"What's the matter?" Old Heck asked uneasily, "what's happened? Where's
Skinny?"
In a few words, while the Ramblin' Kid sat silently on the back of Captain Jack, Carolyn June told of the ride across the river; the meeting with Pedro and the message he brought that the cattle were out and some had been killed by lightning; of sending Skinny with the Mexican to help with the steers; of her return alone toward the ranch, the struggle in the quicksand and the death of the horse she had been riding.
"Poor Old Blue—poor old fellow!" she finished with a little catch in her voice.
Old Heck's cheeks whitened as he listened.
"Good lord," he half-groaned, "you had a close call! It's lucky th' Ramblin' Kid saw you coming toward the upper ford—if he hadn't—you'd never got out! But go on into the house and get some dry clothes on. Boys, we'll have to hurry up and eat dinner and then go help get them steers back. I wish Parker was here—we'll need all the help we can get. You'd better catch up another horse," he continued, speaking to the Ramblin' Kid, "Captain Jack is probably worn out from chasing that Gold Dust maverick last night, and if you ain't too tired yourself, go with us—"
"I ain't too tired," the Ramblin' Kid replied quietly, "I'll go—an' ride Captain Jack—he ain't done up." He took the broncho to the corral, removed the saddle and turned him in with the outlaw mare. After giving the horses fresh hay—there was water in the corral, supplied by a small ditch that was fed from the larger irrigation canal and which ran under one side of the fence—he joined the others at dinner.
An hour later Old Heck, Bert, Charley and the Ramblin' Kid rode away from the ranch to help Chuck, Skinny and Pedro round up and return to the big pasture the cattle that had broken out and were rushing toward their old range on the Purgatory.
Carolyn June was left alone with Sing Pete, the Chinese cook at the Quarter Circle KT. She still felt somewhat shaken from her experience of the morning, although a bath, clean dry clothing and the meal had refreshed her considerably. She carried a chair to the front porch, thinking to spend the afternoon resting. The events of the day raced in review through her mind. It did not seem possible so much could have happened in so short a time. Only yesterday had Ophelia and she arrived at the ranch. Already she had the feeling that they both were fixtures, and had been indefinitely, at the Quarter Circle KT. The elemental atmosphere of the range country had completely enveloped her, seemed to have absorbed her, and made her a part of it. Some way she rather delighted in this sensation of permanency. Her rescue by the Ramblin' Kid and the close view she had been able to get of his impulses made her thrill with a queer mixture of admiration and pity for him even while his brutal answer when she had apologized for her harsh words still echoed in her mind.
"Gracious," she thought with a whimsical smile, "things move fast in this western country!"
She had seen, already, that both her Uncle Josiah and Parker were yielding to the charms of Ophelia. The fancy made her chuckle. She remembered Skinny's too rapidly developing tenderness toward herself. "Poor fellow," she murmured, slowly shaking her head, "I wish he wouldn't! But I suppose he can't help it—I wonder why men are always falling in love with me, anyhow? I'm sure I don't try to make them! I never saw one yet I really wanted to care—" she stopped suddenly while a warm flush spread over her body as the Ramblin' Kid was imaged rather vividly in her mind. "Nonsense!" she said aloud with a soft, throaty laugh. "Carolyn June, you are getting silly!"
She sprang up and went into the house.
"Sing Pete," she said, stepping into the kitchen, "may I have some sugar—I'd like the lumpy kind if you have it?"
"Sure! You have him sugal—how muchee you want?" as he held out to her a tin containing squares of the desired article.
"Oh, enough to win a heart!" Carolyn June answered laughing, at the same time taking a handful from the can.
"You eat him?" Sing Pete asked with a grin.
"No," she replied, "I feed it to broncho—to Gold Dust maverick. Some folks sprinkle salt on bird's tail to catch him—I put sugar on horse's tongue to make him love me—"
"Lamblin' Kid, he do that. Allee time him gettee sugal for Clap'n Jack!"
"Feeds 'Clap'n Jack' sugar, does he?" Carolyn June said pensively.
"Captain Jack's a nice little broncho," she added, "he deserves sugar."
She paused a moment. "'Lamblin' Kid's' a funny fellow, don't you think
so, Sing Pete?" she finished idly.
