by Zane Grey
“I—I could almost answer for him,” she returned, nervously. “But we’ll see…. Thanks for your—your frankness…. Oh, I almost forgot. Father commissioned me to ask you three to have dinner with us tonight—at six. He said not to accept a refusal.”
“Wal, I reckon I cain’t refuse,” responded Laramie. “It’s shore been long since I set at table with nice folks. Mebbe I’ll never get a chance again. Good-day, Lady.”
As Laramie bowed himself away from the door she stood gazing in perplexity, as if she had more to say. But she did not speak and he passed on down the hall, conscious of an inward commotion. He could not withhold a slight swagger as he burst in upon the boys.
“Say, you was gone a hell of a long time,” accused Lonesome, with awful eyes.
“I shore fixed it, pard,” replied Laramie, loftily. “Give the pocket-book into the kid’s hands. Said I found it in the hall. She was plumb glad. Swore she’d like to hug me an’ would some day.”
“Aw!” breathed Lonesome.
“Laramie, did it take you all that time to return a lost article?” queried Tracks, suspiciously.
“No. Fact is I was talkin’ to Miss Hallie,” drawled Laramie, casually.
“What about?”
“Myself, most of all. Did yu reckon I’d rave about yu an’ Lonesome? … An’ I shore got us all invited to dinner tonight.”
“No!” exclaimed Tracks, incredulously radiant.
“Shore did.”
“Laramie, forgive me. I was afraid you might have told her that we’re a rummy outfit, instead of The Three Musketeers, as Buff Jones made us out.”
Lonesome rose off the bed in such profound consternation and awe that he appeared tall.
“Din—ner!” he blurted out, weakly.
“Shore. An’ I reckon I’m slick enough to set yu close to thet pretty kid or leastways across from her.”
“Aw, my Gawd!— Tracks, where’s my gun? I’m gonna blow out my brains! … Aw, aw! What a chance I missed! If I only hadn’t spoke out that vulgar! … Called her sweetheart! Took her for a common Western street girl!”
In his abject misery Lonesome crawled under the bed and his bare calloused heels showed through his worn boots. There he moaned to himself.
“Yu ought to be thankin’ Gawd an’ me for keepin’ yu out of jail,” declared Laramie, resentfully.
“What do I care about snitchin’ that pocket-book? I’m thinkin’ about her!” replied Lonesome, furiously.
“Come out from under, Lonesome,” chirped in Tracks, cheerfully. “Don’t show yellow. Take a bath and shave, get your hair cut. Then spruce up to beat the band and make that pretty kid think you’re the greatest range-rider the West ever knew.”
This sally fetched Lonesome out. “Dog-gone-it, I’ll do that or die!”
Laramie did not slight preparations for the occasion, but long before the boys returned from a visit to the barber’s he had made himself look a vastly different man and took some slight melancholy pride in the fact. Not that it made a difference one way or another, but he happened to think of his sister Marigold and would have liked her to see him thus. “Long time now since I wrote Marigold,” soliloquized Laramie. “I’ll shore make up for thet before we leave this heah hotel.”
Lonesome and Tracks came rushing in, their faces shining pinkly, their hair trimmed, and in Lonesome’s case at least, pasted down flat.
“Boys, yu look almost human,” remarked Laramie. “But I don’t know about yu. This heah dinner may be too much.”
Tracks was whistling. Laramie went back to his newspaper, an old one from Kansas City, and let the parade go on. He read every line in the paper, including the advertisements, and when again he looked up Tracks and Lonesome were still primping.
“Wal, if fine feathers don’t make fine birds I’m shore a barnyard owl,” declared Laramie.
“Laramie, it ain’t easy to stack up against such an Apollo as Tracks or such a wonderful Southern-lookin’ planter’s son gent as you,” complained Lonesome. “Gawd A’mighty didn’t do a fair job on me. I’m short an’ dumpy, like a duck. No girl could look at me standin’ without seein’ how you can ride a cayuse between my laigs. An’ my face would stop a clock. Dog-gone-it, I ain’t bootiful. No use deceivin’ myself! I’ve gotta work my wiles on women. Tell ’em how lovely they are. Tell ’em wild yarns of battle an’ blood. An’ when you make love lay it on thick.”
“Lonesome, may the good Lord warn me in time—before yu cut any of yore shines with this Lindsay family!” ejaculated Laramie, fervently.
