Bat Wing Bowles

by Dane Coolidge

  CHAPTER XII

  PROMOTED

  There was quite a little excitement in the bunk-house that night, andwhen it was at its height Brigham Clark came tottering out with his bed.

  "Say, where's that friend of mine--that Coney Island feller?" heinquired, addressing the recumbent forms of men as he scouted along thewagon-shed. "I'm skeered to sleep in the same house with themcotton-pickers and old Bar Seven--they might rise up in the night andthrow me into the hawse-trough. Huh? Oh, that's him over there, hey?Well, so long, fellers--kinder cold out hyer, ain't it? But I cain'tsleep in that bunk-house no more--them fellers, they doubt my veracity!"

  He was still chuckling with subdued laughter as he dropped his bed downin a far corner beside Bowles; but nothing was said until he had spreadhis "tarp" and blankets and crept in out of the cold. Then he laughedagain, quivering until the earth seemed to shake with his contagiousmerriment.

  "Say, pardner," he said, "you're all right. We capped 'em in on thatproper, and no mistake. Did you see old Bar Seven's jaw drop when he sawhow he was bit? I'll have that on him for many a long day now, and it'llshore cost him the drinks when we git to town next month. Gittin' toolively for me over in the bunk-house, so I thought I'd come out herewith you."

  "Sure!" responded Bowles, who had secretly been lonely for company."It's rather cold out here, but the air is better."

  "Yes--and the company," added Brigham meaningly. "Ain't these Texicansthe ignorantest bunch? W'y, them fellers don't know _nothin'_ till theysee you laugh! I could've got away with that strong-arm business if Icould've kept my face straight, but old Bar Seven was too many fer me--Ijest had to snicker or I'd bust! Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh!"

  "There was one thing which kind of puzzled me, though," observed Bowles."Would you mind telling me where you got that absurd idea of the threeHassan brothers?"

  "W'y, sure not," giggled Brigham, creeping closer and lowering hisvoice. "Don't tell anybody, but I got it off a drummer in thesmokin'-car when I was comin' back from the Fair in Phoenix. The wayhe told it, there was an Englishman and a Frenchman and an Irishmantalkin' together, each one braggin' about his own country; and theEnglishman began it by tellin' about his younger brother, who wasn'tnothin' hardly in England but could do that first stunt with the claypipes. Then the Frenchman told about his brother, who wasn't nothin' fora balancer but was pretty good at rope-work; and the Irishman, in orderto trump 'em right, he tells about his youngest brother that was strongin the arms. Say, that shore knocked the persimmon, didn't it? Themfellers was like the man that come out of Loony Park--they didn't knowstraight-up! Their eyes was stickin' out so you could rope 'em with agrape-vine, but they didn't dare to peep. Been called down too often.But say, pardner, on the dead, how about that divin' hawse?"

  "Why--er--what do you mean?" asked Bowles.

  "Well, did he shore enough do that, or was you jest stringin' 'em?"

  "Why, yes, certainly he did! Haven't you ever heard about Selim, thediving horse? How long ago was it that you were at Coney Island?"

  "Who--me?" inquired Brigham. "Never was there," he replied with engagingfrankness; "never been outside the Territory. Say, you didn't think I'dshore been there, did ye?" he questioned eagerly.

  "I certainly did," replied Bowles. "Of course, I knew that you weredrawing the long bow this evening--but how did you get all thisinformation if you've never been there?"

  "Heh, heh, heh!" chuckled Brigham, rolling over on his bed. "Say, thisis pretty good, by grab! Feller comes clear out hyer from New York, andI take him in, too! W'y, pardner, I was with a carnival company down atthe Territorial Fair last fall, and that was the nearest I ever got toConey; but they was a feller there--the ballyhoo man for Go-Go, the wildboy--and he was always tellin' me about Coney, until I knowed it like abook. Yes, sir, I jest camped right down and listened to that spieler;and he was shore glad to talk. Talkin' was his business, and he'd beenat it so long he'd got the habit--couldn't help it--all he needed wassome feller to listen to 'im. But all he'd talk about was Coney Island.Been there for years and didn't know nothin' else--and he shore filledme up right. Learned me all his spiels and everythin', and when I comeback from winterin' in that Phoenix country I tole 'em I was back fromNew York. New York and the Great White Way--and Coney.