"Not funny—him dangelous!" the Chinaman replied earnestly. "He gettee velly mad 'cause I puttee butter in can so cat catchee his head in an' go lound an' lound—buckee like a bloncho—havee lots a good time! He not talkee much, Lamblin' Kid don't—just dangelous—that's all!"
Carolyn June felt sudden interest.
"When did he get mad about the cat?" she asked quietly.
"Allee same to-day—when you an' Skinny go 'way. Lamblin' Kid cussee me lot—tellee me not do him any more. Him dangelous! I not do him next time!" Sing Pete explained seriously.
"You are wise, Sing Pete," Carolyn June laughed as she left the kitchen by the back door and started toward the corral where the Gold Dust maverick was restlessly pacing about. "Don't do it any more! 'Lamblin' Kid' is 'dangelous'—dangerous in ways that you don't understand!" she finished softly, her eyes lit with a strange light and her heart elated and beating quickly because of what the Chinese cook had told her.
The outlaw filly leaped to the far side of the corral and stood trembling, her head up and breath coming in whistling snorts of defiance and fear, as Carolyn June opened the gate and stepped boldly inside. Apparently paying no attention to the frightened horse, the girl walked to the center of the corral and facing the mare leaned her back against the snubbing post. Both stood perfectly still while the eyes of each appraised the other.
After a time the filly seemed to relax and she slowly lowered her head, yet watching, alertly, the motionless figure of Carolyn June. The girl talked to the horse, her words gentle, her voice soothing and low. The Gold Dust maverick became quieter still. Presently she circled the corral, trotting swiftly and crowding closely against the fence. Carolyn June turned, keeping her eyes always on the broncho, and continued the quiet pleading of her voice. It was an hour before the filly shyly and cautiously came up to the girl—before curiosity mastered her fear. Carolyn June held out her hand and the outlaw nosed it timidly, ready instantly to spring away. A lump of sugar was pressed into the Gold Dust maverick's mouth—she drew back, working the morsel about with her tongue and lips and finally spitting it out. Several times this was repeated. At last the beautiful creature tasted the sugar and greedily ate the lumps, permitting Carolyn June gently to stroke the velvety muzzle. Then the girl's hand crept higher and higher on the horse's neck and after a little an arm was slipped over the filly's neck.
"You darling!" Carolyn June breathed softly, "I love you! I wonder what the Ramblin' Kid would say if he knew I was stealing your heart?" she added demurely as she laid her face against the silky mane of the mare.
She remained at the corral until the afternoon was nearly gone. The poplars along the front-yard fence were beginning to throw their shadows across the corral. When at last Carolyn June started to return to the house the filly followed her to the gate of the corral and whinnied a little protest against her going.
"I don't believe you are a bit mean," the girl said as she looked back affectionately at the nervous, high-strung animal; "you are just lonely and want to be loved—and understood—that is all, and I doubt if you'd buck a single buck if I rode you right this minute!"
As she reached the gate the Clagstone "Six" glided quietly down the grade from the bench and a moment later Ophelia and Parker joined Carolyn June on the porch. The widow's cheeks were glowing and Parker looked embarrassed and rather upset. His arms were full of bundles.
"Have a good time?" Carolyn June greeted them.
"Fine," Ophelia replied, "spent oodles of money shopping, saw the minister'
s wife, talked with the editor of the paper and we are going to organize a Chapter—I think we shall call it 'The Amazons of Eagle Butte.'"
"Great," Carolyn June laughed, "you are a hustler, Ophelia! Uncle
Josiah will have a fit. Does Parker know?"
"Yes," the widow answered, her eyes twinkling, as she looked at the sweating foreman of the Quarter Circle KT. "I told him all about it and he is going to give us his moral support."
"Where is Skinny?" Parker interrupted hastily, looking more uneasy and foolish than ever; "why ain't he here?"
Carolyn June told of the happenings of the morning.
"My dear, my dear!" Ophelia cried, shuddering when she heard of Carolyn June's narrow escape from the quicksand. "You must never cross that terrible river again! It's too horrible to think about!"
