Her Prairie Knight

by B. M. Bower

  CHAPTER 2. A Handsome Cowboy to the Rescue.

  Beatrice took immediate possession of the front seat, that she mightcomfort her heartbroken young nephew.

  "Never mind, honey. They'll bring the horses back in a minute, and we'llmake them run every step. And when you get to Uncle Dick's ranch you'llsee the nicest things--bossy calves, and chickens, and, maybe, somelittle pigs with curly tails."

  All this, though alluring, failed of its purpose; the small boycontinued to weep, and his weeping was ear-splitting.

  "Be still, Dorman, or you'll certainly scare all the coyotes to death."

  "Where are dey?"

  "Oh, all around. You keep watch, hon, and maybe you'll see one put thetip of his nose over a hill."

  "What hill?" Dorman skipped a sob, and scoured his eyes industriouslywith both fists.

  "M-m--that hill. That little one over there. Watch close, or you'll misshim."

  The dove of peace hovered over them, and seemed actually about toalight. Beatrice leaned back with a relieved breath.

  "It is good of you, my dear, to take so much trouble," sighed his AuntMary. "How I am to manage without Parks I'm sure I cannot tell."

  "You are tired, and you miss your tea." soothed Beatrice, optimistic asto tone. "When we all have a good rest we will be all right. Dorman willfind plenty to amuse him. We are none of us exactly comfortable now."

  "Comfortable!" sniffed her mother. "I am half dead. Richard wrote suchglowing letters home that I was misled. If I had dreamed of the trueconditions, Miss Hayes, I should never have sanctioned this wild idea ofBeatrice's to come out and spend the summer with Richard."

  "It's coming, Be'trice! There it is! Will it bite, auntie? Say, will itbite?"

  Beatrice looked. A horseman came over the hill and was galloping downthe long slope toward them. His elbows were lifted contrary to themandates of the riding-school, his long legs were encased in somethingbrown and fringed down the sides. His gray hat was tilted rakishly upat the back and down in front, and a handkerchief was knotted looselyaround his throat. Even at that distance he struck her as different fromany one she had ever seen.

  "It's a highwayman!" whispered Mrs. Lansell "Hide your purse, my dear!"

  "I--I--where?" Miss Hayes was all a-flutter with fear.

  "Drop it down beside the wheel, into the water. Quick! I shall drop mywatch."

  "He--he is coming on this side! He can see!" Her whisper was full ofentreaty and despair.

  "Give them here. He can't see on both sides of the buggy at once." Mrs.Lansell, being an American--a Yankee at that--was a woman of resource.

  "Beatrice, hand me your watch quick!"

  Beatrice paid no attention, and there was no time to insist uponobedience. The horseman had slowed at the water's edge, and wasregarding them with some curiosity. Possibly he was not accustomed tosuch a sight as the one that met his eyes. He came splashing towardthem, however, as though he intended to investigate the cause of theirpresence, alone upon the prairie, in a vehicle which had no horsesattached in the place obviously intended for such attachment. When hewas close upon them he stopped and lifted the rakishly tilted gray hat.

  "You seem to be in trouble. Is there anything I can do for you?" Hismanner was grave and respectful, but his eyes, Beatrice observed, werehaving a quiet laugh of their own.

  "You can't get auntie's watch, nor gran'mama's. Gran'mama frowed 'em alldown in the mud. She frowed her money down in the mud, too," announcedDorman, with much complacency. "Be'trice says you is a coyote. Is you?"

  There was a stunned interval, during which nothing was heard but thewind whispering things to the grass. The man's eyes stopped laughing;his jaw set squarely; also, his brows drew perceptibly closer together.It was Mrs. Lansell's opinion that he looked murderous.

  Then Beatrice put her head down upon the little, blue velvet cap ofDorman and laughed. There was a rollicking note in her laughter that wasirresistible, and the eyes of the man relented and joined in her mirth.His lips forgot they were angry and insulted, and uncovered some verynice teeth.

  "We aren't really crazy," Beatrice told him, sitting up straight anddrying her eyes daintily with her handkerchief. "We were on our way toMr. Lansell's ranch, and the horses broke something and ran away, andDick--Mr. Lansell--has gone to catch them. We're waiting until he does."