  "But you shore strengthened my hand immensely, pardner, the way youhe'ped out to-night. Now, we want to stand pat on this--don't tip me offto 'em--and pretty soon I'll have 'em all spraddled out ag'in. HardyAtkins and that bunch, they make too much noise--they won't let me talkat all--but you watch me go after Bar Seven and these stray men. I'lltell ye--you put me wise to a whole lot more stuff, and I'll frame upanother come-on. How's that now?"

  "All right," agreed Bowles, yawning sleepily. "Good-night!"

  He dropped back into his blankets and covered up his head; but Brighamfailed to take the hint.

  "Got any more divin' stories?" he asked, with gentle insistence. "Theybite on them fine. Or a hawse story! A cowboy thinks he knows all abouthawses. Go ahead and give me one now, so I can spring it on 'em in themornin'--I got to have somethin' to come back at 'em with. They'realways throwin' it into me about being a Mormon--I jest wanter show 'emthat I've got the goods. Go ahead now--tell me somethin'!"

  "All right," said Bowles, coming out from under his blankets; "but,really, I'm awfully sleepy!"

  "Yeah; you'll git over that after you've been punchin' cows a while,"observed Brigham sagely. "I'm on the wrangle again, but it don't worryme none. Cowboy's got no right to sleep, nohow. Let 'im trade his bedfor a lantern--that's what they all say--but don't fergit that divin'story, pardner. Didn't you never see no more divin' stunts--in New Yorkor somewhere?"

  "Why, yes," answered Bowles, brightening up; "that reminds me--there'sthe Hippodrome!"

  "Aha!" breathed Brigham. "What's it like?"

  "Why, the Hippodrome," continued Bowles, "is an immense playhouse rightin the heart of New York that's given over entirely to spectacles. Ithas a stage large enough to accommodate a thousand people, and a greatlake out in front that is big enough to float a fleet of boats; andevery year they put on some new spectacle. One year it will be thebattle of Manila Bay, for instance, with ships and men and cannons, anda great shipwreck scene right there in the lake, with people fallingoverboard and getting drowned--and the peculiar thing is that when aboatload of people fall into that lake they never come up again. It'sjust the same as if they were drowned."

  "Aw, say," broke in Brigham, "you're givin' me a fill, ain't you?"

  "No," protested Bowles warmly; "I'm telling you the truth. Why, I sawthe most glorious spectacle there one night. It represented the temptingof some young prince by Cleopatra, the beautiful Egyptian queen. Therewere six hundred women in the play, and as they marched andcountermarched across the stage the lights would throw soft colors aboutthem, and then as they danced the colors would change, until the wholeplace looked like fairyland. Then they would swing up into the air oninvisible wires and hover about like butterflies--there would be a flashand all would have wings--and then they would disappear again and comeout dressed in armor like Amazons. And in the last act, when the princehad sent them away, they marched down the broad stone steps that leadinto the lake, four abreast, and without taking a deep breath, orshowing any concern whatever, they just walked right into that deepwater and disappeared. Never came up again. Gone, the whole six hundredof them!"

  "Gone!" echoed Brigham in amazement. "Where to? Where'd they go to?"

  "Under the water--that's all I know."

  "Gee, what a lie!" exclaimed Brigham, rising up in bed. "By jicks,pardner, I shore have to take off my hat to you--you got a wonderfulimagination!"

  "No, indeed!" protested Bowles. "It's every word of it true. ThisHippodrome was designed by the same man who built Luna Park, andinvented the loop the loop, and shoot the chutes, and all those otherwonderful things. I was reading an article about that Hippodrome lakeand it seems he built some kind of a great metal hood down under thewater and filled
it with compressed air of just the right pressure todisplace the water. All the details are held secret, and the very peoplewho use it are kept in ignorance, but as near as can be found out theperformers dive right down under that hood and from there they are takenoff through underground passages and carried back to theirdressing-rooms. Several people were drowned while they wereexperimenting with it, but now it's perfectly safe; I don't supposethose women mind it at all."

  "No!" cried Brigham, still struggling with his emotions. "Is it as easyas that? But say," he whispered, as the magnitude of the story came overhim, "jest wait till I get this off on the cowboys--I'll have me areputation like old Tom Pepper, or Windy Bill up on the J.F.! You don'twant to pull it yoreself, do you? Well, jest give me the details, then,and I'll depend on you to make my hand good when they come back for theexplanation. But, by grab, if it's anythin' like what you say, I'm shoregoin' to save my money and drag it fer old New York!"

