The Ramblin' Kid

by Earl Wayland Bowman

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE GRAND PARADE

  Eagle Butte was a jam of humanity. It was Tuesday noon. At one o'clockthe Grand Parade would circle the mile track at the "Grounds"--a hundredlevel acres enclosed by a high board fence lying at the west edge ofEagle Butte, between the Cimarron River and the road that led out to theVermejo--swing down the main street of the town, return again to theenclosed area, flow once more past the grandstand, salute the judges ofthe coming events, and the Fifth Annual Independence Rodeo of EagleButte would be officially opened.

  Special excursion rates had brought thousands from all parts of westernTexas, New Mexico and Colorado. Hundreds of tourists, sight-seeing theWest, had so arranged their itineraries that they might be present atthe big exhibition of riding, roping, racing, bull-dogging and othercow-country arts,--arts rapidly becoming mere memories of a day tooquickly passing.

  Moving-picture machine operators were seeking advantageous locations fortheir outfits; pedestrians dodged, indiscriminately, high-poweredautomobiles and plunging bronchos; the old and the new were slappedtogether in an incongruous jumble in the streets of Eagle Butte.

  The best range men and women of the West were gathered in the westernTexas town.

  New Mexico, Arizona, Idaho, Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, Oregon, Texasherself, were represented by their most famous riders, ropers,bull-doggers, cow-experts, and noted outlaw horses.

  There were many masqueraders.

  Imitation cow-people, they were, made up in fancy wild-west costumes,long-haired chaps, mammoth black sombreros, gaudy neck-cloths,silver-spangled saddles, spurs and bridles--typical moving-picturecowboys, cowgirls and rough riders. But there were, as well, hundreds ofreal range people. People whose business it is to work every day at the"stunts" they were, for the next five days, to play at for the pleasureof proving their skill and winning the applause of the multitude ofspectators packed each day in the grandstand behind the judges' box atthe Eagle Butte Rodeo.

  Every outfit in western Texas sent its most clever riders.

  Indians and Mexicans, in picturesque attire, sprinkled the milling massof humanity with a dash of rainbow color.

  Dance-halls were running, fare layouts were operating, roulette wheelswere spinning. For the time, with the consent of the sheriff and otherreformed authorities, Eagle Butte tried hard to be as Eagle Butte wastwenty--thirty--years ago.

  The entire Quarter Circle KT crowd left the ranch early Tuesdaymorning'. Parker had surprised Old Heck, and filled his mind withmisgivings, by calling him to one side after breakfast and stammering:

  "I--I--reckon you'd just as well go ahead the rest of this weekand--and--look after the widow by yourself--"

  "What's the matter?" Old Heck asked suspiciously; "have you found outanything dangerous about that 'Movement' or whatever it is Ophelia'smixed up in?"

  "No, it ain't that," Parker assured him, "I just thought I'd kindof--well, like to be free, to knock around at the Rodeo without beingbothered with a woman or anything."

  The truth was Parker was trying to hedge. When he had got away on thebeef hunt and began to figure things out he had come to doubt the wisdomof his sudden infatuation for the widow. Thinking it over, out on theopen range, he was appalled by his rash, headlong falling in love. Hehad never married, nor had he, until Ophelia came, been even near it.Someway, the moment Carolyn June and the widow arrived at the QuarterCircle KT some sort of devil seemed to possess him. He couldn't explainit. Maybe it had been just an impulse to get ahead of Old Heck. Whateverit was, Parker was worried. What would he do with a wife if he had one?All he wanted now was to let the thing blow over. Perhaps the widowwould forget his impetuous proposal or fall in love with Old Heck.

  Old Heck, his heart filled with a queer mixture of elation anduncertainty--with a sort of joy and sinking sensation all atonce--agreed to Parker's suggestion.

  Parker rode into Eagle Butte with the cowboys. Old Heck, Ophelia, Skinnyand Carolyn June went in the Clagstone "Six." Chuck led Old Pie Face forSkinny to ride in the parade and Bert took Red John, Old Heck's mostshowy saddle horse--a long-legged, high-stepping, proud-headed, baygelding--for Carolyn June to use, for she, too, had declared herintention of joining in the grand promenade with which the Rodeo wouldopen.

  The Ramblin' Kid left the Gold Dust maverick in the circular corral androde Captain Jack to Eagle Butte. It would be necessary for him toregister the filly, with the entry judges, on the first day of the Rodeoif she was to run in the two-mile sweepstakes.