  "I see." From the look in his eyes one might guess that what he sawpleased him. "Which direction did they take?"

  Beatrice waved a gloved hand vaguely to the left, and, without anotherword, the fellow touched his hat, turned and waded to shore and gallopedover the ridge she indicated; and the clucketycluck of his horse's hoofscame sharply across to them until he dipped out of sight.

  "You see, he wasn't a robber," Beatrice remarked, staring after himspeculatively. "How well he rides! One can see at a glance that healmost lives in the saddle. I wonder who he is."

  "For all you know, Beatrice, he may be going now to murder Richard andSir Redmond in cold blood. He looks perfectly hardened."

  "Oh, do you think it possible?" cried Miss Hayes, much alarmed.

  "No!" cried Beatrice hotly. "One who did not know your horror ofnovels, mama, might suspect you of feeding your imagination upon 'pennydreadfuls.' I'm sure he is only a cowboy, and won't harm anybody."

  "Cowboys are as bad as highwaymen," contended her mother, "or worse. Ihave read how they shoot men for a pastime, and without even the excuseof robbery."

  "Is it possible?" quavered Miss Hayes faintly.

  "No, it isn't!" Beatrice assured her indignantly.

  "He has the look of a criminal," declared Mrs. Lansell, in the positivetone of one who speaks from intimate knowledge of the subject underdiscussion. "I only hope he isn't going to murder--"

  "They're coming back, mama," interrupted Beatrice, who had been watchingclosely the hilltop. "No, it's that man, and he is driving the horses."

  "He's chasing them," corrected her mother testily. "A horse thief, nodoubt. He's going to catch them with his snare--"

  "Lasso, mama."

  "Well, lasso. Where can Richard be? To think the fellow should beso bold! But out here, with miles upon miles of open, and no policeprotection anything is possible. We might all be murdered, and no onebe the wiser for days--perhaps weeks. There, he has caught them." Sheleaned back and clasped her hands, ready to meet with fortitude whateverfate might have in store.

  "He's bringing them out to us, mama. Can't you see the man is onlytrying to help us?"

  Mrs. Lansell, beginning herself to suspect him of honest intentions,sniffed dissentingly and let it go at that. The fellow was certainlyleading the horses toward them, and Sir Redmond and Dick, appearing overthe hill just then, proved beyond doubt that neither had been murderedin cold blood, or in any other unpleasant manner.

  "We're all right now, mother," Dick called, the minute he was nearenough.

  His mother remarked skeptically that she hoped possibly she had been intoo great haste to conceal her valuables--that Miss Hayes might not feelgrateful for her presence of mind, and was probably wondering if mudbaths were not injurious to fine, jeweled time-pieces. Mrs. Lansellwas uncomfortable, mentally and physically, and her manner was franklychilly when her son presented the stranger as his good friend andneighbor, Keith Cameron. She was still privately convinced that helooked a criminal--though, if pressed, she must surely have admittedthat he was an uncommonly good-looking young outlaw. It would seemalmost as if she regarded his being a decent, law-abiding citizen aspure effrontery.

  Miss Hayes greeted him with a smile of apprehension which plainly amusedhim. Beatrice was frankly impersonal in her attitude; he represented anew species of the genus man, and she, too, evidently regarded him inthe light of a strange animal, viewed unexpectedly at close range.

  While he was helping Dick mend the double-tree with a piece of rope, shestudied him curiously. He was tall--taller even than Sir Redmond, andmore slender. Sir Redmond had the straight, sturdy look of the soldierwho had borne the brunt of har
d marches and desperate fighting; Mr.Cameron, the lithe, unconscious grace and alertness of the man whosework demands quick movement and quicker eye and brain. His face wastanned to a clear bronze which showed the blood darkly beneath; SirRedmond's year of peace had gone far toward lightening his complexion.Beatrice glanced briefly at him and admired his healthy color, and wasglad he did not have the look of an Indian. At the same time, she caughtherself wishing that Sir Redmond's eyes were hazel, fringed with verylong, dark lashes and topped with very straight, dark brows--eyes whichseemed always to have some secret cause for mirth, and to laugh quiteindependent of the rest of the face. Still, Sir Redmond had very niceeyes--blue, and kind, and steadfast, and altogether dependable--and hislashes were quite nice enough for any one. In just four seconds Beatricedecided that, after all, she did not like hazel eyes that twinklecontinually; they make one feel that one is being laughed at, which isnot comfortable. In six seconds she was quite sure that this Mr. Cameronthought himself handsome, and Beatrice detested a man who was proud ofhis face or his figure; such a man always tempted her to "make faces,"as she used to do over the back fence when she was little.