  "Yes, indeed," murmured Bowles, cuddling down into his bed; "I'm sureyou'd enjoy it."

  He fell to breathing deeply immediately, feigning a dreamless slumber,and when Brigham asked his next question Bowles was lost to the world.The cowboy's night was all too short for him, ending as it did atfour-thirty in the morning, and not even a consideration for Brigham'sfuture career could fight off the demands of sleep. Yet hardly had heclosed his eyes--or so it seemed--when Gloomy Gus flashed his lantern inhis face and then turned to the ambitious Brigham.

  "Git up, Brig!" he rasped. "It's almost day! Wranglers!"

  "Oh, my Lord!" moaned Brigham, turning to hide his face, but theround-up cook was inexorable and at last he had his way. Then as thewranglers clumped away to saddle their night-horses the dishpan clangedout its brazen summons and one by one the cowboys stirred and rose. Lastof all rose Bat Wing Bowles, for his head was heavy with sleep; but apint of the cook's hot coffee brought him back to life again, and he wasready for another day.

  Shrill yells rose from the far corner of the horse pasture; there was arumble of feet, a din of hoofbeats growing nearer, and then with a noiselike thunder the remuda poured into the corral. A scamper of ponies andthe high-pitched curses of the riders told where the outlaws were beingturned back from a break; and then the bars went up and the wranglersran shivering to the fire.

  "Pore old Brig!" observed Bar Seven with exaggerated concern. "He was upall night!"

  "What's the matter?" inquired another. "Feet hurt 'im?"

  "No," said Bar Seven sadly; "it was his haid!"

  Brigham looked up from his cup of coffee and said nothing. Then, seeingmany furtive eyes upon him, he laughed shortly, and filled his cupagain.

  "Yore _eyes_ look kinder bad, Seven," he said. "Must've kinder strained'em last night."

  "Nope," answered Bar Seven, upon whom the allusion was not lost; andwith this delicate passage at arms the subject of big stories wasdropped. Henry Lee came down, there was a call for horses, and in theturmoil of roping and mounting the matter was forgotten. Brigham hadscored a victory and he was satisfied, while the stray men were bidingtheir time. So the marvels of the Hippodrome were held in reserve, andthe round-up supplied the excitement.

  As the riding of bronks progressed, the accidents that go with such workincreased. Almost every morning saw its loose horse racing across theflats, and the number of receptive candidates for the job of day-herdingwas swelled by the battle-scarred victims. Then fate stepped in, thescene was changed, and Bowles found himself a man again.

  "Bowles," said Henry Lee, as he lingered by the fire, "can you drive ateam?"

  Visions of a flunky's job driving the bed-wagon rose instantly in hismind; but Bowles had been trained to truth-telling and he admitted thathe could.

  "Ever drive a wild team?" continued Lee, with a touch of severity.

  "Well--no," answered Bowles. "I've driven spirited horses, such as wehave in the East, but----"

  "Think you could drive the grays to Chula Vista and back?"

  "Oh, the grays!" cried Bowles, a sudden smile wreathing his countenanceas he thought of that spirited pair. "Why, yes; I'm sure I could!"

  "Oh," commented Henry Lee, as if he had his doubts; but after a quickglance at the self-sufficient youth he seemed to make up his mind."Well," he said, "I'll get Hardy to hook 'em up--Mrs. Lee wants you totake her to town."

  "Certainly," responded Bowles, turning suddenly sober. "I'll be verycareful indeed."

  "Yes," said the cattleman; "and if you can't drive, I want you to say sonow."

  "I've driven in the horse shows, Mr. Lee," answered Bowles. "You canjudge for yourself."

  "Oh, you have, have you?" And the keen gray eyes of Henry Lee seemed toadd: "Then what are you doing out here?" But all he said was: "Verywell."

  Half an hour later, with his gloved hands well out to the front, and thewhip in his right for emergencies, Bowles went racing southward behindthe grays; while Mrs. Lee, her face muffled against the wind, waswondering at his skill. As a cowboy, Mr. Bowles had been alaughing-stock, but now he displayed all the courage and control of aWestern stage-driver, with some of the style of a coachman thrown in.

  "How well you drive, Mr. Bowles!" she ventured, after the grays had hadtheir first dash. "I was afraid I shouldn't be able to go to town untilafter the round-up--Mr. Atkins is so busy, you know."

