When Skinny stepped into the room he was fully conscious of his unusual appearance. The morning was warm and he had not put on a coat. The shirt billowed over his shoulders, arms and chest in a snowy cloud. It seemed impossible to Skinny that anything in all the world could be so vividly, persistently white as the cloth that literally enveloped the upper half of his body. It actually gleamed. The sleeves of the shirt were too long. A pair of sky-blue, rosette-fastened, satin ribbon sleeve-holders above his elbows kept the cuffs from slipping over his hands. Parker had been unable to get the purple necktie and had brought, instead, one that was a solid Shamrock green. Skinny swore when he saw the tie, but decided to wear it anyhow. Parker had explained by saying he had forgotten the errand until he was starting from town and then stepped into Old Leon's—a cheap general store in Eagle Butte—and purchased the outfit from the Jew. That accounted also for the surplus length of sleeve—the shirt was a size and a half larger than Skinny had ordered and for which Parker declared positively he had asked. Eternal hatred for all Hebrews was born in Skinny's heart the moment he saw the layout. But, well, it was there; he was anxious to see if a white shirt would have any effect, and he would wear it anyway.
Skinny knew instantly that he made an impression on Carolyn June.
She looked at him once and was speechless!
"By gosh," he said to himself, "Chuck was right! It sure does beat hell how clothes affect a woman!"
Carolyn June, unquestionably, was overcome. The surprise had been too much for her. He had knocked her cold! The shirt had done the work! She bit nervously at the nail of her thumb, pressed desperately against her teeth. Her whole body trembled. Her face flamed scarlet. Skinny saw her agitation and resolved at that moment that he would never again be without a white shirt!
Ophelia also was visibly affected. The widow gave one look at Skinny, glanced quickly at Carolyn June, then, with her hands clasped tightly against her breast, she leaned weakly against the table and chewed at her underlip. She started to speak and stopped.
"Well, I—I—got back!" Skinny said, breaking the spell while he grinned somewhat sheepishly and yet with an air of complete satisfaction.
"I—I—see you—did!" Carolyn June choked hysterically.
"I was gone longer than I aimed to be," Skinny continued, rapidly gaining confidence as he saw the confusion of the women; "after I got the chores done I concluded to fix up a little. This is the first time I ever wore this shirt," he went on, feeling that a bit of explanation was entirely proper and would probably help in restoring the composure of Carolyn June and the widow. "Parker just brought it out yesterday and it was a good deal of trouble to make the collar work right. It seemed like it was pretty stiff or something. Generally speaking the whole outfit's bigger than it really ought to be, but maybe it'll shrink up some when it's washed," he finished in a casual matter-of-fact way.
"It—it—is wonderful!" Carolyn June stammered, "it is—I don't think I ever saw one that was—was—whiter—"
"It looked that way to me," Skinny interrupted as if glad some one else had noticed a peculiarity of the garment that already had troubled him somewhat, "I thought it was uncommonly white!"
"Perhaps it just seems that way because we are not used to it," Ophelia suggested sympathetically.
"That's it!" Carolyn June exclaimed feverishly, "it is because we are not used to it—it will be perfectly all right when we have looked at it a little more!"
Skinny decided he would risk the gauntlet of comment from Parker, Old
Heck and the cowboys and wear the shirt the rest of the day.
Carolyn June was really sorry for Skinny, but—she needed air—she felt she must have it.
"Please," she cried suddenly and with, an effort, "excuse me! I—I—have something I wish to do! You," speaking to Skinny, "and Ophelia stay here and visit each other a while!"
Without waiting for an answer she stepped quickly into the kitchen, asked Sing Pete for a handful of sugar and hurried out to the circular corral.
"Oh, Skinny, Skinny, you are so funny," she laughed aloud as she went through the back-yard gate. "It breaks my heart to break your heart—but you are one of the 'fixers' and you've got to be 'fixed.'"