  The rules of the Rodeo required, also, that all who expected toparticipate in any of the events of the coming week must "show" in thegrand march or parade. The animals that were to be used might also beparaded, but this was not compulsory.

  Accompanied by Chuck, the Ramblin' Kid went directly to the entryoffices of the Rodeo, which were roughly boxed-up compartments underthe rear of the grandstand.

  A group of "hot-dog" vendors and "concession spielers" looked curiouslyat the two as they left Captain Jack and Silver Tip, with bridle reinsdropped over their heads, standing in front of the office and steppedinside.

  Lafe Dorsey and Flip Williams were at the clerk's desk.

  The Vermejo cattleman had just registered Thunderbolt, with Flip asrider, for the big race.

  They looked around as the Ramblin' Kid and Chuck came in.

  "Well, is the Quarter Circle KT getting up sand enough to go against oldThunderbolt again?" Dorsey asked with a curl of his lip and an uglysneer.

  "Oh, I reckon we've got a little nerve left," Chuck answered with mockhumility, "not much, but a little, maybe. I was going to put Silver Tipin the sweepstakes," he went on, "but I guess I won't. Th' Ramblin'Kid's got an entry and it looks like a darned shame for one outfit towant to hog it all and grab first and second money both, so I'll stayout this time."

  "You talk pretty loud," Dorsey snarled, catching instantly, as Chuckintended he should, the covert slur at the black Y-Bar stallion. "Maybeyour money won't make so damned much noise!"

  "Here's a couple hundred," Chuck said, pulling a roll of bills from hisshirt pocket. "I'll invest that much on my judgment that Thunderboltain't as good as you think he is."

  "I'll take it!" Dorsey snapped, jerking a wad of money from his ownpocket and counting out the amount which he handed to the clerk asstake-holder. "And here's another hundred--or a thousand if you wantit!"

  "That two hundred is about all I can handle this morning," Chucklaughed. "But I understand Old Heck's aiming to bet a little," hedrawled suggestively; "probably you'd like to see him?"

  "I'll see him--and raise him till he squeals!" Dorsey sneered.

  The Ramblin' Kid ignored the tilt between Dorsey and Chuck and leanedindifferently against the counter waiting for the clerk to fill out theentry blank.

  "Event?" the clerk questioned.

  "Two-mile run," was the quiet answer.

  "Rider--and horse?" glancing up.

  Dorsey and Flip paused and turned their heads to catch the names theRamblin' Kid gave.

  "I'm the rider, I reckon," the Ramblin' Kid replied, "I guess you knowwho I am. Th' name of th' horse? Well, now ain't that funny?" he saidwith a little laugh, "I never have bothered to name that critter yet!But--oh, hell, what's the difference? We'll just call her 'Ophelia' forth' time bein'--in honor of a lady-widow that's visitin' out at th'ranch!"

  "The Quarter Circle KT's getting to be quite a female institution,ain't it?" Dorsey said contemptuously. "I suppose this wonder horse ofyours is one of the ranch fillies and regular lightning!"

  For a second the Ramblin' Kid's eyes narrowed, then he replied coldly tothe last half of Dorsey's sentence:

  "Well, th' filly's been runnin' in that neighborhood an'"--with a laughthat had in it just the hint of a sneer--"she's pretty fair--goodenough, I figure, to beat hell out of old Thunderbolt!"

  "Are you backing that with money?" Dorsey and Flip spoke together.

  "No," the Ramblin' Kid answered slowly, "money ain't no object with mein a hor
se-race. I don't run 'em for that purpose. Anyhow, poker is myfavorite method of gamblin'!"

  Dorsey and Flip whirled angrily out of the office and walked rapidlytoward the stables where they had left their horses.

  After reserving a box stall, which was to be occupied by Captain Jackand the Gold Dust maverick, the Ramblin' Kid and Chuck left the entryoffice and mounting their bronchos rode toward the section of thegrounds, over by the stables, where the parade was already forming.

  As they passed through the entrance to the track and the inside fieldwhich lay beyond Chuck and the Ramblin' Kid rode within a few feet ofthe Clagstone "Six," which was parked near the east end of thegrandstand. Old Heck and Ophelia were in the front seat of the carwatching the riders assemble for the parade. Carolyn June was standingon the running-board waiting for Skinny to come with Old Pie Face andRed John, the boys having left the horses at the stables.

