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BAT WING BOWLES
BY DANE COOLIDGE
AUTHOR OF "HIDDEN WATER" AND "THE TEXICAN"
Illustrated by D. C. Hutchison
NEW YORK FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY STREET & SMITH, NEW YORK
_All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages_
_March, 1914_
"'WHY, HELLO THERE, COWBOY!' SHE CHALLENGED BLUNTLY"]
CONTENTS
I MR. BOWLES
II THE FAR WEST
III THE BAT WING RANCH
IV BRIGHAM
V WA-HA-LOTE
VI THE ROUND-UP
VII THE QUEEN AT HOME
VIII A COWBOY'S LIFE
IX REDUCED TO THE RANKS
X THE FIRST SMILE
XI CONEY ISLAND
XII PROMOTED
XIII A LETTER FROM THE POSTMISTRESS
XIV THE ENGLISH LORD
XV BURYING THE HATCHET
XVI THE STRAW-BOSS
XVII AND HIS SQUIRREL STORY
XVIII THE ROUGH-RIDERS
XIX A COMMON BRAWL
XX THE DEATH OF HAPPY JACK
XXI A CALL
XXII THE HORSE THAT KILLED DUNBAR
XXIII THE CUSTOM OF THE COUNTRY
ILLUSTRATIONS
"'Why, hello there, cowboy!' she challenged bluntly"
"Only Bowles, the man from the East, rose and took off his hat"
"'You want to be careful how you treat these Arizona girls!'"
"The man-killer charged at him through the dust"
BAT WING BOWLES
CHAPTER I
MR. BOWLES
It was a fine windy morning in March and Dixie Lee, of Chula Vista,Arizona, was leaving staid New York at the gate marked "WesternLimited." A slight difference with the gatekeeper, who seemed to doubtevery word she said, cast no cloud upon her spirits, and she wascheerfully searching for her ticket when a gentleman came up frombehind. At sight of the trim figure at the wicket, he too becamesuddenly happy, and it looked as if the effete East was losing two ofits merriest citizens.
"Oh, good-morning, Miss Lee!" he said, bowing and smiling radiantly asshe glanced in his direction. "Are you going out on this train?"
"Why--yes," she replied, gazing into her handbag with a preoccupiedfrown. "That is, if I can find my ticket!"
She found it on the instant, but the frown did not depart. She hadforgotten the young man's name. It was queer how those New York namesslipped her memory--but she remembered his face distinctly. She had methim at some highbrow affair--it was a reception or some such socialmaelstrom--and, yes, his name was Bowles!
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Bowles," she exclaimed as he gallantly took her bag;but a furtive glance at his face left her suddenly transfixed withdoubts. Not that his expression changed--far from that--but a fleetingtwinkle in his eyes suggested some hidden joke.
"Oh, isn't your name Bowles?" she stammered. "I met you at theWordsworth Club, you know, and----"
"Oh, yes--quite right!" he assured her politely. "You have a wonderfulmemory for names, Miss Lee. Shall we go on down to your car?"
Dixie Lee regarded the young man questioningly and with a certainWestern disfavor. He was one of those trim and proper creatures thatseemed to haunt Wordsworth societies, welfare meetings, and otherculture areas known only to the cognoscente and stern-eyed Easternaunts. In fact, he seemed to personify all those qualities of breedingand education which a long winter of compulsory "finishing" had taughther to despise; and yet--well, if it were not for his clothes andmanners and the way he dropped his "r's" he might almost pass for human.But she knew his name wasn't Bowles.
There had been a person there by the name of Bowles, but the hostess hadmumbled when she presented this one--and they had talked quite a little,too. She glanced at him again and a question trembled on her lips; butnames were nothing out where she came from, and she let it go forBowles.