“Right you are, pard,” agreed Tracks. “But when you’re aiming to win a girl of class, like this Lenta Lindsay, don’t eat with your knife.”
“Aw, you joy-killer!” cried Lonesome, aghast at the truth. “How’n hell will I know how to eat?”
“Watch me and do and say exactly the same as I do,” declared Tracks, earnestly.
“Ugh-huh. It’s a bitter pill to swaller, but I’ll take your hunch.”
“An’ Lonesome, don’t eat like a hawg,” put in Laramie, “a grub-line rider starvin’ to death.”
“But I am starvin’ to death,” protested Lonesome.
“You can eat heartily without giving yourself away,” said Tracks.
“Can I ask for another helpin’, if somethin’s particular good?”
“Shore yu can. But not for three,” replied Laramie.
Between them they coached Lonesome until Tracks appeared satisfied. But Laramie felt dubious about the irrepressible boy, and had some qualms about himself. At last they were ready, and with only a half hour to wait for dinner they went down to the lobby, where Laramie made the gratifying observation that not even the clerk recognized them. Lindsay himself, entering with the expectation of meeting them, had to look twice. And Laramie, studying his pale mobile face, expressive of good will and kindness, breathed a great sigh of relief. No doubt Lindsay had been told by his daughter the truth about these three range-riders, and he was big and fine enough to waive the delinquencies. Right here Laramie added gratitude and loyalty to his former interest.
The other Lindsays were waiting just inside the dining-room, which had not yet begun to fill up with guests. Before they drew close Laramie had a long look at Hallie Lindsay. An unfamiliar commotion within his breast must have had to do with her appearance in white. She greeted him and introduced him to her mother, a bright and vigorous woman whose face held traces of former beauty. Then Lindsay attended briefly to the rest of the introductions. On the moment two incidents struck Laramie forcibly. Lenta bowed to Lonesome and said: “How do you do, Mr. Mulhall…. Dad, I’ve had—the pleasure of meeting the gentleman before.”
“That so. You didn’t say.”
“It was in the hall, I think,” replied Lenta, her wide baby-blue eyes apparently so innocent and guileless.
Lonesome arose to the occasion like a cavalier.
“Yes, Mr. Lindsay, it was in the hall,” he said, blandly. “Miss Lenta came in so packed with bundles that I couldn’t see she was a grown-up young lady. An’ when she dropped one I picked it up for her, an’ made a pleasant remark, I forget what, such as any lonesome rider in from the plains might make to a pretty child. That was the meetin’ she meant.”
The Lindsays laughed their agreeable acceptance of this explanation, even Lenta showing a mirthful surprise. Laramie marveled at Lonesome. He also noticed the interchange of glances between Florence Lindsay and Tracks Williams. Not only was she amazed to recognize in Tracks the gallant though uncouth person who had carried her load of parcels upstairs, but also to see the transformation of a ragged tramp rider to a strikingly handsome young man. She murmured her acknowledgment of the introduction.
Then they were escorted to a table arranged for eight, where Mrs. Lindsay seated herself at the foot and her husband took the head. Laramie was given the seat at Lindsay’s right, Hallie the next, and Tracks the third on that side. Lenta sat across the table from Laramie, Lonesome next between her and Florence.
Thus the astounding thing had come off without any hitch or awkwardness. Laramie felt easier to be off his feet, and glad to have Miss Lindsay beside him instead of where he might have to meet her glance. Yet her nearness had a perturbing effect.
“Well, boys, I’ve dispensed with the formalities and had my wife order the dinner,” said Lindsay. “How’ll turkey, cranberry sauce, bread, gravy, ice cream and so forth strike you?”
Lonesome uttered a boyish laugh of sheer content.
“If my pards will let me eat all I want, that dinner will strike me terrible good.”
This pleased and rather flattered Mrs. Lindsay, who took interest in Lonesome at once.
“Wal, I tired of wild turkey an’ buffalo rump once, but thet was years ago,” added Laramie.
Tracks looked across the table at Florence and said, feelingly; “Turkey! It will make me think of home.”
“And where’s that?” asked Florence, languidly.
“Boston. I’m a down-easter.”