  She mentally accused him of trying to show off his skill with his ropewhen he leaned and fastened it to the rig, rode out ahead and helpeddrag the vehicle to shore; and it was with some resentment that sheobserved the ease with which he did it, and how horse and rope seemed toknow instinctively their master's will, and to obey of their own accord.

  In all that he had done--and it really seemed as if he did everythingthat needed to be done, while Dick pottered around in the way--he hadnot found it necessary to descend into the mud and water, to the ruin ofhis picturesque, fringed chaps and high-heeled boots. He had worked atease, carelessly leaning from his leathern throne upon the big, roanhorse he addressed occasionally as Redcloud. Beatrice wondered where hegot the outlandish name. But, with all his imperfections, she was gladshe had met him. He really was handsome, whether he knew it or not; andif he had a good opinion of himself, and overrated his actions--all themore fun for herself! Beatrice, I regret to say, was not above amusingherself with handsome young men who overrate their own charms; in fact,she had the reputation among her women acquaintances of being a mostoutrageous flirt.

  In the very middle of these trouble-breeding meditations, Mr. Cameronlooked up unexpectedly and met keenly her eyes; and for some reason--letus hope because of a guilty conscience--Beatrice grew hot and confused;an unusual experience, surely, for a girl who had been out threeseasons, and has met calmly the eyes of many young men. Until now it hadbeen the young men who grew hot and confused; it had never been herself.

  Beatrice turned her shoulder toward him, and looked at Sir Redmond, whowas surreptitiously fishing for certain articles beside the rear wheel,at the whispered behest of Mrs. Lansell, and was certainly a sight tobehold. He was mud to his knees and to his elbows, and he had managed toplaster his hat against the wheel and to dirty his face. Altogether, helooked an abnormally large child who has been having a beautiful day ofit in somebody's duck-pond; but Beatrice was nearer, at that moment,to loving him than she had been at any time during her six weeks'acquaintance with him--and that is saying much, for she had liked himfrom the start.

  Mr. Cameron followed her glance, and his eyes did not have the laugh allto themselves; his voice joined them, and Beatrice turned upon him andfrowned. It was not kind of him to laugh at a man who is proving hisheart to be much larger than his vanity; Beatrice was aware of SirRedmond's immaculateness of attire on most occasions.

  "Well," said Dick, gathering up the reins, "you've helped us out of abad scrape, Keith. Come over and take dinner with us to-morrow night.I expect we'll be kept riding the rim-rocks, over at the Pool, thissummer. Unless this sister of mine has changed a lot, she won't resttill she's been over every foot of country for forty miles around. Itwill just about keep our strings rode down to a whisper keeping her insight."

  "Dear me, Richard!" said his mother. "What Jargon is this you speak?"

  "That's good old Montana English, mother. You'll learn it yourselfbefore you leave here. I've clean forgot how they used the Englishlanguage at Yale, haven't you, Keith?"

  "Just about," Keith agreed. "I'm afraid we'll shock the ladies terribly,Dick. We ought to get out on a pinnacle with a good grammar andpractice."

  "Well, maybe. We'll look for you to-morrow, sure. I want you to help mapout a circle or two for Trix. About next week she'll want to get out andscour the range."

  "Dear me, Richard! Beatrice is not a charwoman!" This, you willunderstand, was from his mother; perhaps you will also understand thatshe spoke with the rising inflection which conveys a reproof.

  When Keith Cameron left them he was laughing quietly to himself, andBeatrice's chin was set rather more than usual.