh!" Jane went off intoanother fit of laughter. "_Omar Khayyam_! Isn't that rich! Whateverdid you do when you heard it?
"I led Graves to the tavern door agape," answered Tex, grinning.
By this time they had swung into the trail leading to the C Bar and themiles rolled swiftly behind them. Suddenly Tex touched his companion'sarm, both reining in abruptly. Squarely in the middle of the trail wasa rattlesnake, huge for the prairie, and it coiled swiftly, thetriangular head erect and the tail whirring.
"Ugh!" exclaimed Jane, a wave of revulsion sweeping over her. "What amonster! Can you shoot it from here?"
Tex nodded. "Yes, but while I usually do, I rather dislike the job.He's a snake all right, man's hereditary enemy since the world wasyoung, and the hatred for him comes to us naturally. Sinister,repellant, and all that, that chap is as square as any enemy in thewild, and he is coolly business-like. He hasn't a friend outside hisown species, and even in that is to be found one of his chief enemies.There he lies, for all to see, his gauntlet thrown, whirring hisdetermination to defend himself, and to depart if given a chance. Lookat those coils, their grace and power, not an ungainly movement thewhole length of him. Look at his markings--from the freshness of hisskin and its vivid coloration I'd say he has very recently parted withhis old skin, and the parasites which infected it. You shed your skinin vain, Old-Timer--you'll not enjoy it long," and his hand dropped tothe holster. A flash and a roar, a rolling burst of smoke, and thedefiant head jerked sidewise, hanging by a few shreds of muscle to thewrithing coils. "'Dead for a ducat, dead!'" quoted Tex, leading the waypast his victim.
A little farther on he pointed to a track along the side of the trail.
"Dog or wolf," he said. "They're identical except for directness. Adog's track wavers, a wolf's does not. From the fact that it followsthe trail I'd say that was a dog; but it may puzzle us before we loseit. He was a big animal, though, and if a wolf he's a lobo, the graybuffalo wolf, cunning as Satan and brave as Hector. And what a killer!No carrion for him, no meat killed by anyone but himself, and usuallyhe's shy about returning to that. He creates havoc on a cattle range.Poison he sneers at, and it takes mighty shrewd trapping to catch him.To avoid the scent of man is his leading maxim. Before the snow comeshe is safe--afterwards his troubles begin if a tracer crosses histrail."
"Why I thought he was a big coyote," said Jane. "You make him out to bequite a remarkable animal."
"And justly," responded her companion. "Coyote? They shouldn't bementioned together in the same breath. The buffalo gray is a king--thecoyote a crawling scavenger, with wits in place of courage. Thedifference in the natures is indicated graphically by the way they holdtheir tails. The coyote's droops at a sharp angle, but the lobo's isheld straight out. A single wolf is more expensive to ranchers now thanhe once was, because he has been hunted so hard with traps and poisonthat he now has learned not to eat dead animals, and in some cases evento ignore his own kill after once he has left it. I've heard of severalwolves, each of which have been blamed for the killing of sixty cows ina year, and their score might have run quite some higher. Have you beenwatching this track? I'd say it's wolf--and as direct as an arrow. Andthere is the great western target--tomato, from the color o
f it. Supposeyou try your hand at it?"
Jane produced the pistol and listened intelligently (and how rare a giftthat is!) to all her companion had to tell her. When the pistol wasemptied the can was still untouched. Laughing, Tex dismounted, and drewa long rectangle in the sand, with the can in the median line and to oneend.
"The ground laying flat instead of standing up like a man," heexplained, "I had to figure on your line of vision. If the upper halfof a man's body were placed on the line nearer you, his head would justabout intercept your view of the farther line. Now your third and sixthshots, having struck inside the four lines, would have hit a man at thatdistance. I'd say you hit his stomach with the third shot, and his rightshoulder with the other. The can is of no moment, for cans are notdangerous; but when I show you how to reload, I want you to aim at thecan, as if it were the buckle of a belt. You take to that Colt like aduck takes to water--and before you get home today you'll surpriseyourself. Now, to eject the empties and to reload--and by the way, MissSaunders, if I were you, carrying that gun as you must carry it, I'dleave one cartridge out, and let the hammer rest on the empty chamber."
