CHAPTER XXII
"A MINISTERING ANGEL"
Mrs. Blake surveyed her surroundings with the surface calm which comesfrom seeing and disbelieving. These were depths to which she never hadexpected to descend. She allowed herself half a moment of speculationon the possibility of there existing, somewhere in the world, a reallack of accommodations as appalling as her imagination could nowconceive. "I have often thought Mr. Blake somewhat careless in hischoice of a hotel during our wanderings, but the worst of them nevereven suggested--Margie, did you ever in your life imagine such a roomcould exist?"
"It is only for an hour or so," returned Margaret, listlessly.
"Oh, I don't complain, my dear. You are an equal sufferer. And I amdistinctly relieved at the thought of removing some of this terribledust before we--before--we--"
Her voice trailed off into silence as she caught sight of a motto overthe door; it was one of those affairs worked in colored worsted overperforated cloth; the colors had been chosen with less regard to harmonythan is usually exhibited by an artist; perhaps it was contrast that wassought; as a study in contrasts it was a blasting success. Mrs. Blakeglared at it with the fascinated interest of a spectator within thedanger zone of a bursting bomb. "'God bless our home,'" she read, inawed undertone. "Perhaps He will, but it is more than it deserves."She mounted laboriously onto a chair and turned the motto to the wall,hastily facing it about again with a suppressed scream: if the frontwere chaos the back was a cataclysm. In a spasm of indignation shejerked it loose from its fastening and dropped it out of sight behindthe evil-looking washstand. In this position her glance fell on thecrude specimen of basin provided. She picked it up doubtfully andstruck it against the side of the washstand. "Tin!" she exclaimed. "Adishpan!" and went off into peals of laughter, banging the pan andcalling "Dinner!" in an unnaturally deep voice, when she could speakfrom laughing.
Margaret turned a sullen face from the window. She had seen the FrenchRose in animated conversation with a tall, good-looking man in flannelshirt and overalls, who had ridden away up the road, evidently inobedience to her orders; while Rose, herself, rode in the directiontaken by Whitby. The soft, broad-brimmed hat, the waist but littledifferent from the flannel shirt of the man, the ill-fitting skirt, themannish gloves and clumsy boots--the superb health of the splendidfigure proclaimed itself through all these disadvantages. The woman wasa perfect counterfoil for Whitby, and Margaret hid the ache in her heartunder a sullenness of demeanor that a less astute companion might haveattributed to the annoyances and inconveniences of the journey.
"For heaven's sake, Aunt, don't make such a noise," she insisted; "myhead aches as if it would split."
"Your head aches! I 'm sorry, my dear. Still, there are worse thingsthan head-aches, now are n't there?"
Margaret stared. "No doubt," she admitted, tartly; "but it is the worstI have to submit, at present. When a greater evil befalls me I willtell you."
"Why, that's honest," said Mrs. Blake, cheerfully; "and as long as weare to be honest, you are sure it is not your conscience that is atfault?"
"My conscience?" asked Margaret. "What has my conscience to do with ahead-ache?"
"First class in Physical Geography, rise. Jessie, what is the origin ofthe islands of head-aches that vex the pacific waters of the soul? Theyare due to volcanic action of bad conscience."
"Oh, Aunt! how can you be so absurd?"
"I would rather be absurd than unjust, Margaret."
"I don't understand you."
"You understood me very well. Because you see Whitby talking to apretty woman, is that a reason to condemn him?"
"Talking! He kissed her before my very eyes, in the public street."
"You cannot say that, Margaret. I saw the meeting as plainly as youdid."
"How could you? You were inside! Why has he never mentioned her in hisletters?"
"Has he ever mentioned anything but business? He would scarcely mentionher to George, and you know he has not written to you."
"No, he had something better to do. This is an unprofitable discussion.I am utterly indifferent to Mr. Booth's actions, past, present, and tocome, as well as the reasons for them. If you intend to use that basinfor something other than a dinner-call, do so. I 'm not hungry, but wemight as well get it over with. We have a long drive before us."
"With all my heart, my dear; unless the water is on a par with theother--er--conveniences."
* * * * *
"Seems like Buck Peters might be in a hurry," observed Slick Milligan,sufficiently interested to come from behind the bar and walk out ontothe porch. "Which it's th' first time I see him use a quirt."