Her gaze came up to study him. Laramie thought he had never seen so fair a girl, and in truth her white skin and golden hair, in striking contrast to her proud dark eyes, gave her a dazzling beauty. Alas for Spanish Peaks Ranch! There could never be any riders faithful to their range duties so long as that girl remained unwon.
“Indeed,” interposed Lindsay, “I’m a Yankee myself. How long have you been West?”
“Seems a lifetime. Only eight years. I’m twenty-four now. I was sixteen when I ran away from school.”
Laramie flashed a glance across at Lonesome and that young man intercepted it swiftly. Nevertheless, he did not so much as wink. Laramie knew that he and Lonesome were of one mind in regard to their mysterious and aloof partner. Silent all these years, yet when a dark-eyed girl watched him, with all of romance in her gaze, he would give up his secret!
“So you ran off to seek your fortune out West?” asked Florence, tremendously impressed.
“Yes, but I never have found it—yet.”
“And your folk at home?”
“I’m ashamed to confess I’ve never written them, in all these years,” went on Tracks, sadly. “But it was a bad mix-up. I hated school. Dad intended me for law. I was preparing to enter Yale. We quarreled. I told him I never could be a lawyer. He vowed he would disinherit me if I did not go on. So I ran away. Some day he’ll find me. I’m sorry now, because I’ve wasted my life, perhaps broken mother’s heart. I’d like to see her.”
Florence was intrigued. For that matter, Tracks held the stage. Although no doubt he had meant only to excite Florence’s interest, he had gained that of the others. What if that story were untrue? But Laramie had no reason to doubt Tracks. Never had he spoken of himself until now. There had been a ring of truth in his voice, a sadness and a self-reproach probably not lost upon any of the Lindsays. It was, however, decidedly lost upon Lonesome. Was he to see himself outdone by this scion of a rich Boston family? Not much! The instant Laramie laid eyes upon him after Tracks had concluded he fortified himself against what was coming.
“My pard stirs my memory,” began Lonesome, addressing the wide-eyed Mrs. Lindsay—a most strategic approach. “Sure the range-riders had to come from somewhere, ’cause there ain’t been years enough of cattle-raising yet for him to be born out here. They come from all over, though I reckon the South furnished the most—an’ sure the best riders.” Here Lonesome bowed flatteringly to Laramie. “Texas an’ the Carolinas made the West. That’s an old sayin’ out here. I’ve ridden for an outfit that had a nigger, a greaser, an Indian, a Rebel, a Yankee, an Englishman an’ Dutchman all together. For all I knew the Englisher might have been a dook an’ the nigger a runaway slave an’ the Rebel a rich planter’s son. This range-riding is a pictooresque profession.”
Lonesome paused for effect, casually including everybody in his slow glance, and winding up on Lenta, whose face wore an expression that would have inspired a cigar-sign post.
“I’m from Mizzourie, myself. My dad was one of Quantrell’s Guerillas, a Rebel, an’ my mother came from blue-blooded Yankee stock. She had an uncle or somethin’ who came over in the Mayflower an’ kicked redskins off the ship in that Tea Party you read about in school books. Reckon I never thought it much of a party…. We was turrible poor an’ I had to do odd jobs while I was gettin’ my education an’ when my ma was takin’ in washin’. When I was ten I had a chance to come West on a cattle-train. Naturally I took to hosses like a duck to water, an’ I was singin’ “Lone Prairee” before I was fifteen. Gosh! but that’s a long time ago—an’ I’m younger’n Tracks here, in years. I’ve rode from Montana to the Gulf, an’ been in everythin’. There was a rope around my neck when Laramie met me first, an’ but for him I’d kicked the air. All ’cause a measly foreman named Price was jealous of my way—er, of me—where a lady was concerned. Since then Wild Bill hasn’t anythin’ on me ——”
Lonesome was getting in deep. Talking liberated something in him, which mounted while being set free. But suddenly his remarkable fabrication suffered a break. Laramie knew from Lenta’s eyes that she knew Lonesome was lying. If she did not repress a giggle, Laramie missed his guess. Mrs. Lindsay, however, was deceived and enthralled, and perhaps that was Lonesome’s main objective. His abrupt pause manifestly had to do with the arrival of two waiters carrying huge trays, conspicuously on one of which lay a huge turkey, nicely browned. It was not clear to Laramie whether the sight of the wonderful bird or a rush of saliva had checked Lonesome’s outburst. Anyway he could not go on.