"It was just 'experience,'" Carolyn June said lightly. "I don't mind it a bit now that it is over. Of course," she added seriously, "I feel badly about Old Blue—and losing Parker's saddle."
"Don't worry about the saddle, I can get new riding gear lots easier than Old Heck could have got another niece!"
"Carolyn June needs a saddle of her own," Ophelia suggested.
"I am going to get one; and then I'll ride the Gold Dust maverick!"
"I doubt if th' Ramblin' Kid will let you ride the filly," Parker said, "he's funny that way—"
"I think he will," Carolyn June interposed. "I'll steal her if no other way!"
"Maybe he will, but it's doubtful," Parker continued, "but Old Heck is aiming to get you a saddle. He spoke about it this morning when we were getting the car out to go to town—"
"Dear old uncle," Carolyn June said warmly, "I love him already—don't you, Ophelia?"
Parker colored and looked quickly, with a worried expression on his face, at the widow. She flushed also.
"That's personal, my dear," she answered, "and rather abrupt!"
Parker went out to put the Clagstone "Six" in the garage.
"Carolyn June," Ophelia said when they were alone, "I have made a discovery—"
"It is?" questioningly.
"That western Texas is the 'quickest' country in the world!" the widow answered.
"Please explain," Carolyn June said, "although," demurely, with certain memories fresh in her mind, "I fancy I can almost guess—"
"Yesterday," Ophelia continued rather breathlessly, "we arrived at the Quarter Circle KT; last night at the supper table I met Mr. Parker for the first time; ten minutes later he kicked me—accidentally, I think—on the shins; I saw him again at breakfast this morning; to-day we drove to Eagle Butte and this afternoon"—she paused and then with a quick, nervous laugh finished—"he asked me to marry him!"
"Good lord," Carolyn June gasped, "that is—'pronto'—as these cowboys say! 'Quick' with a vengeance! There must be something in this western air that makes them do it!"
"It was all I could do this morning to keep Skinny from—" she started to say, then shifted again to the subject of Parker. "Did he know that you are—"
"National Organizer for the 'Movement,'" Ophelia filled in. "Yes, I had already confessed. I told him as we were driving to town—and the other—the shock—came just after we crossed the bridge when we were returning home!"
"He is a bold, dangerous man!" Carolyn June exclaimed, in mock seriousness, "trying to get ahead of Uncle Josiah!"
"I inferred as much," the widow explained; "he told me that to-morrow would be your uncle's 'day'—whatever he meant by that; the next he, Mr. Parker himself, would be 'around' again. 'Unless Old Heck took some fool notion or other;' before long he would be away on the beef hunt and one can never tell what might happen while one is gone and, well, that's the way he felt about it, so he just said it—"
"And you?"
"Naturally was completely surprised, entirely non-committal, and made no definite agreement!" Ophelia laughed softly.
CHAPTER IX
OLD HECK'S STRATEGY
It was late when Old Heck and the cowboys returned to the ranch. The runaway cattle had been overtaken on the sand-hills beyond the North Springs and it took the entire afternoon to bunch them and work the restless animals back to the Quarter Circle KT, into the big pasture, and repair the fence so it was safe to leave them for the night.
Ophelia, Carolyn June and Parker were in the front room when Old Heck and the hungry cowboys clattered, long after dark, into the kitchen for the supper Sing Pete had kept warm for them.
After the meal Skinny went into the room where Parker and the women were. Old Heck followed and talked for a few moments with Parker about the affairs of the ranch, then joined the cowboys at the bunk-house where they had gone directly after leaving the table. On Skinny's bed Parker had tossed a bundle.
"What in thunder do you reckon Skinny's been buying, now?" Chuck questioned as he picked up the package and examined it curiously. "Blamed if it don't feel like a shirt."
"I'll bet that's what it is," Bert said with a laugh as Old Heck stepped inside the door, "the darn fool has gone and got him a white shirt—"
"Who has?" Old Heck asked, hearing only the latter part of Bert's remark.
"Skinny," Charley answered for Bert, "he's fixing up to make love in style—"
"Aw, the blamed idiot," Old Heck grunted, then glancing over toward Parker's bed: "—Did you notice whether Parker got him one, too, or not?"
