by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER XIV.
Frosty Disappears.
On the way back to the ranch I overtook Frosty mooning along at a walk,with his shoulders humped in the way a man has when he's thinking prettyhard. I had left Frosty with the round-up, and I was pretty much surprisedto see him here. I didn't feel in the mood for conversation, even withhim; but, to be decent, I spurred up alongside and said hello, and wherehad he come from? There was nothing in that for a man to get uppish about,but he turned and actually glared at me.
"I might be an inquisitive son-of-a-gun and ask you the same thing," hegrowled.
"Yes, you might," I agreed. "But, if you did, I'd be apt to tell you todepart immediately for a place called Gehenna--which is polite for hell."
"Well, same here," he retorted laconically; and that ended ourconversation, though we rode stirrup to stirrup for eight miles.
I can't say that, after the first shock of surprise, I gave much time towondering what brought Frosty home. I took it he had had a row with thewagon-boss. Frosty is an independent sort and won't stand a word fromanybody, and the wagon-boss is something of a bully. The gait they weretraveling, out there with the wagons, was fraying the nerves of the wholebunch before I left. And that was all I thought about Frosty.
I had troubles of my own, about that time. I had put up my bluff, andI kept wondering what I should do if Beryl King called me. There wasn'tmuch chance that she would, of course; but, still, she wasn't that kindof girl who always does the conventional thing and the expected thing,and I had seen a gleam in her eyes that, in a man's, I should calldeviltry, pure and simple. If I should meet her out somewhere, and sheeven _looked_ a dare--I'll confess one thing: for a whole week I wasmighty shy of riding out where I would be apt to meet her; and you cancall me a coward if you like.
Still, I had schemes, plenty of them. I wanted her--Lord knows howI wanted her!--and I got pretty desperate, sometimes. Once I saddled upwith the fixed determination of riding boldly--and melodramatically--intoKing's Highway, facing old King, and saying: "Sir, I love your daughter.Let bygones be bygones. Dad and I forgive you, and hope you will do thesame. Let us have peace, and let me have Beryl--" or something to thateffect.
He'd only have done one of two things; he'd have taken a shot at me, orhe'd have told me to go to the same old place where we consign unpleasantpeople. But I didn't tempt him, though I did tempt fate. I went over tothe little butte, climbed it pensively, and sat on the flat rock and gazedforlornly at the mouth of the pass.
I had the rock to myself, but I made a discovery that set the nerves of mejumping like a man just getting over a--well, a season of dissipation. Inthe sandy soil next the rock were many confused footprints--the prints oflittle riding-boots; and they looked quite fresh. She had been there, allright, and I had missed her! I swore, and wondered what she must think ofme. Then I had an inspiration. I rolled and half-smoked eight cigarettes,and scattered the stubs with careful carelessness in the immediatevicinity of the rock. I put my boots down in a clear spot of sand wherethey left marks that fairly shouted of my presence. Then I walked off afew steps and studied the effect with much satisfaction. When she cameagain, she couldn't fail to see that I had been there; that I had waited along time--she could count the cigarette stubs and so form some estimateof the time--and had gone away, presumably in deep disappointment. Maybeit would make her feel a little less sure of herself, to know that I wascamping thus earnestly on her trail. I rode home, feeling a good dealbetter in my mind.
That night it rained barrelsful. I laid and listened to it, and gritted myteeth. Where was all my cunning now? Where were those blatant footprintsof mine that were to give their own eloquent message? I could imagine justhow the water was running in yellow streams off the peak of that butte.Then it came to me that, at all events, some of the cigarette-stubs wouldbe left; so I turned over and went to sleep.
I wish to say, before I forget it, that I don't think I am deceitful bynature. You see, it changes a fellow a lot to get all tangled up in hisfeelings over a girl that doesn't seem to care a rap for you. He doesthings that are positively idiotic At any rate, I did. And I couldsympathize some with Barney MacTague; only, his girl had a crooked noseand no eyebrows to speak of, so he hadn't the excuse that I had. Take agirl with eyes like Beryl--
A couple of days after that--days when I hadn't the nerve to go near thelittle butte--Frosty drew six months' wages and disappeared without a wordto anybody. He didn't come back that night, and the next day PerryPotter, who knows well the strange freaks cowboys will sometimes take whenthey have been working steadily for a long time, suggested that I rideover to Kenmore and see if Frosty was there, and try my powers ofpersuasion on him--unless he was already broke; in which case, accordingto Perry Potter, he would come back without any persuading. Perry Potteradded dryly that it wouldn't be out of my way any, and would only be alittle longer ride. I must say I looked at him with suspicion. The waythat little dried-up sinner found out everything was positively uncanny.
Frosty, as I soon discovered, was not in Kenmore. He had been, forI learned by inquiring around that he had passed the night there at thatone little hotel. Also that he had, not more than two hours before--orthree, at most--hired a rig and driven on to Osage. A man told me thathe had taken a lady with him; but, knowing Frosty as I did, I couldn'tquite swallow that. It was queer, though, about his hiring a rig andleaving his saddle-horse there in the stable. I couldn't understand it,but I wasn't going to buy into Frosty's affairs unless I had to. I atemy dinner dejectedly in the hotel--the dinner was enough to make any mandejected--and started home again.