  Carolyn June looked up with a bright smile at Chuck. As her eyes met theRamblin' Kid's there was a question in them. She was not sure yet thatshe had forgiven him for the brutal rebuff the night of the dance. Ifthere was any feeling in his heart, either of resentment or otherwise,toward the girl the Ramblin' Kid hid it. The look he gave her was one ofunfathomable humility and indifference.

  Chuck wheeled Silver Tip to the side of the car and stopped. His eyeswere filled with frank admiration as he gazed at the girl. Her cheekswere flushed with excitement, her white felt hat sat jauntily on thecrown of brown hair, her eyes were sparkling and in the close-fittingriding suit she was the picture of youthful charm and grace. TheRamblin' Kid nodded to Old Heck, glanced at Ophelia with a smile, lookedsteadily an instant at Carolyn June and raising his hat to the two womenpassed on with the remark: "I reckon I'll go on over an' see whatthey're doin'."

  "Has he entered the outlaw filly for the sweepstakes, yet?" Old Heckasked Chuck as the Ramblin' Kid reined Captain Jack down the race track.

  "Yes," Chuck answered, "he signed her up."

  "Did he name her as the Gold Dust maverick?" Old Heck inquiredanxiously.

  "No," Chuck grinned, "he called her 'Ophelia!'"

  Old Heck leaned back in the seat and roared with laughter in whichCarolyn June and the widow joined.

  "Dorsey was there," Chuck said with another grin, "he'd just finishedentering Thunderbolt for the big race when th' Ramblin' Kid and me gotto the registering office. I bet him two hundred dollars. He wasbragging a good deal--"

  Old Heck's eyes flashed and the mirth left them.

  "He was blowing, was he?" he said with a hard laugh, "the damn--darnedfool!" he corrected, remembering Ophelia at his side. "Well, 'egg' himon--the higher he flies the worse he'll flop when he bu'sts a wing!"

  In the parade Skinny rode with Carolyn June. Parker and the QuarterCircle KT cowboys were in a group directly behind them. The Vermejocrowd, with Dorsey himself mounted on Thunderbolt, had a place justahead of Skinny and Carolyn June. The beautiful black Y-Bar stallion wasreally a wonderful horse. Speed, strength and endurance radiated withevery movement of the glossy, subtle body. Without doubt he was the mosthandsome animal on the grounds. Dorsey was a splendid rider and aman--he was in the early forties--of striking appearance. He was fullyconscious of the magnificent showing he made on Thunderbolt. The racerdanced proudly, prancing forward in short, graceful leaps as the columnswept past the grandstand and the consolidated Eagle Butte and Vegasbands crashed out the strains of a stirring march. A ripple of applauseran over the crowd in the grandstand as Dorsey, at the head of theVermejo cowboys, rode by the judges' box. He lifted his sombrero andwaved it in pleased acknowledgment.

  The Ramblin' Kid was in line a little distance behind Carolyn June,Skinny and the Quarter Circle KT cowboys. He rode alone just back of aquartette of Indians from down on the Chickasaw.

  His plain rigging, the slick, smoothly worn, leather chaps, theundecorated saddle, bridle and spurs, his entire work-a-day outfitcontrasted vividly with the gaudy get-up of most of the other riders.Captain Jack moved along easily and freely, but quietly, and with an airof utter boredom with all the show and confusion about him. The Ramblin'Kid's attitude, whole appearance, matched perfectly the mood of hishorse. He sat loosely in the saddle and carelessly smoked a cigarette.The truth was his mind was far from the pageant of which he and thelittle stallion were a part. He scarcely heard the music nor did he seemto see the thousands of human beings, packed tier above tier, under themammoth roof of the grandstand. His thoughts were at the upper crossingof the treacherous Cimarron, out at the Quarter Circle KT; he was seeingagain, Carolyn June, as she looked up into his eyes when he dragged herout of the quicksand--he was hearing, once more, her cry of agony as thebullet from his gun buried itself in the brain of Old Blue.

  Louder hand-clapping, stamping of feet, and calling voices, than anythat had sounded before, rolled out from the grandstand as the lonerider, on the quiet, unexcited little roan, came down the stretch infront of the great crowd.

