Bat Wing Bowles

by Dane Coolidge

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE ENGLISH LORD

  A remarkable series of accidents happened to Bat Wing Bowles immediatelyafter his discourtesy to the lady--accidents which seemed to indicatethat he had lost his horseshoe as well as the good-will of hisassociates. For while Bowles had been a raw hand from the start it hadearly been remarked that horses would not pitch with him--but now, onthe very morning after his contretemps, his mount took a fit of buckingwhich all but landed him in the dirt. A term of years in a militaryacademy, as well as a considerable experience in riding to hounds, hadleft Bowles a little vain of his horsemanship; but in this emergency hehad been compelled to reach down and frankly grab the horn. Otherwise hewould have been "piled" before he could recover from the surprise. As itwas, he was badly jarred, not only by the shock of the buck-jumps butalso by the caustic comments of the cowboys.

  "Oh, mamma!" shouted one. "See 'im choke that horn!"

  "Let go of the noodle, Sam!" advised another; and then, in a kind ofchant, they recited those classic lines that are supposed to driveEnglishmen mad:

  "Hit's not the 'unting that 'urts the 'orse's 'oofs; hit's the 'ammer,'ammer, 'ammer on the 'ard 'ighway!"

  Time and again Bowles had explained that he was not English, that allgentlemen rose to the trot in the East, and that his people had neverdropped an "h" in their lives. Like an old and groundless scandal thatlives on denial alone, the tradition still clung to him; and now, assome vagrant fancy turned their will against him, they voiced theirdisapproval in this ancient gibe.

  "It's Hinglish, you know!" they shouted; and once more Bowles wasbranded as an alien. And all for refusing a letter and speaking saucilyto a lady.

  As for the lady, she stayed at a ranch over night and went out early inthe morning, taking a short-cut through the nesters' lanes for ChulaVista. A telegram must be sent to the receiving company that the cattlewould be delivered on the twentieth, the cattle-cars must be orderedfrom the railroad, and the cattle inspector notified of the change; forthe grass was eaten down to the rocks at Chula Vista, and a wait at thepens would be fatal. All these details Henry Lee trusted to hisdaughter, and, forgetting the frivolous nothings of yesterday, she rodepast the Bat Wing outfit without stopping or waving her hand. Thensomebody put something on Bowles' horse and they started the day with acircus.

  A second day, full of excitement and rough riding, followed, and thenthe gang took pity on the poor tenderfoot and left him to think it over.But Bowles was not broken in spirit; far from it, for he had beensecretly longing for a horse that would buck. He was rapidly becoming sowise that deception was no longer practicable. When a man has an oldstaid cow-pony rise up under him and try to paw the white out of themoon, he is liable to look over his rigging rather carefully to see whatit was all about; and if he should find a yellow spot on the flap of hissaddle-blanket, a tender place on his horse's rump, and a suspiciousodor of carbon bisulphide in the air, he is likely to shy away fromunfriendly horsemen, even if he never heard of "high-lifing" a bronk.Those were eventful days for Samuel Bowles, and he found himselflearning fast, when Henry Lee suddenly called him aside and told him togo with Brigham.

  Brigham was taking a bunch of dogies back to the home ranch and heneeded a man to help him--also the boss was getting a little tired ofthese sudden accidents to Bowles. He was not conducting a circus or aWild West Show but a serious and precarious business, and a touch of"high-life" at the wrong time might stampede his whole herd of cattle.So he told the tenderfoot to go on the drive with Brigham.

  There is a good deal left unsaid in a cow camp--so much, in fact, that astranger never knows what is going on; and Brigham had been as silent asthe rest while Bowles was taking his medicine. Even on the drive he wasstrangely quiet, chewing away soberly at his tobacco and looking outfrom under his hat with squinting and cynical eyes. They were friendsnow, as far as a tenderfoot can expect to have a friend, but Brighamsaid nothing about stringing the cattle, and asked no questions aboutgay New York--he had something on his mind. And when the time came hespoke it out.

  "Say, stranger," he said, still calling him by that cold name whichmarked him as a man apart, "did you see Dixie Lee back in New York lastwinter?"

  It was a bolt out of the blue sky; but Bowles was trained toevasions--he had lived in polite society and tried to keep friends withTruth.

  "Miss Lee?" he repeated in tones of wonderment.

  "W'y, sure," answered Brigham; "she was back there all winter."

  "So I hear," observed Bowles; "but there were about four million otherpeople there too, Brig; so I can't say for sure. Why? What made youask?"

  "Oh--nothin'," mumbled Brig, playing with the rowel on his spur as hewatched the cattle graze; "only it seemed like, the way she spoke to youthe other day, you'd mebbe met before. Some of the boys said theyreckoned you knowed her back there--she talked so kinder friendly-like."

  A thrill went over Bowles at those kind words, but he hastened to coverup his tracks. Once let the boys know that he had followed her from theEast, and there would be a dramatic end to all his hopes and dreams.

  "I'll tell you, Brig," he said, speaking confidentially; "I did meetMiss Lee down at Chula Vista the morning she came home, and thatprobably gave them the idea. But, say, now--about that letter. Shedidn't even know my name--now, why should she do a thing like that? Myname isn't Houghton, and she knew I couldn't take the letter. It'sagainst the law! What was she trying to do--play a joke on me?"

