The Range Dwellers

by B. M. Bower

  CHAPTER IV.

  Through King's Highway.

  It was a long time before I was in a position to gratify my curiosity,though; between the son and heir, with nothing to do but amuse himself,and a cowboy working for his daily wage, there is a great gulf fixed.After being put on the pay-roll, I couldn't do just as my fancy prompted.I had to get up at an ungodly hour, and eat breakfast in about twominutes, and saddle a horse and "ride circle" with the rest of them--whichsame is exceeding wearisome to man and beast. For the first time since Ileft school, I was under orders; and the foreman certainly tried to obeydad's mandate and treat me just as he would have treated any otherstranger. I could give it up, of course--but I hope never to see the daywhen I can be justly called a quitter.

  First, we were rounding up horses--saddlers that were to be ridden in theround-up proper. We were not more than two or three weeks at that, thoughwe covered a good deal of country. Before it was over I knew a lot morethan when we started out, and had got hard as nails; riding on round-upbeats a gym for putting wire muscles under a man's skin, in my opinion.We worked all around White Divide--which was turning a pale, dainty greenexcept where the sandstone cliffs stood up in all the shades of yellow andred. Montana, as viewed on "horse round-up," looks better than in thefirst bleak days of March, and I could gaze upon it without profanity.I even got to like tearing over the newborn grass on a good horse, witha cowboy or two galloping, keen-faced and calm, beside me. It was almostbetter than slithering along a hard road with a motor-car stripped to therunning-gear.

  When the real thing happened--the "calf round-up"--and thirty riders inwhite felt hats, chaps, spurs a-jingle, and handkerchief ends flying outin the wind, lined up of a morning for orders, the blood of me wenta-jump, and my nerves were all tingly with the pure joy of being alive andatop a horse as eager as hounds in the leash and with the wind of theplains in my face and the grass-land lying all around, yelling come on,and the meadowlarks singing fit to split their throats. There's nothinglike it--and I've tried nearly everything in the way of blood-tinglers.Skimming through the waves, alean to the wind in a racing-yacht, comesnearest, and even that takes second money when circle-riding on round-upis entered in the race. But this is getting away from my story.

  We were working the country just north of White Divide, when the foremanstarted me home with a message for Perry Potter--and I was to get back assoon as possible with the answer. Now, here's where I got gay.

  As I said, we were north of White Divide, and the home ranch was south,and to go around either end of that string of hills meant an extra sixtymiles to cover each way--a hundred and twenty for the round trip. Directlyin the way of the proverbial crow's flight lay King's Highway, which--ifI got through--would put me at the ranch the first day, and back at campthe second; and I rather guessed that would surprise our worthy foremannot a little. I didn't see why it couldn't be done; surely old Kingwouldn't murder a man just for riding through that pass--that would bebloody-minded indeed!

  And if I failed--why, I could go around, and no one would be wise to thefact that I had tried it. I headed straight for the pass, which yawnedinvitingly, with two bare peaks for the jaws, not over six miles away.It was against orders, for Perry Potter had given the boys to understandthat they were not to go that way, and that they were to leave King andhis stronghold strictly alone; but I didn't worry about that. When I wasfairly in the mouth of the pass, I got down and looked to the cinch, andthen rode boldly forward, like a soldier riding up to the cannon's mouthwith a smile on his face. Oh, I wasted plenty of admiration on one EllisCarleton about that time, and rehearsed the bold, biting speech I meantto deliver at old King's very door.

  So far it was easy sailing. There was a hard-beaten road, and the hillsseemed standing back and holding aside their skirts for a free passing.The sun lay warm on their green slopes, and one could fairly smell thegrass growing. In the hollows were worlds of blue flowers, with patcheshere and there a royal purple. I stopped and gathered a handful and stuckthem in my buttonhole and under my hatband. I don't know when I have feltso thoroughly satisfied with said Ellis Carleton--of whom I am overfond ofspeaking--I even mimicked the meadow-larks, until they watched me withheads tilted, not knowing what to make of such an impertinent fellow.

  King's Highway was glorious; I didn't wonder that dad thought it worthfighting over, and as I went on, farther and farther down this lane madeby nature for easy passing, I could see what an immense advantage it wouldbe to take herds through that way. I could see why the Bay State mencursed King when they took the rough trail around the end of WhiteDivide.

  After an hour of undisputed riding on this forbidden trail, the passnarrowed rather abruptly till it was not more than a furlong in width; thehills stretched their heads still higher, as if they wanted to see thefun, and the shadow of the eastern rim laid clear across the narrow valleyand touched the foot of the opposite slope. I hope I am not going to becalled nervous if I tell the truth about things; when I rode into theshadow I stopped whistling a bad imitation of meadow-lark notes. A bitfarther and I pulled up, looked all around, and got off and tightened thecinch a bit more. Shylock--I always rode him when I could--threw his headaround and nearly took a chunk out of my arm, and in reproving him Iforgot, for a minute, the ticklish game I was playing. Then I loosened mygun--I had learned to carry it inconspicuously under my coat, as did theother boys--made sure it could be pulled without embarrassing delay, andwent on. Around the next turn a five-wired fence stretched across thetrail, with a gate fastened by a chain and padlock. I whistled under mybreath, and eyed the lock with extreme disfavor.

  But I had learned a trick of the cowboys. I pulled the wire off a coupleof posts at one side of the gate, laid them flat on the ground, and ledShylock over them. Then I found a rock, pounded the staples back in place,and went on; only for the tracks, one could not notice that any had passedthat way. Still, it was a bit ticklish, riding down King's Highway aloneand with no idea of what lay farther on. But dad had dared go that way,and to fight at the far end; and what dad had not been afraid to tackle,it did not behoove his son to back down from. I made Shylock walk the nexthalf-mile, with some notion of saving his wind for an emergency run.