The Gold Dust maverick at first was shy when Carolyn June opened the gate and entered the corral. After a few moments she recognized the girl and was soon eating the sugar from the hand of Carolyn June. Before the supply was exhausted the friendship and confidence of the two, begun yesterday, was firmly reestablished. The maverick allowed Carolyn June to swing her weight from the glossy withers, to clasp her arms tightly about the trim, clean-built neck, and when, after an hour, the girl started toward the house, the outlaw mare protested so eagerly against being left alone that she turned back to the corral and leaning against the fence stroked the soft muzzle thrust between the bars.
Carolyn June was cooing endearing terms to the filly and playing with the quivering underlip when she heard a horse galloping swiftly up the lane and past the barn. Instinctively she stepped back and turned just as the Ramblin' Kid, riding Captain Jack, wheeled around the end of the shed near the corral.
His sudden appearance surprised her. She had thought he was with the cowboys over at the upland pasture helping skin the steers killed by the lightning.
When they left the ranch the Ramblin' Kid had ridden away with Charley and the others, but not with any intention of going to the big pasture. Where the road turned toward the lower ford he held Captain Jack to the left.
"Ain't you going with us," Charley Saunders asked, "and help skin them steers?"
"No," the Ramblin' Kid replied quietly. "I ain't. I've got something else to do. Anyhow, I ain't a butcher—I work with live cattle, not dead ones!" he concluded as Captain Jack continued in the direction of the upper crossing.
"He's the independentest darn' cuss I ever saw!" Charley remarked to his companions as the Ramblin' Kid disappeared. "It's a wonder Old Heck don't fire him."
"He can't," Bert laughed. "Th' Ramblin' Kid don't stay at the Quarter Circle KT by the grace of Old Heck, but by the choice of th' Ramblin' Kid! Anyhow, he's too good with horses—" His voice trailed away to a low mutter as they turned in among the willows and cottonwood trees along the bank of the Cimarron.
At the upper crossing on almost the same spot where he had lifted Carolyn June from the quicksand to the solid ground of the meadow land, the Ramblin' Kid stopped Captain Jack. He looked out over the placid, unbroken surface of the sand-bar and saw the end of the broken rope coiled loosely where Old Blue had been drawn under. A few yards away the white felt hat Carolyn June had tossed to one side, to be a mute and pathetic messenger of her fate, when she thought death was certain, still rested on the smooth surface of the sand. It was to get the hat the Ramblin' Kid had come again to the scene of yesterday's tragedy. He had seen it lying there when Carolyn June and he rode away on Captain Jack and thought then of trying to get it, but the part of the broken rope attached to his saddle was too short to reach it and it was impossible to secure it in any other way. Chuck had returned the Ramblin' Kid's rope to him yesterday when they were after the runaway steers and it was now on his saddle. He lightly tossed the noose so that it fell circling the object he sought. Gently flicking the rope toward him he tightened the loop about the crown of the hat and drew it to the edge of the quicksand. He picked up the hat, looked curiously at it, remounted Captain Jack, paused a moment and gazed at the treacherous surface beneath which the body of Old Blue was hidden and with a savagely muttered something about "th' damned stuff!" whirled the little stallion and rode rapidly in the direction from which he came.
As Captain Jack galloped along the lane the Ramblin' Kid looked at the hat curiously, turning it first one way and then the other. With a laugh he reached into his pocket and drew out the pink satin garter. An expression of tenderness, followed by a look of deep humility that quickly changed into savage anger, came into his eyes as he looked first at the hat, soiled and dirty, and then a
t the dainty bit of elastic he held in his hand.
"A swell pair of souvenirs," he said bitterly, "for an 'ign'rant, savage, stupid brute' of a cow-puncher to be packin' around!"
Before reaching the barn the Ramblin' Kid dropped the garter again into his pocket. Rounding the end of the shed he rode Captain Jack directly up to Carolyn June. Dismounting, he left the little roan standing, not troubling to drop the reins over the broncho's head, stepped toward the girl and extended the hat, saying simply and without emotion.
"Here's your hat!"
There was no embarrassment now or humility in his eyes as he looked steadily at Carolyn June. His expression was as cold as if the one to whom he spoke was an utter stranger.
"I—" Carolyn June hesitated, "oh, I thank you! It was kind of you to think about it and ride back—back—there," she involuntarily shuddered when she thought of the upper crossing, "and get it!"
