The Ranchman

by Charles Alden Seltzer

  CHAPTER XI--"NO FUN FOOLING HER"

  Accompanied by Martha, who rode one of the horses Parsons had bought,Marion Harlan began her trip to the Arrow shortly after dawn.

  The girl had said nothing to Parsons regarding her meeting with Taylorthe previous day, nor of her intention to pass the day at the Arrow. Forshe feared that Parsons might make some objection--and she wanted to go.

  That she feared her uncle's deterrent influence argued that she wasaware that she was doing wrong in going to the Arrow--even with Marthaas chaperon; but that was, perhaps, the very reason the thought of goingengaged her interest.

  She wondered many times, as she rode, with the negro woman trailing her,if there was not inherent in her some of those undesirable traitsconcerning which the good people of Westwood had entertained fears.

  The thought crimsoned her cheeks and brightened her eyes; but she knewshe had no vicious thoughts--that she was going to the Arrow, notbecause she wanted to see Taylor again, but because she wanted to sit inthe room that had been occupied by her father. She wanted to look againat his belongings, to feel his former presence--as she had felt it whilegazing out over the vast level beyond the river, where he had riddenmany times.

  She looked in on Mrs. Mullarky as they passed the Mullarky cabin, andwhen the good woman learned of her proposed visit to the Arrow, she gaveher entire approval.

  "I don't blame you, darlin'," declared Mrs. Mullarky. "Let the worldjabber--if it wants to. If it was me father that had been over there,I'd stay there, takin' Squint Taylor at his word--an' divvle a bit I'dcare what the world would say about it!"

  So Marion rode on, slightly relieved. But the crimson stain was still onher cheeks when she and Martha dismounted at the porch, and she lookedfearfully around, half-expecting that Taylor would appear fromsomewhere, having tricked her.

  But Taylor was nowhere in sight. A fat man appeared from somewhere inthe vicinity of the stable, doffed his hat politely, informed her thathe was the "stable boss" and would care for the horses; he having beendelegated by Taylor to perform whatever service Miss Harlan desired; andambled off, leading the horses, leaving the girl and Martha standingnear the edge of the porch.

  Marion entered the house with a strange feeling of guilt and shame.Standing in the open doorway--where she had seen Taylor standing whenshe had dismounted the day before--she was afflicted with regret andmortification over her coming. It wasn't right for a girl to do as shewas doing; and for an instant she hesitated on the verge of flight.

  But Martha's voice directly behind her, reassured her.

  "They ain't a soul here, honey--not a soul. You've got the whole houseto yo'self. This am a lark--shuah enough. He, he, he!"

  It was the voice of the temptress--and Marion heeded it. With a defianttoss of her head she entered the room, took off her hat, laid it on aconvenient table, calmly telling Martha to do the same. Then she wentboldly from one room to another, finally coming to a halt in the doorwayof the room that had been occupied by her father.

  For her that room seemed to hallow the place. It was as though herfather were here with her; as though there were no need of Martha beinghere with her. The thought of it removed any stigma that might have beenattached to her coming; it made her heedless of the opinion of the worldand its gossip-mongers.

  She forgot the world in her interest, and for more than an hour, withMartha sitting in a chair sympathetically watching her, she reveled inthe visible proofs of her father's occupancy of the room.

  Later she and Martha went out on the porch, where, seated inrocking-chairs--that had not been on the porch the day before--shefilled her mental vision with pictures of her father's life at theArrow. Those pictures were imaginary, but they were intensely satisfyingto the girl who had loved her father, for she could almost see himmoving about her.

  "You shuah does look soft an' dreamy, honey," Martha told her once. "Youlooks jes' like a delicate ghost. A while ago, lookin' at you, I shuahwas scared you was goin' to blow away!"

  But Marion was not the ethereal wraith that Martha thought her. Sheproved that a little later, when, with the negro woman abetting her, shewent into the house and prepared dinner. For she ate so heartily thatMartha was forced to amend her former statement.

  "For a ghost you shuah does eat plenty, honey," she said.

  Later they were out on the porch again. The big level on the other sideof the river was flooded with a slumberous sunshine, with the glowing,rose haze of early afternoon enveloping it, and the girl was enjoying itwhen there came an interruption.