"None o' thea punchers think aucht o' a horse," was Sandy's opinion,based on a wide experience.
If Margaret had chanced to overhear Slick's remark it would haveexplained much. Mrs. Blake was resting, preparatory to sallying forthon the last stretch of their journey, and Margaret was about to makeinquiries regarding a conveyance, when the rapid drumming of a horse'sfeet drew her to the window as Buck went past. Margaret had never metBuck but she was far too good a horsewoman to fail to recognize thepony. She had noted every detail when she had first seen Rose and youmay be sure no point, good or bad, of the Goat as a saddle pony, hadescaped her critical judgment. Her first thought, as the Goat wentpast, was one of surprise that he should make so little of the weight ofhis rider, a full-grown man and no light-weight, either; lean and hardas Buck was, Margaret's estimate of the number of pounds the ponycarried was very near the mark; and then, in a flash, she knew him: thevery animal that the French Rose had ridden. Margaret knew it to be outof the question that he had travelled to the Double Y ranch and back;they must have exchanged horses on the road. But, why?
The consideration of this enigma and the many possibilities it offeredas collateral questions, occupied her fully, to the very gratefulcontent of Mrs. Blake, who was genuinely tired and ashamed to say so.It was a consideration so perplexing that Margaret was prepared to allowWhitby to explain, when he was so unfortunate as to appear in companywith Rose. He had overtaken her, a half-mile down the trail, butMargaret could not, of course, know this. They remained in earnestconversation for two or three minutes, when Rose went on and Whitby wentaround to the shed to put up his pony. Margaret ran down stairs andwent out onto the porch. She felt better able to face him in the open.
It was thus that Whitby, coming in at the back door, was directed outthrough the front one. Rapidly as Margaret moved, she was too great anattraction to escape instant notice. Whitby advanced with outstretchedhand. "Ripping idea, taking us by surprise, Miss McAllister. Awfuljourney, you know, really."
"We wished to avoid giving trouble. You are looking very well, Mr.Booth."
"Fit as a fiddle, thank you. But--I say--you 'll excuse me,--but aren't you feeling a little--ah--seedy, now? I mean--"
"I quite understand what you mean. Am I looking a little--ah--seedy,Mr. Booth?"
"No, certainly not! Very stupid of me, I'm sure. I--ah--ratherfancied--but of course I 'm wrong. This confounded dust gets in a chap'seyes so--"
"Do you mean that my eyes look dusty, Mr. Booth?"
"Oh, I say! Now you 're chaffing me. As if--"
"Not in the least. Chaffing is an art in which I fail to excel. But ifyou mean that I look a little pale and dragged with the journey, youmust remember that I do not pretend to have the vitality of a cow-girl."
"Ah! Just so. And Mrs. Blake--she is with you, I presume."
"The presumption is justified. Aunt's vitality was even less equal tothe journey than my own. She is resting and begs to be excused untilshe can say 'How do' at the ranch."
"Why--ah--how did Mrs. Blake know I called in?"
Margaret bit her lip. "I happened to be looking from the window as yourode up," she explained, carelessly.
"Ah! Just so. Miss McAllister, you don't kno
w me very well, notreally; perhaps no better than I know you. I 'm no good at this sort ofthing, this fencing with words, you know; I discovered that long ago;and I long ago adopted the only other method: to smash right through theguard. My presumption does n't presume so far as to imagine you arejealous; I am not seeking causes; all I know is, you made me a promisewhen I came West, a conditional promise, I grant you: I was to makegood. Well, I have n't done half bad, really. I fancy Mr. McAllisterwould admit as much. Buck Peters admits more; and one has to besomething of a man, you know, to merit that from Peters. He 's thefinest man I ever knew, myself, bar none. It is very good of you tohear me so patiently. I 'm coming to the kernel of the difficulty justnow:
"Rose LaFrance, the cow-girl you mentioned, is the right sort. Shebrought word this morning that will save Peters a goodish bit of money;incidentally Mr. McAllister, also. Buck had to be in Wayback at theearliest possible moment and I was fortunate enough to overtake him.Miss LaFrance not only was thoughtful enough to ride to meet Buck andgive him a fresh mount and to send a man ahead with whom Buck willchange again, but she insists that we follow him, which is a jolly goodidea; these fellows are very careless with their fire-arms and he mightrequire help. If the blackguard he is after succeeds in withdrawing theentire deposit from the bank and it is given to him in cash, beforePeters gets there, he will certainly require help. I leave you toreflect on these facts, Miss McAllister. Give my kindest regards toMrs. Blake."