  Carolyn June looked back, saw the waving hats and handkerchiefs, heardhundreds of voices shouting:

  "Th' Ramblin' Kid! Th' good old Ramblin' Kid!"

  The crowd had recognized him as the slender rider who, a year ago, afterthe untamable Cyclone horse had killed Dick Stanley before their eyesand in front of where they sat, had ridden, straight-up and scotchinghim at every jump, that vicious, murderous-hearted outlaw.

  Carolyn June's eyes moistened and she felt a thrill of pride.

  The Ramblin' Kid barely glanced at the sea of faces, a faint smile hungfor an instant on his lips, as he jerked his hand, the one in which heheld the cigarette, to the brim of his hat when he came opposite thejudges' stand.

  When the parade swung down the wide, one-sided, main street of EagleButte, Mike Sabota, from the door of the Elite Amusement Parlor,watched it pass. He was standing there, by the side of the lankymarshal and surrounded by a group of pool-room loafers and "carnivalsharks" when Carolyn June and Skinny came by. She looked around in timeto see him staring, with a vulgar leer, straight into her eyes.

  "There is that big, dirty, animal-looking fellow we saw the other day!"she said, with a frown of disgust, to Skinny. "He's horrible--"

  Skinny glanced at Sabota.

  "Yes, he is ornery," he said. "He runs that joint and boot-legs on theside. He's got a reputation as a slugger and keeps the crowd around himbuffaloed. They say he killed a feller--beat him to death--in a fightover at Sapulpa before he came to Eagle Butte. I don't like the filthycuss. He's mean!"

  "He looks it!" Carolyn June exclaimed, with the uncomfortable feelingthat the big Greek's look had touched her with something vile andunclean.

  After the parade disbanded Carolyn June and Skinny rode back to the carwhere Old Heck and Ophelia had remained.

  "You made a darned good-looking cowgirl!" Old Heck said proudly to heras she stopped Red John by the side of the Clagstone "Six."

  "She and Skinny both presented a very fine appearance!" the widow added,while Carolyn June playfully blew a kiss at each in acknowledgment ofthe compliment. Skinny sat on Old Pie Face and felt a warm glow ofsatisfaction at the words of Old Heck and Ophelia. He had known all thetime that Carolyn June and he had shown up well, but he was glad to findthat others besides himself had noticed it.

  Dorsey, on a black stallion, cantered past.

  A moment later the Ramblin' Kid came jogging off the race course onCaptain Jack. He threw up his hand in greeting and passed on out of thegrounds.

  Parked next to the Clagstone "Six" was a handsome touring car, occupiedby a party consisting of a girl about Carolyn June's own age, a woman afew years older and a couple of immaculately dressed young men who woreflaring brimmed black felt hats that contrasted absurdly with theirexpensively tailored suits. Evidently all were "big town" people from adistance--very "superior" and patronizing in their attitude toward the"natives." They had been free and voluble in their comments on thevarious riders. Dorsey, on the magnificent Thunderbolt, drew a murmur ofadmiration from the lips of the girl. As
the Ramblin' Kid, the nextmoment, rode by on Captain Jack one of the young fellows said loudly andwith a laugh of ridicule:

  "Look at that one, Bess," addressing the girl; "there's the 'wild andwoolly' West for you! I'll bet if that horse sneezed he'd fall down andthe lonesome-looking little runt that's riding him would tumble off androot his nose in the dust!"

  A cackle of derisive laughter greeted the cheap witticism.

  Before any of the others could speak Carolyn June's eyes blazed withsudden wrath. She turned her body in the saddle and faced the speaker,her hands tightly clenched, her cheeks white with passion and her lipcurling wickedly.

  "Which shows," she said slowly, every word stinging like the bite of awhip-lash, "that you are running, true to form and there is one fool, atleast, still unslaughtered! That"--she continued with a proud toss ofher head--"'lonesome-looking little runt' is the Ramblin' Kid! Notanother man in Texas can ride the horse he is on--and there is not ahorse in Texas that he can't ride!"

  She turned again toward the Quarter Circle KT group and a shamed silencesettled over the swell "out-of-town" car.

  Old Heck chuckled with delight at Carolyn June's show of temper.

  A whirlwind program of racing, roping, bull-dogging--this event is thatin which a rider springs from a running horse, grasps by the horns awild steer running at his side, twists the animal's head up and backwardand so throws it down and then holds the creature on theground--rough-riding and other Rodeo sports followed immediately afterthe parade.