The hypothetical Mr. Bowles was a tall and slender young man, of a typethat ordinarily maddened her beyond all reason and prompted her to saycruel things which she was never sorry for afterward. He had a clearcomplexion, a Cupid's bow mouth, and eyes as innocent as a girl's. Theywere of a deep violet hue, very soft and soulful, and had a trulycultured way of changing--when he talked--to mirror a thousand shades ofinterest, courtesy and concern; but the way they had flickered when hetook over the name of Bowles suggested a real man behind the veil. Hismanners, of course, were irreproachable; and not even a haberdashercould take exception to his clothes. He was, in fact, attired strictlyaccording to the mode, in a close-fitting suit of striped gray, withfour-inch cuffs above his box-toed shoes, narrow shoulders, and alow-crowned derby hat, now all the rage but affected for many years onlyby Dutch comedians.
When he removed this hat, which he did whenever he stood in herpresence, he revealed a very fine head of hair which had been brushedstraight back from his forehead until each strand knew its separateplace; and yet, far from being pleased at this final evidence ofconscientious endeavor, Dixie May received him almost with a sniff.
"And are you really on your way to Arizona, Miss Lee?" he inquired,carefully leaving the "r" out of "are" and putting the English on"really." "Why, how fortunate! I am going West myself! Perhaps we canrenew our acquaintance on the way. Those were jolly stories you weretelling me at the Wordsworth Club--very improperly, to be sure, but allthe more interesting on that account. About the round-up cook, you know,and the man who couldn't say 'No.' Nothing like that in California, Isuppose. I'm off for Los Angeles, myself."
"All right," answered Dixie Lee, waving California airily aside;"Arizona is good enough for me! Say, I'm going to ask this man where mysection is."
She fished out her Pullman ticket and showed it to a waiting porter, whomotioned her down the train.
"The fourth car, lady," he said. "Car Number Four!"
"Car Four!" cried Bowles, setting down the suitcase with quite adramatic start. "Why--why, isn't this remarkable, Miss Lee? To thinkthat we should take the same train--on the same day--and then have thevery same car! But, don't you know, you never finished that last storyyou were telling me--about the cowboy who went to the picnic--and now Ishall demand the end of it. Really, Miss Lee, I enjoyed your talesimmensely--but don't let me keep you waiting!"
He hurried on, still commenting upon the remarkable coincidence; and asa memory of the reception came back to her and she recalled the avid wayin which this same young man had hung upon her words, a sudden doubt, ashrewd questioning, came over the mind of Dixie Lee. Back in Arizona,now, a man with any git-up-and-git to him might--but, pshaw, this wasnot Arizona! And he was not that kind of man! No, indeed! The idea ofone of these New York Willies doing the sleuth act and tagging her tothe train!
At the same time Dixie Lee had her misgivings about this correct youngman, because she _knew_ his name was not Bowles. More than that, hislanguage displeased her, reminding her as it did of her long winter'spenance among the culturines. Three days more of highbrow conversationwould just about finish her off--she must be stern, very stern, if shewould avert the impending disaster! So she stabbed her neatly-trimmedlittle sombrero with a hatpin and waited for Mr. Bowles.
"Lovely weather we've been having, isn't it?" he purled as he made boldto sit down beside her.
"Yes, indeed," she answered, showing her white teeth in a simperingsmile. "Simply heavenly. Don't you know, it reminds me of those lines i
nWordsworth--you remember--I think it was in his 'Idiot Boy.' Oh, how dothey go?"
She knitted her brows and Mr. Bowles regarded her thoughtfully.
"Perhaps it was in his 'Lines Written in Early Spring,'" he suggestedguardedly.
"No," she insisted. "It was in 'The Idiot Boy'--either that or in 'LinesWritten to the Same Dog.' I forget which. Anyway, it told all about therain, you know, and the clouds--and all that. Don't you remember? Ithought you were full of Wordsworth."
This last, was thrown out for a bait, to get Mr. Bowles to extendhimself, but it failed of its effect. A somber smile took the place ofthe expected frenzy and he muttered half to himself as he gazed out ofthe window.
"What's that you say?" she questioned sharply.