  A cowboy emerged from a building down near the corral--Marion learnedlater that the building was the bunkhouse, which meant that it was usedas sleeping-quarters for the Arrow outfit--and walked, with the rollingstride so peculiar to his kind, toward the porch.

  He was a tall young man, red of face, and just now affected with amighty embarrassment, which was revealed in the awkward manner in whichhe removed his hat and shuffled his feet as he came to a halt within afew feet of Marion.

  "The boss wants to know how you are gettin' along, ma'am, an' if there'sanything you're wantin'?"

  "We are enjoying ourselves immensely, thank you; and there is nothing wewant--particularly."

  The puncher had turned to go before the girl thought of the significanceof the "boss."

  Her face was a trifle pale as she called to the puncher.

  "Who is your boss--if you please?" she asked.

  The puncher wheeled, a slow grin on his face.

  "Why, Squint Taylor, ma'am."

  She sat erect. "Do you mean that Mr. Taylor is here?"

  "He's in the bunkhouse, ma'am."

  She got up, and, holding her head very erect, began to walk toward theroom in which she had left her hat.

  But half-way across the porch the puncher's voice halted her:

  "Squint was sayin' you didn't expect him to be here, an' that I'd haveto do the explainin'. He couldn't come, you see."

  "Ashamed, I suppose," she said coldly.

  She was facing the puncher now, and she saw him grin.

  "Why, no, ma'am; I don't reckon he's a heap ashamed. But it'd be mightyinconvenient for him. You see, ma'am, this mornin', when he was gittin'ready to ride to the south line, his cayuse got an ornery streak an'throwed him, sprainin' Squint's ankle."

  The girl's emotions suddenly reacted; the resentment she had yielded tobecame self-reproach. For she had judged hastily, and she had alwaysfelt that one had no right to judge hastily.

  And Taylor had been remarkably considerate; for he had not evenpermitted her to know of the accident until after noon. That indicatedthat he had no intention of forcing himself on her.

  She hesitated, saw Martha grinning into a hand, looked at the puncher'sexpressionless face, and felt that she had been rather prudish. Hercheeks flushed with color.

  Taylor had actually been a martyr on a small scale in confining himselfto the bunkhouse, when he could have enjoyed the comforts andspaciousness of the ranchhouse if it had not been for her own presence.

  "Is--is his ankle badly sprained?" she hesitatingly asked the nowsober-faced puncher.

  "Kind of bad, ma'am; he ain't been able to do no walkin' on it. Beenhobblin' an' swearin', mostly, ma'am. It's sure a trial to be near him."

  "And it is warm here; it must be terribly hot in that little place!"

  She was at the edge of the porch now, her face radiating sympathy.

  "I am not surprised that he should swear!" she told the puncher, whogrinned and muttered:

  "He's sure first class at it, ma'am."

  "Why," she said, paying no attention to the puncher's compliment of hisemployer, "he is hurt, and I have been depriving him of his house. Youtell him to come right out of that stuffy place! Help him to come here!"

  And without waiting to watch the puncher depart, she darted into thehouse, pulled a big rocker out on the porch, got a pillow and arrangedit so that it would form a resting-place for the injured man'shead--providing he decided to oc
cupy the chair, which she doubted--andthen stood on the edge of the porch, awaiting his appearance.

  Inside the bunkhouse the puncher was grinning at Taylor, who, with hisright foot swathed in bandages, was sitting on a bench, anxiouslyawaiting the delivery of the puncher's message.

  "Well, talk, you damned grinning inquisitor!" was Taylor's greeting tothe puncher. "What did she say?"

  "At first she didn't seem to be a heap overjoyed to know that you was inthis country," said the other; "but when she heard you'd been hurt shesort of stampeded, invitin' you to come an' set on the porch with her."

  Taylor got up and started for the door, the bandaged foot draggingclumsily.

  "Shucks," drawled the puncher; "if you go to _runnin'_ to her she'llhave suspicions. Accordin' to my notion, she expects you to come ahobblin', same as though your leg was broke. 'Help him to come,' shetold me. An' you're goin' that way--you hear me! I'll bust your anklewith a club before I'll have her think I'm a liar!"

  "Maybe I _was_ a little eager," grinned Taylor.