  Of a sudden I rounded a sharp nose of hill and came plump on the palace ofthe King. It looked a good deal like the Bay State Ranch--big corrals andsheds and stables, and little place for man to dwell. The house, though,was bigger than ours, and looked more comfortable to live in. And thething that struck me most was the head which King displayed for strategy.The trail wound between those same sheds and corrals, a gantlet twohundred yards long that one must run or turn back. On either side thebluffs rose sheer, with the buildings crowding close against their base.I didn't wonder Frosty called King's Highway "bad medicine." It certainlydid look like it.

  I went softly along that trail, turning sharp corners around a shed here,circling a corral there, with my hand within an inch of my gun, and myheart within an inch of my teeth, and you may laugh all you like.

  No one seemed to be about; the sheds were deserted, and a few horses dozedin a corral that I passed; but human being I saw none. It was evident thatKing did not consider his enemy worth watching. I passed the last shed andfound myself headed straight for the house; I had still to get through itsvery dooryard before I was in any position to crow, and beyond the housewas another fence; I hoped the gate was not locked. Shylock pricked uphis ears, then laid them back along his neck as if he did not approve thelayout, either. But we ambled right along, like a deacon headed forprayer-meeting, and I tried to look in four different directions at oneand the same time.

  For that reason, I didn't see her till she stood right in front of me; andwhen I did, I stared like an idiot. It was a girl, and she was coming downa path to the trail, with her hands full of flowers, for all the worldlike a Duchess novel. Another minute, and I'd have run over her, I guess.She stopped and looked at me from under lashes so thick and heavy theyseemed almost pulling her lids shut, and there was some
thing in her eyesthat made me go hot and cold, like I was coming down with grippe; when shespoke my symptoms grew worse.

  "Did you wish to see father?" she asked, as if she were telling me toleave the place.

  "I believe," I rallied enough to answer, "that 'father' would give a gooddeal to see _me_." Then that seemed to shut off our conversation tooabruptly to suit me; there are occasions when prickly chills have ahorrible fascination for a fellow; this was one of the times.

  "He's not at home, I'm very sorry to say," she retorted in the sameliquid-air voice as before, and turned to go back to the house.

  I thanked the Lord for that, in a whisper, and kept pace with her. It wasplain she hated the sight of me, but I counted on her being enough likeher dad not to run away.

  "May I trouble you for a drink of water?" I asked, in the orthodox tone ofhumility.

  "There is no need to trouble me; there is the creek, beyond the house; youare welcome to all you want."

  "Thanks." I watched the pink curve of her cheek, and knew she was dyingfor a chance to snub me still more maliciously. We were at the steps ofthe veranda now, but still she would not hurry; she seemed to hate eventhe semblance of running away.

  "Can you direct me to the Bay State Ranch?" I hazarded. It was my lastcard, and I let it go with a sigh.

  She pointed a slim, scornful finger at the brand on Shylock's shoulder.

  "If you are in doubt of the way, Mr. Carleton, your horse will take youhome--if you give him his head."

  That put a crimp in me worse than the look of her eyes, even. I stared ather a minute, and then laughed right out. "The game's yours, Miss King,and I take off my hat to you for hitting straight and hard," I said. "Mustthe feud descend even to the second generation? Is it a fight to thefinish, and no quarter asked or given?"

  I had her going then. She blushed--and when I saw the red creep into hercheeks my heart was hardened to repentance. I'd have done it again for thepleasure of seeing her that way.

  "You are taking a good deal for granted, sir," she said, in her loftiesttone. "We Kings scarcely consider the Carletons worthy our weapons."

  "You don't, eh? Then, why did you begin it?" I wanted to know. "If youpermit me, you started the row before I spoke, even."

  "I do _not_ permit you." Clearly, my lady could be haughty enough tosatisfy the most fastidious.

  "Well," I sighed, "I will go my way. I'm a lover of peace, myself; butsince you proclaim war, war it must be. I'm not so ungallant as to opposea lady's wishes. Is that gate down there locked?"

  "Figuratively, it's _always_ locked against the Carletons," she said.

  "But I want to go through it _literally_," I retorted. And she just lookedat me from under those lashes, and never answered.

  "Well, the air grows chill in King's Highway," I shivered mockingly. "Ifever I find you on Bay State soil, Miss King, I shall take much pleasurein teaching you the proper way to treat an enemy."

  "I shall be greatly diverted, no doubt," was the scornful reply ofher--and just then an old lady came to the door, and I lifted my handgrandly in a precise military salute and rode away, wondering which of ushad had the best of it.

  The gate wasn't locked, and as for taking a drink at the creek, I forgotthat I was thirsty. I jogged along toward home, and wondered why Frostyhad not told me that King had a daughter. Also, I wondered at heranimosity. It never occurred to me that her father, unlike my dad, hadprobably harped on the Carletons until she had come to think we were inleague with the Old Boy himself. Her dad's game leg would no doubt arguestrongly against us, and keep the feud green in her heart--supposing shehad one.

  On the whole, I was glad I had traveled King's Highway. I had discovered abrand-new enemy--and so far in my life enemies had been so scarce as to bea positive diversion. And it was novel and interesting to be so thoroughlyhated by a girl. No reason to dodge _her_ net. I rather congratulatedmyself on knowing one girl who positively refused to smile on demand. Shehadn't, once. I got to wondering, that night, if she had dimples. I meantto find out.