CHAPTER XIII
AT AUNT JANE'S
Aunt Jane Lawrence was popular with the young folks of the district, notalone because she was a good cook, but because she was a sort of fostermother to the entire community. The young ladies of the communitybrought to Aunt Jane their old hats and dresses, along with their loveaffairs, petty quarrels, and youthful longings. A clever woman atneedlework, she was often able to remodel the hats and "turn" thedresses so that they would serve a second season or maybe a third.
The love affairs, petty quarrels, and youthful longings were not alwaysso easy to remodel, even when they needed it: but Aunt Jane managedwell. She had much patience and sympathy. She knew the community, and sowas often able to help her young friends without conflicting withpaternal or maternal views. Hat-trimming and dressmaking were reallyonly incidental to her real purpose in life, which was to help youngfolks realize their ideals, when such ideals did not lead too far fromeveryday responsibilities.
Yet, with all her capabilities, her gentle wisdom, and her unobtrusivesympathy, she was unable to influence her Brother Jim--known by everyone as "Cheyenne"--toward a settled habit of life. So it became herfondest desire to see that Cheyenne's boy, Little Jim, should be broughtup in a home that he would always cherish and respect. Aunt Jane'shusband Frank Lawrence, had no patience with Cheyenne's aimlessmeanderings. Frank Lawrence was a hard-working, silent nonentity. AuntJane was the real manager of the ranch, and incidentally of Little Jim,and her husband was more than content that it should be so.
Occasionally Aunt Jane gave a dance at her home. The young folks of thevalley came, had a jolly time, and departed, some of them on horseback,some in buckboards, and one or two of the more well-to-do in that smallbut aggressive vehicle which has since become a universal odor in thenostrils of the world.
Little Jim detested these functions which entailed his best clothes andhis best behavior. He did not like girls, and looked down with scornupon young men who showed any preference for the sex feminine. He madebut two exceptions to this hard-baked rule: his Aunt Jane, and her youngfriend who lived on the neighboring ranch, Dorothy. Little Jim calledher Dorry because it sounded like a boy's name. And he liked Dorrybecause she could ride, and shoot with a twenty-two rifle almost as wellas he could. Then, she didn't have a beau, which was the main thing.Once he told her frankly that if she ever got a beau, he--Jimmy--wasgoing to quit.
"Quit what?" asked Dorothy, smiling.
Little Jim did not know just what he was going to quit, but he hadimagination.
"Why, quit takin' you out huntin' and campin' and showin' you how totell deer tracks from goat's tracks--and everything."
"But I have a beau," said Dorothy teasingly.
"Who is he?" demanded Little Jim.
"Promise you won't tell?"
Little Jim hesitated. He did not consider it quite the thing to promisea girl anything. But he was curious. "Uh-huh," he said.
"Jimmy Hastings!" said Dorothy, laughing at his expression.
"That ain't fair!" blurted Little Jim. "I ain't nobody's beau. Shucks!Now you gone and spoiled all the fun."
"I was only teasing you, Jimmy." And she patted Little Jim's tousledhead. He wriggled away and smoothed down his hair.
"I can beat you shootin' at tin cans," he said suddenly, to change thesubject.
Shooting at tin cans was much more interesting than talking about beaux.
"I have to help Aunt Jane get supper," said Dorothy, who had beeninvited to stay for supper that evening. In fact, she was often at theHastings ranch, a more than welcome guest.
Jimmy scowled. Dorry was always helping Aunt Jane make dresses or trimhats, or get supper. A few minutes later Little Jim was out back of thebarn, scowling over the sights of his twenty-two at a tomato can a fewyards away. He fired and punctured the can.
"Plumb center!" he exclaimed. "You think you're her beau, do you? Well,that's what you get. And if I see you around this here ranch, just even_lookin'_ at her, I'll plug you again." Jimmy was romancing, with therecently discussed subject of beaux in mind.
When Little Jim informed the household that his father and another manwere coming over, that evening, Uncle Frank asked who the other man was.Little Jim described Bartley and told about the wonderful Luger gun.