He stalked back the way he had come, in the characteristic wooden mannerwhich precluded any appeal, if Margaret had felt like making one; buther mind was too fully occupied with what she had heard to understandthat he was actually leaving. He was splashing through the ford beforeshe realized the significance of this part of his defence. Thoughtful,and without resentment, she went to rejoin Mrs. Blake.
Whitby pushed his horse sufficiently to overtake Rose who, he knew, wasriding slowly. Just outside the town he met Cock Murray, astride theGoat; the Goat was a very tired pony and showed it.
"My dear man! Why are n't you following Peters?" asked Whitby, insurprised remonstrance.
"My dear Brit! I sorta allowed it was n't healthy," answered Cock. "Itells you th' same as I tells th' French Rose: 'When Buck says "Scootfor th' ranch an' tell Cassidy to hit Wayback _pronto_ an' he 'll getnews o' me at th' bank,"' it 'pears like, to my soft-boiled head, that'swhat I oughta do."
"I beg your pardon. Of course. Rather odd Peters didn't tell me."
"He meant to. I 'm sorry he did n't. So long."
"So long," echoed Whitby, mechanically. He pulled up to shout afterCock: "You won't get far on that horse; he 's done, you know."
"I ain't goin' far on that 'oss," Cock shouted back; "an' they 're neverdone till they 're down, you know."
"Impudent beggar, but a good man. They grow 'em good out here. I fancythe bad-plucked ones don't last." And Whitby hastened on to overtakeRose.
He had left Two Fork Creek four miles behind him before sighting her; inher impatience she had gone faster than she knew. Whitby had almostcaught up, when he saw Rose bend forward, wave to him, and then dashaway, as if she were inviting him to a race.
"Buck!" exclaimed Whitby, with intuitive conviction. "It's Buck as sureas little apples Kesicks." Fifty yards' advance showed him that he wasright. The figure lying huddled in the road was certainly Buck, andbeside him was his dead pony. Rose flung herself from the saddle andran to him; and Whitby, wearing the terribly savage expression of theman slow to anger, was not far behind. Together they laid theunconscious figure at full length.
Rose flung herself from the saddle and ran to him]
"It is there," said Rose, dully, pointing to the right thigh.
"Ah," breathed Whitby, in a sigh of relief. He cut the cloth butforbore to tear it away, the coagulated blood having stopped thebleeding. "Drilled through!" he exclaimed. "Why, the swine must havebeen near enough to do better than that. How ever did he miss? We 'llbandage this as it is, Miss LaFrance, and do it properly at--now, shouldyou say take him to the doctor at Wayback?"
"No. He is a drunken beast. I will nurse him."
"Very well. A good nurse is better than a drunken doctor. Just cutthis sleeve from my shirt, will you?"
Rose took the knife and cut, instead, a three-inch strip from the bottomof her skirt, Whitby meanwhile producing a flask, from which hecarefully fed Buck small quantities of whiskey. Rose tendered him thebandage. "Well rolled, Miss LaFrance! Have you been taught this sortof thing?" Rose silently nodded her head. "My word! Buck is in luck.You apply the bandage then, while I give him this. You 'll make abetter job of it than I should."
Buck slowly opened his eyes to see Whitby's face bending over his. "Gotaway, Whit," he whispered, weakly; "ambushed me, by G--d," and relapsedinto unconsciousness.
"Much blood! He have lose much blood," murmured Rose.
"Yes," assented Whitby. "How shall we carry him? He can never ride."
"Travois," said Rose. "I show you."
Buck again regained consciousness and his voice was distinctly stronger."Get after him, Whit. He must n't get away."
"Oh, nonsense, Buck. They know the cat's out of the bag by this timeand they will never be such asses as to try it on now. As for Dave, hecan't get away. The agency will be jolly glad to do something for themoney they have had by turning over Dave if I ask it of them. AndMcAllister will think you are worth a good bit more than the money, Ilay. I know I do."