  An instant later he stepped out of the bunkhouse door, leaning heavilyon the puncher's shoulder.

  The two made slow progress to the porch; and Taylor's ascent to theporch and his final achievement of the rocking-chair were accomplishedslowly, with the assistance of Miss Harlan.

  Then, with a face almost the color of the scarlet neckerchief he wore,Taylor watched the retreat of the puncher.

  His face became redder when Miss Harlan drew another rocker close to hisand demanded to be told the story of the accident.

  "My own fault," declared Taylor. "I was in a hurry. Accidents alwayshappen that way, don't they? Slipped trying to swing on my horse, withhim running. Missed the stirrup. Clumsy, wasn't it?"

  Eager to keep his word, of course, Marion reasoned. She had insistedthat he be gone when she arrived, and he had injured himself hurrying.

  She watched him as he talked of the accident. And now for the first timeshe understood why he had acquired the nickname Squint.

  His eyes were deep-set, though not small. He did not really squint, forthere was plenty of room between the eyelids--which, by the way, werefringed with lashes that might have been the envy of any woman; butthere were many little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, which spreadfanwise toward cheek and brow, and these created the illusion ofsquinting.

  Also, he had a habit of partially closing his eyes when looking directlyat one; and at such times they held a twinkling glint that caused one tospeculate over their meaning.

  Miss Harlan was certain the twinkle meant humor. But other persons hadbeen equally sure the twinkle meant other emotions, or passion. Lookinginto Taylor's eyes in the dining-car, Carrington had decided they werefilled with cold, implacable hostility, with the promise of violence, tohimself. And yet the squint had not been absent.

  Whatever had been expressed in the eyes had been sufficient to deterCarrington from his announced purpose to "knock hell out of" theirowner.

  The girl was aware that Taylor was not handsome; that his attractionswere not of a surface character. Something about him struck deeper thanthat. A subtle magnetism gripped her--the magnetism of strength, moraland mental. In his eyes she could see the signs of it; in the lines ofhis jaw and the set of his lips were suggestions of indomitability andforce.

  All the visible signs were, however, glossed over with the deep, slowhumor that radiated from him, that glowed in his eyes.

  It all made her conscious of a great similarity between them; fordespite the doubts and suspicions of the people of Westwood, she hadbeen able to survive--and humor had been the grace that had saved herfrom disappointment and pessimism. Those other traits in Taylor--visibleto one who studied him--she knew for her own; and her spirits nowresponded to his.

  Her cheeks were glowing as she looked at him, and her eyes, half veiledby the drooping lashes, were dancing with mischief.

  "You were in that hot bunkhouse all morning," she said. "Why didn't yousend word before?"

  "You were careful to tell me that you didn't want me around when youcame."

  There was a gleam of reproach in his eyes.

  "But you were injured!"

  "Look how things go in the world," he invited, narrowing his eyes ather. "It's almost enough to make a man let go all holds and just driftalong. Maybe a man would be just as well off.

  "Early this morning I knew I had to light out for the day, and I didn'twant to go any more than a gopher wants to go into a rattlesnake's den.But I had to keep my word. Then Spotted Tail gets notions----"

  "Spotted Tail?" she interrupted.

  "My horse," he grinned at her. "He gets notions. Maybe he wants to getaway as much as I want to stay. Anyhow, he was in a hurry; and thingsshape up so that I've got to stay.

  "And then, when I hang around the bunkhouse all morning, worryingbecause I'm afraid you'll find out that I didn't keep my word, and thatI'm still here, you send word that you'll not object to me coming on theporch with you. I'd call that a misjudgment all around--on my part."

  "Yes--it was that," she told him. "You certainly are entitled to thecomforts of your own house--especially when you are hurt. But are yousure you _worried_ because you were afraid I would discover you werehere?"

  "I expect you can prove that by looking at me, Miss Harlan--noticingthat I've got thin and pale-looking since you saw me last?"

  She threw a demure glance at him. "I am afraid you are in great danger;you do not look nearly as well as when I saw you, the first time, on thetrain."

  He looked gravely at her.

  "The porter threw them out of the window," he said. "That is, I gave himorders to."

  "What?" she said, perplexed. "I don't understand. What did the porterthrow out of the window?"

  "My dude clothes," he said.