The lesson went on, his pupil slowly becoming enthused and finding thatit truly was a sport. When she had made four out of five in themarked-off space she was greatly elated and would have continuedshooting after she was tired, but her tutor refused to let her.
"That is enough for now," he laughed. "On our way back you may try afew more rounds if you wish. No use to tire yourself, especially aftersuch a creditable showing. In these few minutes you graduated out ofthe defenseless-woman class, and may God help anybody who discounts yourdefense. You see, the main thing is not the shooting, but the freedomfrom fear of weapons and knowing how to use them. There is nothingmysterious about a Colt--it won't blow up, or shoot behind. Whatevertimidity you may have had about handling one has been overcome, and in afew minutes you have learned to hold it right and to shoot it. The barethreat of a gun held in capable hands is in most cases enough. Now, ifyou please, I'll try my left hand at the can. I wear only one gun, butit may be necessary to wear two--and while my left hand has been trainedto shoot well, this is a good opportunity to exercise it."
Filling the can with sand and dirt to weigh it against rolling, hestepped back twenty paces, tossed his own Colt into his left hand,dropped the butt to his hip and sent six shots at the crimson target.Stepping from the smoke cloud he advanced and examined the can. Onebullet had clipped its upper edge, another had grazed one side, whilethe other four were grouped in the sand within a radius only; a littlelarger than that of the target.
"That wouldn't do for two of my friends," he laughed, "but it's goodenough for me. Not a shot would have missed the target I had in mind.Had I shot as quickly as I could, I might have missed the targetaltogether, but close enough for practical purposes. On the other hand,had I taken a little more time, the score would be better."
Jane's mouth still was open in delighted surprise. "Do you mean to tellme that anyone can do better than that, from the hip, without sightingat all?" she demanded incredulously.
"Oh, yes," he replied, reloading the weapon. "Quite some few, notablythose two friends of whom I spoke. You see I am satisfied in attainingpractical perfection in my left hand, knowing that my other is skilledto a higher degree; but my friends must spend their time and cartridgespainting the lily. Either Johnny or Hopalong would feel quite chagrinedif at least five hadn't cut into the can. You should see them shootingagainst each other, breaking matches to get the exact measurements andarguing as if a fortune depended on it. Why, Miss Saunders, either ofthem could walk into Williams' hotel on a busy night, give warning, andempty two guns in less than ten seconds, every shot hitting a man. Theyhave faced greater odds than that, both of them."
"You mean that one man could defeat a crowd like that?"
"Exactly; but they would not have to fire a shot," he said, smiling."You see, such a man would only have to throw down on the crowd to holdthem in check, if they know he will go through with his play. It isn'tunlike an arch. The keystone in this case is the fear of certain deathto the man who leads. The first man in the crowd to make a play woulddie. To some people martyrdom has a morbidly pleasant appeal as anabstract proposition; but in a concrete state, where the suffering isnot vicarious, it really has few devotees. And here is a psychologicalfact: every man in the front rank of such a crowd is fully convincedthat he has been selected for the target if the rush starts. Hopalongand Johnny would go through with their play if their hand was forced,and they are the kind of men whose expressions assure that they will.It is a great comfort to have them with you if you must enter a hostiletown. It's a gift, like the gift of keener, swifter reflexes."
"It seems so impossible," commented Jane. "Won't you please try yourother hand at a can? Somehow I felt that the snake was killed byaccident more than skill. It seemed absurd, the offhand way you didit."