Buck was attempting feeble remonstrance when Rose returned from hersurvey of the timber available and swiftly placed her hands over hislips. "Do not talk," she commanded. "It is bad to talk, now."
"What price the nurse--eh, Buck? Oh, you lucky beggar!"
"Rose," murmured Buck. "Why, that's right kind."
Admonishing him with raised forefinger, Rose gave instructions to Whitbyand he hastened away to gather material for the travois.
* * * * *
When Margaret returned to Mrs. Blake she was carrying a pair of drivinggloves and a jaunty sailor hat which Mrs. Blake knew had been packed inone of the trunks. "Are we going to start, Margie?" she asked, withlanguid interest.
"_I_ am going to start but I am going the other way. We shall not beable to leave for the ranch before morning, probably."
Mrs. Blake sat up with a suddenness that surprised even herself. "Themorning!" she echoed. "If you think that I shall stay in this horror ofa room until morning, Margaret, you are mistaken. I will go, if Iwalk."
"It's a long walk," commented Margaret, carelessly.
"And may I ask why you are going the other way and when you purpose toreturn?"
"I am going to Wayback to telegraph. Some thief has planned to get allof papa's money from the bank there, and of course he will try to escapeon the train. We shall catch him by telegraphing to the officers at thenext town."
"If you do he is a fool. And who are 'we'? How did you learn allthis?"
"Whitby told me."
"When?"
"Just now."
"Was Whitby here?"
"Yes."
"And never asked for me?"
"I told him you begged to be excused."
"You told him I--now see here, Margaret. There is such a thing as goingtoo far, and this is an example of it. 'Beg to be excused'! What willhe think of me? Where is he now?"
"He has gone on to Wayback. But he never will have the sense totelegraph. That is why I am going."
"Did you quarrel?"
"Well--we were n't exactly friendly."
"Oh!--oh!--oh!" The three exclamations were long-drawn, with pausesbetween them and in three different keys.
"Aunty!" cried Margaret, furiously, stamping her foot. "How dare youinsinuate--I said I was going to _telegraph_!"
"All right, my dear. Have it your own way. I 'll immolate myself onthe altar of friendship: in this case, a particularly uncomfortable bed.Please remember, Mar
garet, as you speed away on your errand of avarice,I said a _particularly_ uncomfortable bed."
Margaret went out and slammed the door. Mrs. Blake chuckled until shelaughed, and laughed until she gasped for breath and was obliged toloosen her corsets. "I am as bad as Margie," she sighed; "I don't knowwhen I am well off. Now I shall have to stay marooned in this peskyroom until Margie returns. I never can fasten these outrageous thingswithout help."
In her fetching gown of figured brown cloth, bordered with beaver fur,with slanting drapery of plain green, above which a cutaway jacketexposed a full vest, and topped by a high beaver toque--with flush dueto the recent passage-at-arms still in her cheeks and the fire ofindignation in her eyes--Margaret presented a _chic_ daintiness that metwith the entire approval of the burly Sandy, who hastened from thebar-room at the sound of her descent.
"I want a hitch of some kind," requested Margaret; "something with speedand bottom, and the sooner the better."
"A hitch?" queried Sandy. He had ominous visions of the dainty figurebeing whirled to destruction behind a pair of unruly bronchos.
"A horse, a team, a rig, something to drive, and at once," explainedMargaret, impatiently.
"Oh, ay! I ken ye meanin' richt enough. I ken it fine; but I hae dootso' yer abeelity."
"Very well, then I will buy it, only let me have it immediately."
"It's no' th' horses, ye ken. What would I tell yer mither, gin ye 'rekilt?"
"Bosh!" said Margaret, scornfully. "I can drive anything you canharness."
"Oh, ay! Nae doot, nae doot. But it willna be ane o' Sandy's, I teltye that."
Here a voice was heard from out front, roaring for Slick and demanding acayuse, in a hurry.
"Losh! yon 's anither. They must theenk I keepit a leevery," and Sandyhastened out to the porch to see who was desirous of further depletinghis stock. When he saw the condition of the Goat his decision was quickand to the point: "Ma certes! Ye 'll no run th' legs of ony o' mycattle, Cock Murray, gin ye crack yer throat crawin'. Tut, tut! Lookat yon!" He shook his head sorrowfully as he gazed at the dejectedappearance of the Goat.