The simple, unexpected thoughtfulness of the deed touched her. It was the natural, instinctive act of a gentleman. She had forgotten the hat. He had not. As she looked at him she felt that, someway, she might have known such a thing was exactly what he would do.
"You're welcome," he said quietly, starting to turn away.
A spirit of mischief suddenly flared up in her heart. She thought of the pink elastic she had lost and which she believed he was carrying now in his pocket.
"Is the hat all—didn't you—" she intended to say "find something else?" but quickly stopped. The Ramblin' Kid paused and turned again toward Carolyn June. She hesitated in confusion. It had flashed to her mind that if he had the garter he would not lie about it. He would say as much and offer to return it to her. Someway, she did not wish that—she wanted him to keep it, but she did not want him to know that she wanted her garter to be carried by him!
His black eyes looked keenly at her, as if they would force from her lips the thing she evidently dared not say.
"I—I was just getting acquainted with the Gold Dust maverick!" Carolyn
June finished lamely with a nervous laugh.
"You want to be careful," the Ramblin' Kid said with the slightest curl of his lips at her obvious shifting of meanings, "she ain't exactly a 'lady's animal' yet. She'll fight. Skinny started to go in th' corral this morning an' had to back up. Th' maverick went at him to kill. She's goin' to be a 'one-man' horse th' same as Captain Jack."
"Perhaps it was because she was afraid of him," Carolyn June suggested.
"Maybe it was because Skinny was afraid of her," the Ramblin' Kid chuckled.
"Aren't you going to ride the filly in that race at Eagle Butte?" she asked suddenly with a hint of coquetry in her eyes and voice.
"Why?" he shot back at her, observing the changed inflection and look.
"I—I—would like you to," Carolyn June murmured demurely as she followed up the feminine method of mastering a man, "it would be fun to see her run!"
"Is that all?" the Ramblin' Kid asked gently and with a peculiar emphasis.
"Isn't that enough?" the girl countered in a tone bordering close to the tender.
The answer was slow in coming.
"Th' Gold Dust maverick will be in th' sweepstakes," the Ramblin' Kid finally said, a note of contempt in his voice. "I'll ride her"—as he jerked the saddle from Captain Jack, turned the stallion into the corral, then started toward the bunk-house, while Carolyn June moved away in the direction of the back-yard gate—"I'll ride her," he repeated, emphasizing strongly the last ten words, "to beat that Thunderbolt horse from over on th' Vermejo".
CHAPTER XI
A DANCE AND A RIDE
Old Heck and Parker returned from Eagle Butte before noon. Parker climbed silently from the Clagstone "Six" and lifting out a new saddle went toward the stable. Old Heck carried another—a beautiful thing, artistically scrolled, the horn and stirrups silver trimmed—and laid it on the front porch as Carolyn June, Ophelia and Skinny stepped out of the big room.
"It's yours," he said to Carolyn June.
"Oh, you darling old uncle!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck and giving a tight squeeze while she kissed him full on the mouth.
He reddened. "I ain't so darned old!" he laughed as he withdrew from her embrace and, glancing up, caught sight of Skinny in the immaculate shirt. "My Gawd!" he whispered under his breath.
Parker immediately saddled a horse and rode away to join the cowboys at their work. Lunches for the party had been taken with them when they left the ranch in the morning. During the trip to Eagle Butte Old Heck and his foreman had talked but little. There was a feeling of restraint between Parker and him that made each hesitate to start a conversation that would be almost certain to work around to a discussion of Ophelia—a subject uppermost in the minds of both.
At noon the Ramblin' Kid came to the house for dinner.
He and Skinny occupied their usual places. He looked once at Skinny's shirt, murmured softly and in a tone of infinite disgust and pity, "Hell!" then ate his food in silence. During the meal Carolyn June ignored him, but smiled tenderly and often at Skinny. Old Heck and the widow, at the far end of the table, carried on a low-voiced dialogue.
During the afternoon the Ramblin' Kid remained away from the house. A couple of times, glancing out of the window, Carolyn June saw him at the circular corral petting and caressing Captain Jack or the Gold Dust maverick.