"This really is no test," he responded, filling another can and steppingback as he shifted the weapon to the right hand. "There is not thetenseness which a great stake causes; but, on the other hand, there isnot the high-tension signals to the muscles. Watch closely," and thejarring crashes sounded like a loud ripping. One hole through thepicture of a perfect tomato, two just above it, two lower down, and thesixth on the upper edge of the can gave mute testimony that he shotwell.
She fairly squealed with delight and clapped her hands in spontaneousenthusiasm. "Wonderful! Wonderful! Oh, if I ever could shoot likethat! I don't believe those friends can even equal it, and I don't carehow good they are." Her face beamed. "But that must have taken a greatdeal of practice."
"Years of it," he replied, "coupled to a natural aptitude. While theaccuracy is good enough, that is of secondary consideration. Had onlyone bullet struck the target, or grazed it, the other five would nothave been necessary. The speed of the draw is the great thing. Any manused to shooting a revolver can hit that mark once in six--but he is farfrom a real gunman if he can't beat ninety-nine men out of a hundred infiring the first shot. That is what counts with a gun-fighter. Histarget is almost any place between the belt and the shoulders. If hestrikes there and does not kill his man he will have time for a secondshot if it is needed. My left hand is as deadly as my right against aliving target so far as accuracy is concerned; but pit it against myright and it would be hopelessly lost, dead before it could get the gunout of the holster. And Hopalong Cassidy twice gave me lessons in thefine art of drawing--once in an exhibition and the second time in whatwould have been mortal combat if he had not allowed his heart to guidehis head. I did not in the least merit his mercy. I had lived a wild,careless life, Miss Saunders; but it changed from that day."
"Jerry told me why you made him give up wearing his revolver," she said,thoughtfully. "I did not fully appreciate his words; but the graphicexposition lacks nothing to be convincing. Was your interest in hiswelfare another of your generalities?"
Her companion laughed. "Jerry is a very likable chap, Miss Saunders.Knowing that some feeling against him existed, and not knowing into whatit might develop, I only followed the promptings of caution. He is agentleman and a man infinitely finer grained than the rest of theinhabitants of Windsor. He is honorable and he lacks insight into thecommon motives which impel many men to perform acts he would notcountenance. I have knocked about the West for twenty years, seeing itat its best and at its worst--and you simply cannot conceive what thatworst is. I have met many Gus Williamses and Jakes and Bud Haineses andHenry Williamses. They are almost a distinct variation of the humanspecies; they are a recognized and classified type. I knew them all assoon as I saw them. Bud Haines is a natural killer. He'd kill a man ata nod from the man who hired him. Gus Williams hires him, knowing that.Henry, the nephew, is foul, a sneak, and a coward. I'd rather see asister of mine in her grave than married to him. But he is GusWilliams' nephew, the second power in town and must not be overlooked;and he never will know how close to death he ha
s been these last fewdays. It fairly has breathed in his face. But we've had enough ofthis: not far ahead is a fairly good place for our lunch, unless youwould prefer to go on to the C Bar."
"Why have you mentioned the nephew to me?" demanded Jane, her cheeksflushed and a fear in her eyes.
"Did I single him out?" asked Tex in surprise. "Why, I only mentionedhim, along with the others, while giving examples of a detestable typeand to explain why Jerry should not go about armed. I hope I have notfrightened you, Miss Saunders?"
"You have not frightened me," she answered. "I have been frightened fora long time. We are so helpless! Things which bother me, I dare notspeak to him about them, for he only would get into trouble and to noavail. He cannot pick and choose; and I must stand by him, no matterwhere he goes, or what he does. Is there mercy in heaven, is therejustice in God, that we should be so circumscribed, forced by ills hardenough in themselves to bear, into still greater ills? Jerry's lungswould be tragedy enough for us to bear; but when I look around at timesand see--do you believe in God, Mr. Jones?"