“Oh, what wonderful lives you boys have lived!” exclaimed Mrs. Lindsay. “It scares me for my son Neale…. John, please carve the turkey…. Mr. Nelson, I suppose you too have had a great career?”
“Me? … Wal, no. I reckon I was born on a hawse an’ growed up with a bridle in one hand an’ a gun in the other,” drawled Laramie.
This speech established in Laramie’s mind a fact that he had once before favored his imagination or over-sensitiveness in one particular. And it had come from an almost imperceptible shrinking or revulsion in Miss Lindsay. The table was small, necessitating the chairs being close, and a propinquity to her charming person that had played havoc with Laramie. He had not realized that until after he had felt her slight shudder. What else could he have expected? A young Eastern woman of education and refinement, suddenly thrown into the company of a range-rider who had killed men, must have felt horror at such contact. Others soon would add to Buffalo Jones’ characterization of him, and then he would stand out clearly as the notorious Laramie Nelson. Somehow it hurt Laramie deeply. It was unjust. He could not change the West or help what had gravitated to him. He did not imagine he had been such a fool as to grow sentimental over the eldest Lindsay girl, yet he had dreamily felt something vague and sweet, unutterably new to him, that would have to die a violent death. Romance surely would be Tracks’ portion and even the almost hopeless Lonesome’s—if he could be reformed. But for Laramie Nelson it must be a secret thing and never bear fruition.
From the moment the turkey and other savory victuals were served to the three range-riders the conversation became limited to the Lindsays, of whom Lenta was the liveliest. Laramie, in his supreme obtuseness, did not wake up to her demure and subtle wit, exercised at Lonesome’s expense, until the little minx winked at him. Laramie had a shock. What that tenderfoot girl of sixteen would do to Lonesome seemed appalling. Yet Laramie reveled in the thought. The Lone Prairie gallant had at last found more than his match.
To do Lonesome full credit, he did not disgrace himself as to the consumption of food, and the dinner ended a huge success for the riders and to their hosts.
Several times Miss Lindsay had addressed a casual or polite remark to Laramie. He divined she had felt something different and aloof arise in him. But that did not matter. He replied as he would have to his employer.
“Nelson, how soon can we get away?” asked Lindsay.
“That’s the very question I had on my lips,” said Miss Lindsay, e
agerly.
“Oh, when do we start?” burst out Lenta. Florence looked dreamy, silent words across the table at Tracks.
“Wal, we’re ready for sunup in the mawnin’,” drawled Laramie.
“What! It’ll take a week yet,” declared Lindsay.
“Tomorrow? How bewildering! It’s not possible,” added Miss Lindsay, but plainly she was excited.
“What’s the sense of hangin’ around heah any longer, spendin’ more money for hotel bills?” queried Laramie, shortly.
“Nelson, you hit me plumb center, as you Westerners say. What is the sense of it?” replied Lindsay.
“Air yu ladies through yore buyin’?” asked Laramie.
“We can’t think of another single thing,” rejoined Harriet.
“How about packin’?”
“A good deal of that is done, too.”
“Wal, how about day after tomorrow, early mawnin’?”
“Mr. Nelson, you take our breath,” ejaculated Mrs. Lindsay, and Lenta gasped in rapture.
“By Jove!” burst out Lindsay, slapping the table with an emphatic hand. “Nelson, you take charge.”
“Very wal, sir. Let me have yore lists to go over.”
“Mother, you and the girls excuse us,” said Lindsay, rising. “Better pack tonight, so tomorrow will be free to pick up odds and ends.”
Excitement and delight prevailed among the feminine contingent. Laramie added to these by advising Mrs. Lindsay and the girls to leave unpacked warm clothes, heavy coats, slickers, buskins or riding-boots, gloves, which they should don on the morning of the journey.
“An’ excoose me, Mrs. Lindsay,” interposed Lonesome. “Laramie never stops at midday for nothin’. Better pack a big basket of grub for lunches. An’ the other half of this turkey we couldn’t eat—it’d be a shame to waste that.”
“You’re a bright and thoughtful boy,” declared Mrs. Lindsay. “Come, girls. We’ve had a pleasant hour. Let’s get to our packing.”
“Hallie, fetch down all your lists, so we can go over them,” said Lindsay, as they went out. “We’ll be in the lobby. Come, boys, and have a cigar.”