  Bowles bowed and smiled grimly. It had been Hardy Atkins' boast that healone was capable of handling the grays, and as he was harnessing themup that gentleman had seen fit to criticize the arrangements, only to berebuked by Henry Lee.

  "You know Mr. Lee depends so much on Hardy," continued Mrs. Lee, "and heneeds him so on the circle that I disliked very much to ask for him--butsomething you said the other night about stage-coaching made me thinkthat perhaps you could drive. Of course, any of the boys _could_ drive,but--well, for some reason or other, I can never get them to talk to me;and to ride forty miles with a man who is too embarrassed to talk, andwho hates you because he can't chew tobacco--that isn't sopleasant--now, is it?"

  "Why, no, I presume not," agreed Bowles. "You know, I'm recently fromthe East, and perhaps that's why I notice it, but these Western men seemvery difficult to get acquainted with. Of course I'm a greenhorn and allthat, and I suppose they haven't much respect for me as a cowboy, butit's such a peculiar thing--no one will speak to me directly. Even whenthey make fun of me, they keep it among themselves. Brigham Clark is theonly one who gives me any degree of friendship--and, that reminds me, Imust get him some tobacco in town."

  "Yes, I know what you mean," said Mrs. Lee. "I guess I do! Think ofliving out here for thirty years, Mr. Bowles, and having them still holdaloof. With Dixie, now, it is different. She was born here, and in a wayshe speaks their language. I have done my best, to be sure, to keep herdiction pure--and Henry even has given up all his old, careless ways ofspeaking in order to do his part; but, somehow, she has learned thevernacular from these cowboys, and in spite of all I can say she willpersist in using it. It was only yesterday that I overheard her say toHardy: 'Yes, I can ride ary hawse in the pen!' And she says 'You-all'like a regular Texan. Of course, that is Southern too--and I have knownsome very cultivated Texans--but, oh, it makes me feel so bad that mydaughter should fall into these careless ways! I have been in Arizonanearly thirty years now, and it has meant the loss of a great deal to mein many ways; but there was one thing I would not give up, Mr. Bowles--Iwould not give up my educated speech!"

  She ended with some emotion, and Bowles glanced at her curiously, but hemade no carping comments. When a lady has sacrificed so much to preservethe language of her fathers, it would be a poor return indeed to giveher aught but praise--and yet he could sense it dimly that she had paida fearful price. Personally, he was beginning to admire the directspeech of Dixie May, even to the extent of dropping some of his moreobvious Eastern variants; but to the mother he hid the leanings of hisheart.

  "Your accent is certainly very pure," he said. "Really, I have neverheard more perfect English--except, perhaps, from some highly edu
catedforeigner. Our tendency to lapse into the vernacular lays us all open tocriticism, of course. But don't you find, Mrs. Lee, that your Easternspeech is a bar, in a way, to the closest relations with your neighbors?I know with me it has been that way, and I am already trying to adoptthe Western idiom as far as possible. Why, really, when I first came,they ridiculed me so for saying 'Beg pardon' that I doubt if I shallever use the expression again. And I am having such a struggle to say'calves'--not 'cahves,' you know, but 'calves'! It is all right to say'brahnding cahves' back in New York, but out here it is so frightfullyconspicuous! And besides----"

  "Oh, now, Mr. Bowles," protested Mrs. Lee, laying a restraining hand onhis arm, "I hope you will not shatter all my hopes by falling into thisdreadful vernacular. If you only knew how much I enjoy your manner ofspeaking, if you knew what memories of New York and the old life yourwords bring up, you would hesitate, I am sure, to cast aside yourheritage. Really, if Henry would have let me, I should have invited youup to the house the very evening you came; but you--well, you had somedisagreement with him at the start, and it's rather prejudiced himagainst you. And, besides, he has his ideas of discipline, you know, andagainst making exceptions of one man over another; and so--well, I didhope you would be able to drive, because now I want to have a good longtalk.

  "I'm not proud, or 'stuck up,' as they say out here, Mr. Bowles," shewent on, as if eager to begin her holiday; "and really I do everythingin my power to be friendly, but the class of people who come here--thesepoor, ignorant nesters, and rough, hard-swearing cowboys--they seemactually to resent my manner of speaking. Of course, I was aschool-teacher for a few years--before I married Henry--and I supposethat has made a difference; but I do get so lonely sometimes, with Dixieout riding around somewhere and Henry off on the round-up--and yet Ijust can't bring myself to speak this awful, vulgar Texas-talk. NowDixie, she rides around anywhere, speaks to all the women, says 'Howdy'to all the men, and, I declare, when I hear her talking with thesecowboys I wonder if she's my own daughter! They have such common ways ofexpressing themselves, although I must say they are always politeenough--but what I really object to is their familiar attitude towardDixie. No matter what their class or station, they always seem to takeit for granted that they are perfectly eligible, and that she is sure tomarry one of them, and that even the commonest has a kind of gambler'schance to win her hand."