  So he _had_ observed the ridicule in her eyes.

  She met his gaze, and both laughed.

  He had been curious about her all along, and he artfully questioned herabout Westwood, gradually drawing from her the rather unexciting detailsof her life. Yet these details were chiefly volunteered, Taylor noticed,and did not result entirely from his questions.

  Carrington's name came into the discussion, also, and Parsons. Taylordiscovered that Carrington and Parsons had been partners in manybusiness deals, and that they had come to Dawes because the town offeredmany possibilities. The girl quoted Carrington's words; Taylor wasconvinced that she knew nothing of the character of the business the menhad come to Dawes to transact.

  Their talk strayed to minor subjects and to those of great importance,ranging from a discussion of prairie hens to sage comment upon certainabstruse philosophy. Always, however, the personal note was dominant andthe personal interest acute.

  That atmosphere--the deep interest of each for the other--made theirconversation animated. For half the time the girl paid no attention toTaylor's words. She watched him when he talked, noting the variousshades of expression of his eyes, the curve of his lips, wondering atthe deep music of his voice. She marveled that at first she had thoughthim uninteresting and plain.

  For she had discovered that he was rather good-looking; that he wasendowed with a natural instinct to reach accurate and logicalconclusions; that he was quiet-mannered and polite--and a gentleman. Herfirst impressions of him had not been correct, for during their talk shediscovered through casual remarks, that Taylor had been educated withsome care, that his ancestors were of that sturdy American stock whichhad made the settling of the eastern New-World wilderness possible, andthat there was in his manner the unmistakable gentleness of goodbreeding.

  However, Taylor's first impressions of the girl had endured withoutamendations. At a glance he had yielded to the spell of her, and theintimate and informal conversation carried on between them; the flashesof personality he caught merely served to convince him of herdesirability.

  Twice during their talk Martha cleared her throat significantly andloudly, trying to attract their attention.

  The efforts bore
no fruit, and Martha might have been entirely forgottenif she had not finally got to her feet and laid a hand on Marion'sshoulder.

  "I's gwine to lie down a spell, honey," she said. "You-all don't need nothird party to entertain you. An' I's powerful tiahd." And over thegirl's shoulder she smiled broadly and sympathetically at Taylor.

  The sun was filling the western level with a glowing, golden haze whenMiss Harlan got to her feet and announced that she was going home.

  "It's the first day I have really enjoyed," she told Taylor as she satin the saddle, looking at him. He had got up and was standing at theporch edge. "That is, it is the first enjoyable day I have passed sinceI have been here," she added.

  "I wouldn't say that I've been exactly bored myself," he grinned at her."But I'm not so sure about Friday; for if you come Friday the chancesare that my ankle will be well again, and I'll have to make myselfscarce. You see, my excuse will be gone."

  Martha was sitting on her horse close by, and her eyes were dancing.

  "Don' you go an' bust your haid, Mr. Taylor!" she warned. "I knowssomebuddy that would be powerful sorry if that would happen to you!"

  "Martha!" said Marion severely. But her eyes were eloquent as they metTaylor's twinkling ones; and she saw a deep color come into Taylor'scheeks.

  Taylor watched her until she grew dim in the distance; then he turnedand faced the tall young puncher, who had stepped upon the porch and hadbeen standing near.

  The puncher grinned. "Takin' 'em off now, boss?" he asked.

  He pointed to the bandages on Taylor's right foot. In one of the youngpuncher's hands was Taylor's right boot.

  "Yes," returned Taylor.

  He sat down in the rocker he had occupied all afternoon, and the youngpuncher removed the bandages, revealing Taylor's bare foot and ankle,with no bruise or swelling to mar the white skin.

  Taylor drew on the sock which the puncher drew from the boot; then hepulled on the boot and stood up.

  The puncher was grinning hugely, but no smile was on Taylor's face.

  "It worked, boss," said the puncher; "she didn't tumble. I thought I'dlaff my head off when I seen her fixin' the pillow for you--an' yourfoot not hurt more than mine. You ought to be plumb tickled, pullin' offa trick like that!"

  "I ain't a heap tickled," declared Taylor glumly. "There's no fun infooling _her_!"

  Which indicated that Taylor's thoughts were now serious.