"What I may or may not believe in is no aid to you, Miss Saunders,"replied Tex, amazed at his reaction to her distress. It was all hecould do to keep from taking her in his arms. It was a lucky thing forHenry Williams that he finally abandoned the idea of following them."If you have been taught to believe in a Divine Power, then don't youturn away from it. To say there is no God is to be as dogmatic as tosay there is; for every reasoning being must admit a First Cause. It isonly when we characterize it, and attempt to give It attributes thatdifferences of opinions arise. I am not going to enter into anydiscussion with you on subjects of this nature, Miss Saunders. Nor am Igoing to tell you what my convictions are. They do not concern us. Ifyou have any religious belief, cling to it: this is when it should beginpaying dividends."
"Have you read Kant?"
"Yes; and Spencer tears him apart."
"You are familiar with Spencer?"
"As I am with my own name. To my way of thinking his is the greatestmind humanity ever produced--but, with your permission, we will changethe subject."
"Not just yet, please," she said. "You admire his logical reasoning?"
"I refuse to answer," he smiled. "Here, let me give you an example oflogical reasoning, Miss Saunders. Here are two coins," he said, diggingtwo double eagles out of his pocket, "which, along with thousands ofothers, we will say, were struck from one die. You and I would say thatthey are identical, especially after the most thorough and minuteexamination failed to disclose any differences. I hardly believe thatany man, no matter how much he may be aided by instruments of precision,can take two freshly minted coins from the same die and find anydifference. But what does pure logic say?"
"Certainly not that there is any difference?" she challenged in franksurprise.
He chuckled. "That is just what it claims, and here is the reasoning:No one will deny that the die wears out with use, which is the same assaying that the impressions change it. To deny that they do is to saythat it does not wear out, which is absurd. Therefore each impression,being a part of the total impressions, must have done its share in thechanging. And each impression, having changed it, must be differentfrom those preceding and following it. Now, if the die changes, as wehave just proved that it does, so must the coins struck off from it, forto say otherwise is to claim that effects are not produced by causes,and that a changed die will not make changed coins. Therefore, thereare no two coins absolutely alike, never have been, and never can be,even at the moment they leave the die. Put them into circulation andthe hypothetical differences rapidly increase, since no two of the coinscan possibly receive the same treatment in their travelings. There youhave it, in pure logic: but does it get you any place? On the strengthof it, would you persist in denying that these coins are dissimilar?Are they so practically? And it is from practical logic that we drawthe deductions by which we think and move and live. So you take my wordthat it will be better for you to cling to whatever faith you may have.If it is not practical enough for you, I'll look after that end for you;and between your faith and the cunning of my gun-hand I'll warrant thatyour brother will come to no harm. Shall we lunch at the C Bar, or inthat little clump of burned and sickly timber on the bank of thatdried-up creek?"
"I'm really too hungry to postpone the lunch," she said, smiling;"besides I want to watch you in camp, and to listen to you. It seems tome that you have too keen a brain to be spending your life where it allis wasted."
"Your compliment is disposed of by the fact that I am what I am," heresponded. "The return compliment of not being able to be in a betterplace, under present conditions, is so obvious that I'll not spoil itseffect by saying it. Anyhow, a fair vocabulary and a veneer ofknowledge are not the measures of wisdom, but rather a disguising coat.To come right down to elementals, I heartily agree with you about thelunch. I'll be better company after the inner man has been properlyattended to, for food always leavens my cynicism. Did I hear you askwhy I do not eat continually?"
The clump of browned trees reached, it took but little time to unpackthe lunch and start a cunningly built fire of twigs and broken branches,over which the coffee quickly heated. Depressing as the surroundingswere, barren and sun-baked as far as eye could see, the bed of the creekdried and cracked and curling, this scene was destined to live long inthe memory of Tex Ewalt. The food, better cooked and far more daintilyprepared than any he could recall, tasted doubly good in the presence ofhis intelligent, good-looking companion. The subjects of theirinterested discussions were wide in range and neither very longmaintained a certain restraint which had characterized their earlierconversations. She led him to talk of the West as it was, as he hadseen it, and as he hoped it would become; a skillful question startinghim off anew, and her intelligent comments keeping him at his best. Soabsorbed were they that even he failed to hear the step of a horse anddid not know of its presence until an eager, if timid, hail stopped himshort.