When Sing Pete hammered the iron triangle announcing supper Parker and the cowboys had returned, the hides from the dead steers had been unloaded and the men were ready for the meal.
As Carolyn June and Ophelia went into the kitchen they exchanged a look of understanding. Skinny lagged behind Old Heck. He dreaded the shock of the white shirt on the other cowboys. When he stepped into the room his face flamed scarlet and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. He expected merciless, sarcastic chiding—thinly veiled but cruel. He was disappointed. The cowboys looked at him for a moment, exchanged winks, then sat silently and solemnly down to the table. The presence of the women had saved, for the time being, the suffering Skinny.
Carolyn June distributed tender words and velvety looks impartially among the younger cowboys, while Ophelia alternated sweet nothings between Parker and Old Heck, with an occasional sidelong glance at Charley that brought a heightened color to his sun-browned cheeks.
Chuck sighed dolefully.
"Why so sad?" Carolyn June asked gently, looking with melting sympathy at the pensive cowboy.
"I—I—was just thinking of a—a—funeral I saw once!" he answered, gazing steadily and with pretended awe at Skinny's white shirt. "Some colors always remind me of funerals or—or—weddings!" he explained.
A suppressed snicker circled the table.
"Don't be down-hearted," Carolyn June laughed, "it may not go that far.
"Uncle Josiah," she added suddenly, "Ophelia and I have a wonderful surprise for you and the boys."
Old Heck looked at her without replying while he awaited an explanation.
"We are going to give a dance!" Carolyn June went on.
"A dance?" he repeated incredulously, "when—"
"To-night—in the front room," she hastened to explain, "not a big dance—just a little one for you and the boys. The graphophone will furnish music, there are some good one-step and waltz records—Skinny and I were playing them this afternoon—and every blessed cowboy on the Quarter Circle KT must be there!"
A short silence followed her words, then a chorus of "We'll be there!" greeted her.
"In an hour," Carolyn June said, smiling sweetly at the cowboys, as they left the kitchen, "everybody be back at the house. We'll fix the room and have it ready—don't any one bother to 'dress up,'" she added as an afterthought.
"Old Heck's niece acts kind of stampedish, don't she?" Bert remarked as Parker and the cowboys filed out of the back-yard gate toward the bunk-house.
"Yes," Charley answered. "I'm going to shave."
"So am I," said Chuck, as they hurried in the direction of their s
leeping quarters.
"Me, too," laughed Bert. "Gee, didn't Skinny shine in that shirt?" as they disappeared inside the building and there was a rush to hunt out razors, brushes and other toilet necessities or clean handkerchiefs and ties.
The Ramblin' Kid alone seemed uninterested. He dropped down on his bed and idly watched the others prepare for the evening's diversion.
"Ain't you going?" Chuck asked him, noticing his indifference.
A short, half-cynical laugh with "Oh, maybe I'll go set on the porch an' listen to th' music!" was the answer.
When Parker and the cowboys reappeared at the house it was plain that all had disobeyed Carolyn June's injunction not to "dress up." Each had paid tribute in some way, by a smooth-scraped face, a dean shirt, a tie or something, to the vanity of his own heart and the desire for the good opinion of either Carolyn June or the widow.
Both women noticed it. They exchanged glances while Carolyn June softly whispered to Ophelia: "Stir them up—it's coming to them!"
The widow smiled understandingly.
Old Heck fidgeted uncomfortably. The situation was entirely beyond his control. By right he and Ophelia ought to be sitting there quietly making love, while Skinny and Carolyn June, in another corner of the room or out on the porch, were doing the same thing. He would just have to await developments.
Parker was elated. Carolyn June's proposal had broken up Old Heck's evening alone with the widow. Perhaps—the thought thrilled the foreman —Ophelia herself had planned it!
"Skinny can keep the graphophone working," Carolyn June laughed. "Put on a one-step first," she said as he rather grudgingly went to the corner and started the music. "Come on, Bert, we'll dance this one," she cried merrily, as she stepped up to the blushing cowboy and put her hand, with a tender little pressure, on his arm. "It's 'ladies' night,' you know—Ophelia, pick your pardner!"
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