"Won't, hey!" shouted Cock, slapping back the saddle, "then I 'll borrerDutch Fred's, an' Buck Peters 'll burn yore d--d ol' shack 'bout yoreears when he knows it." A man, watching interestedly from the bar-room,left by the hall exit, running.
"Buck Peters! Weel, in that case--Slick, ye can lend him yer ain."
"I was just a-goin' to," declared Slick, hurrying off; "which yored--very generous when it don't cost you nothin'."
Cock loosened the cinch. "Generous as--Miss McAllister!" he exclaimed,aghast.
"Why, of all the people! How delightful! What on earth are _you_ doingout here?" Margaret ran down to him, extending both hands in warmgreeting.
Cock took them as if in a dream. "Miss McAllister--Chicago--Oh, what afool I 've been!"
The man who had left the bar-room tore around the corner of the hotel ona wicked-looking pinto which lashed out viciously at the Goat whenbrought to a stop, a compliment the Goat promptly returned, though withless vigor. "Here y' are, Cock. He 'll think he 's headin' for th'Cyclone an' he 'll burn th' earth." The Cyclone puncher pushed thestraps into Murray's hand and led away the Goat to a well-earned rest.
"I have to go, Miss McAllister. See you at the ranch. I 'm punchingfor the Double Y. They call me Cock Murray. It--it's a name I took."
"I 'll remember. Cock Murray: it fits you like a glove," and Murraymounted to her ripple of laughter. "We shall be out there to-morrow.Aunt is with me," she called to him, while the pinto worked off a littleof its superfluous deviltry, before getting down to its work. Shewatched him admiringly, Cock sitting firm and waiting, until presentlythe pony straightened out and proceeded to prove his owner's boast."Tip-top, Ralph," praised Margaret; "but you always could ride." Sheturned and faced the dour Sandy. "See here! Do you _ever_ intend toget out that rig?"
"Weel--gin ye 're a relative o' Buck Peters, I jalouse ye 'll gang yerain gait, onyway," and he went grumbling through the hall to do herbidding.
A roaring volley of curses, instantly checked and rolling forth a secondtime with all the sulphur retained to add rancor to the percolator, drewMargaret curiously to overlook the cause. Seeing, she thought sheunderstood Sandy's reluctance to let his team to her: a pair ofperfectly matched bays, snipped with white in a manner that gave totheir antics an air of rollicking mischief, they were lacking theangularity of outline Margaret already had come to expect in Westernponies, and their wild plunging seemed more the result of overflowingvitality than inherent vice. Drawn by the uproar, Slick appeared besideher.
"No team for a lady to drive," he declared, shaking his head.
"Ridiculous!" asserted Margaret. "Go help them." A devitalizedimprecation from Sandy hastened his steps. Margaret was in doubt whichamused her most: the trickiness of the ponies or Sandy's heroic endeavorto swear without swearing. She understood him far better than either ofthe others, who worked silently and with well directed efforts.
With Slick's invaluable assistance their object was soon accomplished,the team being hitched to a new buckboard that was the pride of Sandy'sheart. "'T is a puir thing," he protested, eying it sourly. "I haenaething better."
"Why, it is perfect," declared Margaret, "but I shall want a whip."
"Ye 'll want nae whup," denied Sandy, shaking his head ominously.
The Cyclone puncher at the head of the nigh horse called to her: "Take'em out o' th' corral, miss? They 'll go like antelopes when theystart."
Margaret laughed in gay excitement. "No, no! please don't," sheentreated, drawing on her gloves. "I could drive that pair through theeye of a needle."
Sandy glanced from her to the team and back again.
"Havers! I 'll gie ye ma ain whup," he promised. He was back in half aminute with a lash whip whose holly stock never grew in America.
"What a beauty!'" exclaimed Margaret. She ran down the steps, gatheredup the lines, and sprang into the buckboard, bracing herself for theinevitable jerk. "Ready," she warned. "Let go."