"Gosh, you people look cheerful," called Tommy Watkins, gazing at Janewith his heart in his eyes.
"Sorry I can't say the same about your looks," chuckled Tex, his quickglance noting the boyishness of their visitor, his youthful freshnessand the rebellious admiration in his unblinking eyes. Tex took himselfin hand and crushed the feeling of jealousy which tingled in him andthreatened to show itself in words, looks, and actions. He lookedinquiringly at his companion and at her slight nod, he beckoned to theyouth. "Come over here an' make it three-handed, cowboy," he called."We'll salvage what we can of th' lunch an' feed it to you. Did youfind the ranch there, when you got home th' other night?"
Tommy rode up and gravely dismounted. "Yes, it was there. They saidyou hadn't been around so far as they knew, so I had my hasty ride fornothin'. How'd'y do, ma'am?" he asked, his hat going under his arm.
"Very well, indeed," replied Jane, smiling and fixing a place for him ather other side. "I'm sorry you did not come while there was more toeat, although I'll confess that I am not apologizing for my share of thehavoc. It has been a long time since I have enjoyed a meal as I havethis lunch. Sit here, Mr. Watkins--I am glad that there is some coffeeleft."
"That's what I get for being thrifty and thinking of the future,"laughed Tex. "It's like the men who work hard and save all their lives,so that someone else can spend for them. Here you go, Thomas: lookout--it's still hot."
"Thank you, ma'am," said Tommy, flushing and embarrassed, as he droppedonto the spot indicated. "I ain't a bit hungry, though."
"You will be after the first bite," assured Tex. "The cups have beenused, and there's no water for washing them. That's excuse enough forany man to drink out of the pail, and I envy you there, Tommy Watkins.Cattle gettin' along all right in spite of the drought? Expect to have abig gain this round-up? They ought to bring top-notch prices if they'rein good shape."
Steered easily into familiar channels of conversation, Tommy got onwell, so well that his embarrassment gradually disappeare
d and he wasnearly his natural self; but he did envy his friend's ability to thinkcoherently and to talk with fluent ease on any subject mentioned. JaneSaunders learned more about cows, cattle, steers, calves, cows, cattle,riding, roping, round-ups, branding, cows, calves, horses, cattle, andother ranch subjects than she thought existed to be learned. And sheshot a glance of grateful appreciation at Tex Jones for the way in whichhe put their guest on his feet and kept him there through several vocalflounderings. It was so tactfully done that Tommy did not realize it.
Gradually Tex worked out of the conversation and studied his companions.He saw clean youth entertaining clean youth; a bubbling mirth free fromsuspicion or irony; an absence of cynicism, and an unbounding faith inthe future. He hid his smile at how Tommy was led to talk of himselfand of his ambitions. They looked to be about the same age, Tommyperhaps a few years her senior; and when she looked at Tommy there wasfriendliness in her eyes; and when Tommy looked at her there was a greatdeal more in his.
The keen, but apparently careless, observer silently and fairly reviewedthe years that had passed since he had been at Tommy's age; the lack ofillusions, the cold, cynical practicality of his thoughts and actions;the laws, both civil and moral, which he contemptuously had shattered.He could not remember the time when he had had Tommy's faith in men, norhis enthusiasm. Tommy was looking forward to a life of clean, hard work,and actually with a fierce eagerness. Never had such a thing been animpelling motive in the life of Tex Ewalt. Instead he had plannedshrewdly and consistently how to avoid working for a living, and when itwas solved, then how to live higher and higher with the least additionaleffort. And he now admitted that if he had the chance to live thatperiod over again, under the same circumstances, he would repeat hiscourse in the major things. He felt neither regret nor remorse at thecontrast--he had lived as it pleased him, and the Tex Ewalt of today hadno censure for the Tex Ewalt of yesterday. But he was fair, at allevents; and to draw true deductions from accepted facts was an art notto be perverted because expediency might beckon. After all, he did nottry to fool himself; and he was no hypocritical whiner. Being fair, hecalmly realized that he was the unfitting unit of this triangle, that hedid not belong there. But there would be time enough for suchcogitation later on.