  She paused, overcome apparently by memories of past courtships, andBowles shuffled his feet uneasily.

  "Of course," he said at length, "your daughter is very attractive----"

  "Oh, do you think so?" exclaimed Mrs. Lee, making no concealment of herpleasure in the fact. "I thought, from the way you spoke to her--when Iintroduced you, you know----"

  "Oh, that was just my manner!" interrupted Bowles hastily. "A littleembarrassed, perhaps."

  "But I thought," persisted Mrs. Lee, "I thought from the way you bothacted that you had met before. In New York, perhaps--you know, she hasbeen there all winter--or some time before that evening. You know, Dixieis generally so free with the new cowboys, but she spoke up at you sosharply, and you----"

  "Ah--excuse me," interposed Bowles, "perhaps I would better explain.I did meet your daughter, very informally to be sure, on the morningof my arrival at Chula Vista. It was that which caused myembarrassment--always painful when people fail to recognize you, youknow--and especially with a lady. Er--what do all these prairie-dogslive on, Mrs. Lee? We have passed so many of them, but I don't see----"

  "Mr. Bowles," said Mrs. Lee, placing her hand once more upon his arm andlooking at him with an anxious mother's eyes, "I want you to meet mydaughter again. She was in New York all winter, you know, and perhapsyou have some friends in common. Anyway, I wish we could see more ofyou--it would be such a pleasure to me, and Dixie----"

  She let her eyes express her longing for the improvement of Dixie'sdiction--a certain approval, too, of Bowles--but he did not respond atonce. Fighting within his breast was a mad, fatuous desire to stand inthe presence of his beloved, to hear the music of her voice and beholdthe swiftness and grace of her comings and goings; but almost as an echoin his ears he could hear the mocking formalism of her answers, and feelthe scorn in her eyes as she sneered at him for pursuing her. His facebecame graver as he thought, and then, with the ready wit of his kind,he framed up a tactful excuse.

  "Oh, thank you," he said. "It's very kind of you, I'm sure--and there isnothing I should enjoy more--but under the circumstances I am afraid Ishall have to decline. You know of course that, whatever my life mayhave been in the past, at present I am nothing but a hired hand--and avery poor hand at that, I am afraid. And since Mr. Lee has asked you notto make exceptions among the men, I should be very sorry indeed to goagainst his wishes."

  "Oh, that is not the rule, Mr. Bowles," protested Mrs. Lee. "We makeexceptions to it all the time, and I am sure Henry would be glad to haveyou come. Some evening after supper, you know. I want so much to haveDixie meet people of refinement and education, and while for the momentyou may be working as a common cowboy, of course we know----"

  "You know very little, as a matter of fact," interposed Bowles; "and Iam sorry that circumstances make it impossible for me to discuss myantecedents. But has it not occurred to you, Mrs. Lee, that, consideringthe attitude of the cowboys in the past, it might--well, my motivesmight be misunderstood--if I should call."

  "Why, surely, Mr. Bowles," began Mrs. Lee, her eyes big with wonder,"you are not--er--afraid of what the cowboys----"

  "Oh, no, no!" protested Bowles, blushing to the tips of his sunburnedears. "Certainly not! I did not mean the cowboys."

  "Well, what then?" demanded Mrs. Lee, in perplexity.

  Mr. Bowles hesitated a moment, looking straight ahead to where ChulaVista rose between the horses' ears.

  "You will excuse me, Mrs. Lee, I'm sure," he said, speaking very low."But when I spoke of my motives being misunderstood, I did not havereference to the cowboys. I was--er--thinking of your daughter."

  "My daughter!" echoed Mrs. Lee, suddenly sitting up very straight in herseat. Then, as the significance of his remarks became evident, she gazedacross at him reproachfully.

  "Why, Mr. Bowles!" she said; and then there was a long, pensive silence,broken only by the thud of flying feet, the rattle and rumble of wheels,and the _yikr-r-r_ of startled prairie-dogs.