  He made his voice as boyish and pleading as possible; but it takes agood actor to deceive the simple-hearted, and Brigham only looked at himcuriously.

  "What did you say yore name was?" he inquired at last; and when Bowlestold him he chewed upon it ruminatively. "Some of the boys thought mebbeyou was an English lord, or somethin'," he observed, glancing up quicklyto see how Mr. Bowles would take it. "Course I knowed you wasn't," headmitted as Bowles wound up his protest; "but you certainly ain't nopuncher."

  Bowles could read the jealousy and distrust in his voice, and he saw itwas time to speak up.

  "Say, Brig," he said, trying as far as possible to speak in the newvernacular, "I've always been friendly to you, haven't I? I know I'vetried to be, and I want to keep your friendship. Now, I don't care whatHardy Atkins and his gang think, because they're nothing to me anyway,but I want you to know that I am on the square. Of course, I'm under anassumed name, and I guess you've noticed I don't get any letters; butthat's no crime, is it?"

  There was a genuine ring to his appeal now, and Brigham was quick toanswer it.

  "Aw, that's all right, pardner," he said. "I don't care what you did.Kinder hidin' out myself."

  "Well, but I want to tell you, anyway," protested Bowles. "A man's gotto have a friend somewhere, and I know you won't give me away. I didn'tcommit any crime--it isn't the sheriff I'm afraid of--but there musthave been somebody down in Chula Vista that was following me, because Icame away from New York on a ticket that was signed Sam Houghton. Thatisn't my name, you understand--but I signed it for a blind. Then I leftthe train at Albuquerque and came quietly off down here. But it looks asif somebody is searching for me."

  "Umm!" murmured Brigham, nodding his head and squinting wisely. "I gotinto a little racket down on the river one time, and the _sheriff_ waslookin' fer me. Made no difference--the feller got well anyhow--but youbet I was ridin' light fer a while.

  "_I_'ll tell you what we'll do!" he cried, carried away by some suddenenthusiasm. "I'm gittin' tired of this Teehanno outfit--let's call ferour time and hit the trail! Was you ever up in the White Mountains?Well, pardner, we'll head fer them--that's the prettiest country inGod's world! Deer and bear and wild turkeys everywhere--and fish! Say,them cricks is so full of trout they ain't hardly room fer the water.The Apaches never eat 'em--nor turkeys neither, fer that matter--and allyou have to have is a little flour and bacon, and a man can live like aking. They's some big cow outfits up there, too--Double Circles, an'Wine Glass an' Cherrycow. Come on! What d'ye say? Let's quit! This ain't
the only outfit in America!"

  For the moment Bowles was almost carried away by this sudden rush ofenthusiasm, and even after a second thought it still appealed to himstrongly.

  "Are there many bears up there?" he inquired, as if wavering upon adecision.

  "Believe me!" observed Brigham, swaggering at the thought. "And mountainlions, too! A man has to watch his horses in that country, or he'll findhimself afoot."

  "And the Indians?"

  "Well," admitted Brigham, "of course them Apaches are bad--but they keep'em around the Fort most of the time, and don't let 'em carry guns whenthey go out--nothin' but bows and arrows. Come on--they won't make us notrouble!"

  "Well, by Jove, Brig," sighed Bowles, drawing a long breath, "I'mawfully tempted to do it!"

  "Sure," nodded Brigham, "finest trip in the world--an' I know thatcountry like a book!"

  "But let's finish the round-up first," suggested Bowles. "And, besides,I want to find out who it is that's searching for me. I guess I didn'ttell you what I'm hiding for?"

  "No," shrugged Brigham; "that's all right. Then if anybody should askme, I'll tell 'em I don't know nothin'."

  "Well, I'm going to tell you, anyhow!" cried Bowles impulsively. "I'vegot an aunt back East, and she's an awfully nice woman--does everythingfor me--but I have to do what she says. She doesn't _make_ me do it, youknow--she just _expects_ me to do it! Maybe you never had any one likethat? Well, I've always tried to do what she liked--she's my father'ssister, you know--but this spring I just had to run away."

  "Too much fer you, eh?" commented Brigham, grinning.

  "No, it wasn't that so much, but she--she told me I ought to getmarried!"

  "Well, what's the matter?" inquired Brigham, his grin wreathing back tohis ears. "What's the matter with that?"

  Bowles blushed and blinked with embarrassment.

  "Well, the fact is, Brigham," he said, "she picked out the girlherself!"

  "No! Never asked you, nor nothin'? What did the girl say?"

  "Oh, Christabel? Why, she never knew, of course. I came out Westimmediately."

  A puzzled look came over Brigham's honest face.

  "Say, lemme git the straight of this," he said. "I'm a kind of Mormonmyself, you know, and these fellers are always throwin' it into me aboutthe way Mormons marry off their gals--did yore aunt make some trade withher folks?"

  "Who--Christabel?" gasped Bowles, now breaking into a sweat. "Why, blessyour soul, no! You don't understand how things are done in New York,Brig. Nothing was even _said_, you know, it was just understood! My auntdidn't even tell me whom she had in mind--she just told me I ought to bemarried, and threw me into Christabel's society. But I knew it--I knewit from the first day--and rather than hurt Christabel's feelings I justpicked up and ran away!"

  "Well, I'll be durned!" observed Brigham, gazing upon him with wonder."And we thought you was tryin' to git Dix!"