Before the question was answered Parker and Skinny appeared at the bunk-house door.
"What's the matter?" Chuck said, still holding the bundle in his hand, "—ain't it too early for lovers to bu'st up for the night? Or did the widow and Carolyn June blow out the lights on you—"
"Forget it, you danged fool!" Skinny said crossly. "Can't you ever get over your dog-goned craziness? They was just tired and went to bed. Give me that package, it's mine and private!" reaching for the bundle.
Chuck, with a laugh, threw it at him. It landed on the Ramblin' Kid's bunk where the latter was lying, his clothing still on, his eyes staring straight up while he smoked a cigarette.
"When are you going to ride the Gold Dust maverick?" Skinny asked as he picked up the package.
For a moment the Ramblin' Kid did not answer. Then, without changing his position, replied:
"I don't know as I'll ever ride her. Maybe I'll turn her loose again on th' range."
"What did you catch her for?" Bert queried. "Don't you want her?"
"I caught her, 'cause I wanted to," the Ramblin' Kid answered, "but that ain't no sign I intend to keep her. Hell, what's the use?" he finished indifferently.
"If you want to sell her," Old Heck said, "I'll buy her."
"She ain't for sale," the Ramblin' Kid answered shortly, "not to anybody."
"She would be a thunderin' sight better off if she was used."
"Would she?" the Ramblin' Kid questioned dully. "I ain't so sure about that."
"Of course she would," Old Heck insisted, "she'd be fed regular and—"
"An' be mauled around by some darned human!" the Ramblin' Kid interrupted with sudden vehemence. "If I was a horse," he continued, speaking passionately while his black eyes burned with the spirit of rebellion, "I'd rather be a short-grass cay-use nippin' th' scatterin' feed on th' north hills an' be free to snort an' raise hell when I blamed please than have my belly stuffed with alfalfa hay three times a day an' have to gnaw th' iron of some damned man's bit in my mouth or carry his saddle on my back!"
Silence followed the outburst.
Old Heck and the cowboys knew the Ramblin' Kid was in one of his "moods," and experience had taught them that at such times argument was neither discreet nor safe. The thing they did not know was that his heart was torn by memory of the agony of Old Blue in the quicksand and his mind tortured by the picture of dumb suffering a bullet from his own gun had, that morning, mercifully ended.
After a time he spoke again, more quietly and with a note of weariness in his voice:
"Oh, well, I reckon I'll keep th' filly. In a day of two, w
hen she gets rested up a little, I'll ride her,"
"You ought to break her for Carolyn June," Skinny suggested.
"Had I?" the Ramblin' Kid said with a queer laugh—it was just the thought that was in his mind and against which he was struggling. "That's a bright idea! Maybe I'll study about it an' take a notion to do it. If I do she can ride th' maverick When you an' her go on your honeymoon—"
"What's a honeymoon?" Skinny queried innocently.
"It's what two people take when they first get married; go off somewhere by themselves—like they was locoed—to find out how bad they got stung!" the Ramblin' Kid laughingly answered.
"We'd better all go to bed," Old Heck said; "it's late and we have to get up early in the morning. Parker, you and some of the boys will have to go skin them dead steers—we've got to save the hides at least."
"Old Heck wants to go to sleep so he can dream about the widow," Chuck snickered, "it's his turn again to-morrow to love her—"
"How did she act to-day, Parker?" Bert broke in; "was she pretty affectionate?"
"Aw, shut up! Ain't you got any respect for anything—"
"I'll bet he proposed to her and she throwed him down," Chuck hazarded, not realizing how nearly he had come to guessing the truth.
Parker looked angrily at Chuck, then his cheeks grew red, he bent over and began tugging at his boots in an effort to hide the tell-tale confusion in his eyes.
Old Heck furtively studied the face of his foreman.
"Or else she confessed to being a Bolshevik or local-optionist or something and the news broke his heart," Charley volunteered, joining in the baiting of the range-boss.
"She didn't neither confess," Parker denied hastily, aggravated into a reply, "she ain't either one of them! She's an 'Organizer—'"
Dead silence greeted this sudden announcement. Every eye was turned in astonishment on Parker while Old Heck and the boys awaited further explanation. Parker offered no additional information.
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