"Shore," Tommy was dogmatically asserting. "Th' rattler gets allcramped up an' tired, an' there is an instant when he can't turn fastenough to keep his nasty little eyes on th' other, that's racin' aroundhim like a flash. That's th' end of th' rattler. Th' kingsnake dartsin, grabs th' rattler behind th' head, an' after a great thrashin'around, kills him dead. _Ain't_ that so, Mr. Jones?"
Tex lazily turned his head and looked at the doubting auditor and thenat the anxious Tommy. He gravely nodded. "Yes that's th' end. That'sthe enemy within the snake's own species which I mentioned back on thetrail, Miss Saunders."
The look of doubt faded from her face and a nebulous smile transformedit. She was certain of it now.
Tex flamed at what that change told him, tingling to his finger tipswith a surging elation. He felt that he had but to speak three words toput her vague feelings into a coherent wonder of wonders; but tocrystallize them into an everlasting passion by the alchemy of hisavowal, or the touch of his lips. The lulled storm within him broke outanew and blazed fiercely. He arose, kicked an inoffensive tin can overthe bed of the creek and spun it in mid-air by a vicious, eye-bafflingshot from his Colt. Realizing how he had forgotten himself, and hisresolutions, he, the cool, imperturbable Tex Ewalt, he recovered hispoise and bowed, smilingly, to the surprised pair.
"That's shootin', Tex!" cried Tommy.
"It's more than that," smiled Tex. "It's notice that it's time to trythat .38, Miss Saunders," he announced. "She is learning to use a gun,Tommy--I've been telling her how much fun it is. I'll call th' shotswhile you stand by her to answer questions. Suppose we have a moresuitable target, this time. What can we use?"
Tommy grinned expansively. "Who's goin' to do th' shootin'?" hedemanded.
"Miss Saunders," answered Tex. "Why?"
"Oh; all right then--here, prop up my hat," offered Tommy; "But not tooall-fired close!" he warned.
"There's chivalry for you, Mr. Jones!" triumphantly exclaimed Jane, hereyes dancing.
"Think so?" queried Tex, grinning. "Huh!" He shook his head. "I'd sayhe is not paying you any compliment. Just for that I hope you shoot itto pieces."
He took the sombrero from Tommy's extended hand, went down and crossedthe creek bed, and placed the hat against the opposite bank. Steppingoff twenty paces he drew a line on the earth with the side of his bootsole and beckoned to the flushed markswoman.
"That hat is a pressing danger," he warned. "You've got to get it, orit'll get you. Don't be careless, and don't waste any sympathy on thegrinning wretch who owns it."
"But I don't want to ruin it," she protested. "Surely something elsewill answer?"
"You go ahead an' ruin it, if you can," chuckled Tommy. "Don't _you_worry none--_I_ ain't!"
"I do believe it wasn't a compliment, or chivalry, at all," she laughed."All right, Mr. Watkins: here goes for a new hat!" Slowly,deliberately, holding her arm as she had been instructed, she aimed andfired until the weapon was empty. The hat had a hole near one edge ofthe crown and another near the edge of the brim.
"Glory be!" exclaimed Tommy. "I'm votin' for a new target! Why that'splumb fine, Miss Saunders--if it ain't an accident!"
"Let's see if it was," suggested Tex, handing her another round ofcartridges. "Here!" he exclaimed, glancing at Tommy. "Where you goin'so fast?"
"To collect th' ruins," retorted the puncher over his shoulder. "_You_got a hat, ain't you?"
"I have, and I'm keeping it right where it belongs," rejoined Tex. "Ididn't suggest that it was any accident, did I?"