It was lucky for Mrs. Blake that she had loosened her corset strings andwas confined to her room; had she seen the start--and she knewMargaret's skill as well as any one--she certainly would have burst themin her fright. With the three men it was otherwise; they vented theiradmiration in a ringing cheer. The ponies, gathering speed in the shortstretch to the ford, were coaxed over so near the I-Call that Dirty Snowtumbled precipitately from his box and fled around the corner of thesaloon; missing the box by a foot, the wheels began a wide arc towardthe water through which the rig whirled in an avalanche of spray, toshave the front of the Why-Not as closely as it had the I-Call. To thedelighted astonishment of Twin River--by this time the entireinhabitants, excepting only Mrs. Blake, were more or less interested inthe proceedings--the team was no sooner going in the straight thanMargaret cracked the lash to right and left and the startled poniesbellied to the ground in their efforts to escape an unknown danger.Sandy guffawed in pride of ownership; Slick gazed with his soul in hiseyes; the puncher danced up and down in his joy, thumping first one andthen the other.
"Did you see it?" he demanded, "Did you see it?" The others admittedeyesight equal to the occasion. "Say," asseverated the puncher, "if Iowned all Montany, from here to th' line, I gives it to get that gal.That's th' kind of a hair-pin I am. You hear me!"
* * * * *
Margaret's sudden exclamation hastened the speed of the ponies but shedrew them firmly in and approached the group on the trail at an easylope. Whitby ran up from the river bank as she pulled the team to astand.
"Who is it, Miss LaFrance? How did it happen?" asked Margaret, guessingthe answer to her own questions.
"It is M'sieu Peters, ma'am'selle. He is wounded," replied Rose.
"Just in time, Miss McAllister," said Whitby, coming up at that moment."We 'll commandeer that wagon as an ambulance."
&nb
sp; "Miss McAllister!" exclaimed Buck, wonderingly. Then, energetically:"Whit, you get after that pole-cat. I can get to th' ranch, now. Geta-goin'."
"Buck, I 'm like Jake: 'sot in my ways.' There is no necessity tofollow that pole-cat, as you so aptly call him. And you are not goingto the ranch, you know. Miss LaFrance has kindly volunteered expertservice in nursing and I intend that you shall get it. Miss McAllister,Miss LaFrance, whose services you already know; and Mr. Peters, yourfather's partner."
"You must not think of going on to the ranch, Mr. Peters," persuadedMargaret. "I only hope it is not too far to Miss LaFrance's home. Ifwe could lift you--I 'm afraid these horses won't stand."
"Lift! I reckon I got one good laig, Miss McAllister--" he fell backwith a grunt.
"Dash it all, Buck! Do you want to break open that wound? 'Pon myword, I don't envy you your patient, Miss LaFrance. You lie still, yourestless beggar. I 've packed more than one man with a game leg and goneit alone. Do you think you can manage those dancing jackasses?" Helooked doubtingly from them to Margaret.
Margaret dimpled. "Ask Sandy," she advised, demurely.
"Ou, ay!" quoth Whitby and Margaret broke into bubbling laughter thatreflected from Rose's face in the faint shadow of a smile.
"Too bad of me to be laughing this way, Mr. Peters," apologizedMargaret, correctly interpreting the expression of Rose, whose glancehad turned to Buck; "but I have so much cause to be merry when I leastexpected it that I forgot for the moment you are wounded."
She resolutely avoided looking at Whitby who, thus unobserved, displayeda grin more fittingly adapted to the countenance of the famous Cat ofCheshire. Rose glanced swiftly from Whitby to Margaret and the twowomen were already aware of that which the men would never guess in eachother.
"Shucks! I been shot up worse 'n this, Miss McAllister," assured Buck;"if that pig-headed Britisher would on'y take orders like he oughta. He's obstinater nor a cow with a suckin' calf."
"Right-o!" assented Whitby, who had finished his preparations for thelift. "Now, Miss LaFrance."
He had managed to pass the blanket under Buck's middle, looping it overhis own neck; while this arrangement eased but little weight from Rose,it had the advantage of keeping Buck comparatively straight. Whitby,backing up into the buckboard, his hands tightly grasping Buck beneaththe arms, was ably assisted by Rose, who moved and steadied her loadwithout apparent effort. Margaret was genuinely surprised. "How strongyou are!" she exclaimed, admiringly.
"Gentle as rain," commended Buck. "If you got that flask handy, Whit, I'd like to feel it."
Buck Peters, Ranchman Page 22