"My dad is huntin' his hosses," he said. "And I know who's got 'em!"
"Was the other man a deputy?" queried Uncle Frank.
"He didn't have a badge on him. He kind of acted like everything was ajoke--shootin' at that stump, and everything. He wasn't mad at nobody.And he looked kind of like a dude."
Little Jim meanwhile amused himself by trying to rope the family catwith a piece of clothesline. Uncle Frank, who took everything seriously,asked Little Jim if he had told his father where the horses were.
"Sure I told him. Wouldn't you? They're dad's hosses, Filaree and Josh.I guess he'll make ole Clubfoot Sneed give 'em back!"
"You want to be careful what you say about Mr. Sneed, Jimmy. And don'tyou go to ridin' over that way again. We aim to keep out of trouble."
Little Jim had succeeded in noosing the cat's neck. That sadly molestedanimal jumped, rolled over, and clawed at the rope, and left hurriedlywith the bit of clothesline trailing in its wake.
"I got to git that cat afore he hangs himself," stated Little Jim,diving out of the house and heading for the barn. Thus he avoidedacknowledging his uncle's command to stay away from Sneed's place.
Supper was over and the dishes were washed and put away when Cheyenneand Bartley appeared. Clean-shaven, his dark hair brushed smoothly, asmall, dark-blue, silk muffler knotted loosely about his throat, and ina new flannel shirt and whipcord riding-breeches--which he wore underhis jeans when on the trail--Bartley pretty well approximated LittleJim's description of him as a dude. And the word "dude" was commonlyused rather to differentiate an outlander from a native than in anexactly scornful sense. Without a vestige of self-consciousness, Bartleymade himself felt as a distinct entity, physically fit and mentallyalert. Cheyenne, with his cow-puncher gait and his generalhappy-go-lucky attitude, furnished a strong contrast to the trim andwell-poised Easterner. Dorothy was quick to appreciate this. She thoughtthat she rather liked Bartley. He was different from the young men whomshe knew. Bartley was pleased with her direct and natural manner ofanswering his many questions about Western life.
Presently he found himself talking about his old home in Kentucky, andthe thorough-bred horses of the Blue Grass. The conversation drifted tobooks and plays, but never once did it approach the subject of guns--andLittle Jim, who had hoped that the subject of horse-thieves might bebroached, felt altogether out of the running.
He waited patiently, for a while. Then during a lull in the talk hementioned Sneed's name.
"Jimmy!" reprimanded his Uncle Frank.
"Yes, sir?"
Uncle Frank merely gestured, significantly.
Little Jim subsided, frowning, and making a face at Dorothy, who wassmiling at him. It seemed mighty queer that, when _he_ "horned in," hisAunt Jane or his uncle always said "Jimmy!" in that particular tone. Butwhen any of the grown-ups interrupted, no one said a word. However,Bartley was not blind to Little Jim's attitude of forced silence, andpresently Bartley mentioned the subject of guns, much to Little Jim'sjoy. Little Jim worked round to the subject of twenty-two rifles,intimating that his own single-shot rifle was about worn out.
Uncle Frank heard and promptly changed the subject. Little Jim wasdisgusted. A boy just wouldn't talk when other folks were talking, andhe couldn't talk when they were not. What was the use of living, anyhow,if you had to go around without talking at all, except when somebodyasked you if you had forgotten to close the lane gate and had let thestock get into the alfalfa--and you had to say that you had?
However, Little Jim had his revenge. When Aunt Jane proffered apple pie,later in the evening, Jimmy prefixed his demand for a second piece withthe statement that he knew there was another uncut pie in the kitchen,because Aunt Jane had said maybe
his dad would eat half a one, and thenask for more.
This gentle insinuation brought forth a sharp reprimand from UncleFrank. But Jimmy had looked before he leaped.
"Well, Aunt Jane said so. Didn't you, Aunt Jane?"
Whereat every one laughed, including the gentle Aunt Jane. And Jimmy gothis second piece of pie.