"Oh, pardon me," he exclaimed, recovering himself with a sudden accessof manner; "I was talking to myself, don't you know? But, really, I _am_pretty full of Wordsworth; so, if you don't mind, we'll talk aboutsomething else. My aunt, you know, is a great devotee of all the naturepoets, and I attend the meetings to please her. It's an awful boresometimes, too, I assure you; that's why your face was so welcome to mewhen I chanced to see you at the club-rooms. That lecturer was such aconceited ass and those women were so besotted in their admiration ofhim that I looked around to see if there was a single sane andreasonable creature in the room--and there you were, as stern anduncompromising as an angel and--oh, well, I formed a differentconception of angels, right there. You were so delightfully humoroustoo, when Mrs. Melvine introduced us--and, well, really, Miss Lee, youare partly responsible for my leaving New York. I never fully realizedbefore what our Western country must be like; I never dreamed that therewas a place to flee to when the conventions of society grew irksome; butwhen you told me of your ranch, and the cowboys, and all the wonderfulhappenings of that wild and carefree life I--I made up my mind to chuckthe whole thing, don't you know, and strike out for myself."
"Oho!" breathed Dixie Lee, squinting down her eyes and regarding himwith a shrewd smile. "So you're running away to be a cowboy, eh? GoingWest to fight the Indians! Well, well! But let me ask you one question,Mr. Bowles--if that's your name--I trust you don't plan to begin yourdepredations in my part of the country; because if you do----"
"Oh, my dear Miss Lee," protested Mr. Bowles, "you have quite a mistakenidea, I assure you. Really, now, I hope you give me credit for morediscretion than that. The fact is, I have an old college friend on aranch in California and, though I have not taken my aunt entirely intoconfidence, I am really going out to make him a visit. It's all verywell, you know, to read about sunsets in Wordsworth, but why not go outinto the Far West and see the sun set indeed? That's what I say, but ofcourse I would not offend her--she simply thinks my health is failingand I need a Western trip."
"Oh!" said Dixie Lee quietly. "So _you've_ got an aunt, too, eh? Whatdid you say her name was?"
"Why, Mrs.--er--Bowles!"
"But why Mrs. _Er_-Bowles?" queried Dixie May, relentlessly. "Why notMrs. Bowles straight? Now, you know, Mr. Bowles, it looks very much tome as if----"
"Her former name was Earl," interposed Mr. Bowles suavely, and carefullyleaving out the "r." "My father's brother married a very dear friend ofours, a Mrs. Earl, and I sometimes call her so still--inadvertently, youknow. I am an orphan now and Mrs. Earl--ah, Bowles--has taken me as ason. But you can readily understand how a young man of my age anddisposition might not always fall in with a somewhat elderly lady'sviews of life, especially in regard to cultural influences, and while Ilove her very dearly and wouldn't hurt her feelings for the world----"
"Yes, it's too bad about you!" observed Dixie Lee heartlessly; and thenfor quite a while she looked out of the car window as drab and dirtytenements slipped by and the train plunged into a tunnel.
"How far West are you going?" she inquired, waking up suddenly from herreverie. "Lemme see your ticket. Um-m! Well, we travel together as faras Albuquerque, New Mex, and there we say 'Good-by.' I reckon Californiais about your size, Mr. Bowles, but don't you make any mistake and dropoff in Arizona or the cowboys will scare you up some. As for the rest ofit, I don't care what name a man goes by, but I see you are down on yourticket here as 'Houghton.'"
There was a challenge in her voice; but Bowles was not dismayed.
"Now, really, Miss Lee," he began, "why quibble over the accident of aname? Whether my name is Houghton, as I have signed it here, or Bowles,has nothing to do with the case. The fact is, I am suffering from anexcess of aunts and Wordsworth, much in the same way that you are,perhaps, and my heart has gone out to the West. Be a good fellow now andhelp me out. Tell me about the country and what I would better do; and,though it is a small return, you shall have one more devoted slave toworship at your feet."
A fleeting smile came into his eyes as he delivered himself of thislast, and the queen of the Bat Wing Ranch paused suddenly to make surethere was no mistake. It would be hard indeed to find oneself laughed atby a suede New Yorker, and yet--well, he seemed to mean it, too.
"Rise up, then, Sir Knight," she said, tapping him lightly with hersombrero; "and be mighty particular to change cars when we get toAlbuquerque--otherwise the Chula Vista cowboys will make you hard tocatch."
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