  Pedro and Charley Saunders were the only Quarter Circle KT cowboysparticipating in the events of the first day of the Rodeo. The Mexicandid a fancy roping stunt in front of the grandstand and finished hisexhibition directly before the Clagstone "Six" in which Carolyn June,Ophelia, Old Heck and Skinny were sitting. At the conclusion of hisperformance Pedro bowed to the little audience in the car and swept hissombrero before him with all the courtly grace of a great matador.Carolyn June generously applauded the dark-skinned rider from theCimarron and waved a daintily gloved hand in acknowledgment of his skillwith the rope. Skinny gritted his teeth while a pang of jealousy shotthrough his heart.

  Charley took part in the bull-dogging event. He drew a black steer,rangey built, heavy and wicked. When he lunged from his horse on to thehorns of the brute it dragged him for a hundred feet before he couldcheck its mad flight. At last he slowly forced its nose in the air andwith a quick wrench of the head to one side threw its feet from underit. Man and beast went down in a heap--the neck of the steer across thecowboy's body. A groan went up from the crowd in the grandstand andCarolyn June's cheeks paled with horror--it looked as if one horn of thecreature had pierced Charley's breast. But it had missed by the fractionof an inch. Straightening himself up to a sitting posture the cowboybent forward and sunk his teeth in the upper lip of the prostrate animaland threw up both hands as a signal to the judges that the brute was"bulldogged." But the fight had been too hard for him to win firstplace. Buck Wade, a lanky cow-puncher from Montana, in three secondsless time, had thrown a brindle Anchor-O steer and taken first money.

  * * * * *

  Before the sun dipped into the Costejo peaks the Ramblin' Kid left theRodeo and returned alone to the Quarter Circle KT. He told Parker andthe cowboys, all of whom intended to remain in Eagle Butte every nightduring the Rodeo, that he would be back in town the next afternoon andbring with him the Gold Dust maverick. Word had been passed among theQuarter Circle KT crowd to keep Dorsey and his bunch in the dark as longas possible regarding the fact that the filly, Ophelia, was the famousoutlaw mare of the lower Cimarron.

  After supper Parker, Chuck, Bert and Charley drifted into the EliteAmusement Parlor. The place was crowded. Mike Sabota immediately singledout the Quarter Circle KT group and began jollying them about the comingtwo-mile sweepstakes. Dorsey and Flip Williams had been in the pool-roomearlier in the evening and told him of the Ramblin' Kid's entry of thefilly against the Thunderbolt horse.

  Within ten minutes Bert and Charley had placed two hundred and fiftydollars each against five hundred of Sabota's money that the Vermejostallion would not finish in first place in the big race.

  Old Judge Ivory, who happened to be present, was agreed upon asstake-holder.

  "That Thunderbolt horse, he is the devil," Sabota laughed evilly as themoney was handed over to the gray-haired judge. "And Satan, he takescare of his own!"

  "Well!" Parker drawled, "if you feel inclined to send any more money tohell I might help you--" pulling a wad of bills from his pocket andthrowing the certificates on the soft-drink bar at which they werestanding.

  Sabota's eyes gleamed greedily.

  "I think there's two thousand in this roll," Parker continued, "and I'mwilling to bet it all that the Ramblin' Kid's filly not only goes underthe wire first in the two-mile run, but that she'll be kicking dirt inold Thunderbolt's face--if he ain't too damned far behind--when she doesit!"

  The Greek covered the wager eagerly.

  As Judge Ivory pocketed the money Dorsey and Flip Williams stepped intothe pool-room. Sabota glanced up.

  "These Quarter Circle KT _hombres_ are getting bad," he laughedsneeringly to Dorsey; "they think th' Ramblin' Kid's got a colt that canbeat Thunderbolt!"

  "The Ramblin' Kid must have a hell of a fast horse!" Dorsey snarledcontemptuously, "a hell of a fast horse!" he repeated, "when the Ramblin'Kid himself declines to risk a dollar of his own money on the runningqualities of the critter!" referring to the conversation a few hoursbefore in the entry judges' office.

  As he finished speaking he turned and looked squarely into the cold grayeyes of Old Heck who, with Skinny, had entered the Amusement Parlorwhile Dorsey was talking and heard the Vermejo cattleman's sneeringinsinuation.