After the company had found itself, Uncle Frank, Cheyenne, and Bartleyforgathered out on the veranda and talked about the missing horses.Little Jim sat silently on the steps, hoping that the talk would swinground to where he could have his say. If he had not discovered themissing horses, how would his father know where they were? It did notseem exactly fair to Little Jim that he should be ignored in the matter.
"I'd just ride over and talk with Sneed," suggested Uncle Frank.
"Oh, I'll do that, all right," asserted Cheyenne.
"But I'd go slow. You might talk like your stock had strayed and youwere looking for them. Sneed and Panhandle Sears are pretty thick. I'dstart easy, if I was in your boots."
This from the cautious Uncle Frank.
"But you'd go get 'em, if they happened to be your hosses," saidCheyenne. "You're always tellin' me to step light and go slow. I reckonyou expect me to sing and laugh and josh and take all the grief that'scomin' and forget it."
"No," said Uncle Frank deliberately. "If they was my hosses, I'd rideover and get 'em. But I can't step into your tangle. If I did, Sneedwould just nacherally burn us out, some night. There's only two ways tohandle a man like Clubfoot Sneed: one is to kill him, and the other isto leave him alone. And it's got to be one or the other when you live asclose to the hills as we do. I aim to leave him alone, unless he triesto ride me."
"Which means that you kind of think I ought to let the hosses go, forfear of gettin' you in bad."
Uncle Frank shook his head, but said nothing. Bartley smoked a cigar andlistened to the conversation that followed. Called upon by Uncle Frankfor his opinion, Bartley hesitated, and then said that, if the horseswere his, he would be tempted to go and get them, regardless ofconsequences. Bartley's stock went up, with Little Jim, right there.
Cheyenne turned to Uncle Frank. "I'm ridin' over to Clubfoot's wikiupto-morrow mornin'. I'll git my hosses, or git him. And I'm ridin'alone."
Little Jim, meanwhile, had been raking his mind for an idea as to how hemight attract attention. He disappeared. Presently he appeared in frontof the veranda with the end of a long rope in his fist. He blinked andgrinned.
"What's on the other end of that rope?" queried Uncle Frank, immediatelysuspicious.
"Nothin' but High-Tail."
"I thought I told you not to rope that calf," said Uncle Frank, rising.
"I didn't. I jest held my loop in front of some carrots and High-Tailshoves his head into it. Then I says, 'Whoosh!' and he jumps back--and Ihung on."
"How in Sam Hill did you get him here?" queried Uncle Frank.
"Jest held a carrot to his nose--and he walked along tryin' to get it."
"Well you shake off that loop and haze him back into the corral."
High-Tail, having eaten the carrot, decided to go elsewhere. He backedaway and blatted. Little Jim took a quick dally round a veranda post.High-Tail plunged and fought the rope.
"Turn him loose!" cried Uncle Frank.
"What's the matter?" said Aunt Jane, appearing in the doorway.
Little Jim eased off the dally, but clung to the rope. High-Tail whirledand started for the corral. Little Jim set back on his heels, but LittleJim was a mere item in High-Tail's wild career toward freedom. A patterof hoofs in the dark, and Little Jim and the calf disappeared around thecorner of the barn.
Cheyenne laughed and rose, following Uncle Frank to the corral. Whenthey arrived, High-Tail had made his third round of the corral, withJimmy still attached to the rope. Cheyenne managed to stop the calf andthrow off the noose.
Little Jim rose and gazed wildly around. He was one color, from head tofoot--and it was a decidedly local color. His jeans were torn and hiscotton shirt was in rags, but his grit was unsifted.
"D-didn't I hang to him, dad?" he inquired enthusiastically.
"You sure did!" said Cheyenne.
With a pail of hot water, soap, and fresh raiment, Aunt Jane undertookto make Little Jim's return to the heart of the family as agreeable aspossible to all concerned.
"Isn't he hurt?" queried Bartley.
"Not if he doesn't know it," stated Cheyenne.
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