The Range Dwellers

by B. M. Bower

  CHAPTER VI.

  I ask Beryl King to Dance.

  If I were just yarning for the fun there is in it, I should say that I wasback in King's Highway, helping Beryl King gather posies and brush up herrepartee, the very next morning--or the second, at the very latest. As amatter of fact, though, I steered clear of that pass, and behaved myselfand stuck to work for six long weeks; that isn't saying I never thoughtabout her, though.

  On the very last day of June, as nearly as I could estimate, Frosty rodeinto Kenmore for something, and came back with that in his eyes that bodedmischief; his words, however, were innocent enough for the moststraight-laced.

  "There's things doing in Kenmore," he remarked to a lot of us. "Old Kinghas a party of aristocrats out from New York, visiting--Terence Weaver,half-owner in the mines, and some women; they're fixing to celebrate theFourth with a dance. The women, it seems, are crazy to see a real Montanadance, and watch the cowboys _chasse_ around the room in their chaps andspurs and big hats, and with two or three six-guns festooned around theirmiddles, the way you see them in pictures. They think, as near as I couldfind out, that cowboys always go to dances in full war-paint likethat--and they'll be disappointed if said cowboys don't punctuate theperformance by shooting out the lights, every so often." He looked acrossat me, and then is when I observed the mischief brewing in his eyes.

  "We'll have to take it in," I said promptly. "I'm anxious to see a Montanadance, myself."

  "We aren't in their set," gloomed Frosty, with diplomatic caution. "Iwon't swear they're sending out engraved invitations, but, all the same,we won't be expected."

  "We'll go, anyhow," I answered boldly. "If they want to see cow-punchers,it seems to me the Ragged H can enter a bunch that will take firstprize."

  Frosty looked at me, and permitted himself to smile. "Uh course, if you'rebound to go, Ellis, I guess there's no stopping yuh--and some of us willnaturally have to go along to see yuh through. King's minions would suredo things to yuh if yuh went without a body-guard." He shook his head, andcupped his hands around a match-blaze and a cigarette, so that no onecould tell much about his expression.

  "I'm bound to go," I declared, taking the cue. "And I think I do need someof you to back me up. I think," I added judicially, "I shall need thewhole bunch."

  The "bunch" looked at one another gravely and sighed. "We'll have t' go,I reckon," they said, just as though they weren't dying to play theunexpected guest. So that was decided, and there was much whispering amonggroups when they thought the wagon-boss was near, and much unobtrusivepreparation.

  It happened that the wagons pulled in close to the ranch the day beforethe Fourth, intending to lay over for a day or so. We were mighty glad ofit, and hurried through our work. I don't know why the rest were soanxious to attend that dance, but for me, I'm willing to own that I wantedto see Beryl King. I knew she'd be there--and if I didn't manage, by fairmeans or foul, to make her dance with me, I should be very much surprisedand disappointed. I couldn't remember ever giving so much thought to agirl; but I suppose it was because she was so frankly antagonistic thatthere was nothing tame about our intercourse. I can't like girls whoinvariably say just what you expect them to say.

  When we came to get ready, there was a dress-discussion that a lot ofwomen would find it hard to beat. Some of the boys wanted to play up to,the aristocrats' expectations, and wear their gaudiest neckerchiefs, theirchaps, spurs, and all the guns they could get their hands on; but I had anidea I thought beat theirs, and proselyted for all I was worth. Rankinhad packed a lot of dress suits in one of my trunks--evidently he thoughtMontana was some sort of house-party--and I wanted to build a surprise forthe good people at King's. I wanted the boys to use those suits to thebest advantage.

  At first they hung back. They didn't much like the idea of wearingborrowed clothes--which attitude I respected, but felt bound to overrule.I told them it was no worse than borrowing guns, which a lot of them weredoing. In the end my oratory was rewarded as it deserved; it was decidedthat, as even my capacious trunks couldn't be expected to hold thirtydress suits, part of the crowd should ride in full regalia. I might "togup" as many as possible, and said "togged" men must lend their guns to theothers; for every man of the "reals" insisted on wearing a gun danglingover each hip.

  So I went down into my trunks, and disinterred four dress suits and threeTuxedos, together with all the appurtenances thereto. Oh, Rankin wascertainly a wonder! There was a gay-colored smoking-jacket and cap thatone of the boys took a fancy to and insisted on wearing, but I drew theline at that. We nearly had a fight over it, right there.

  When we were dressed--and I had to valet the whole lot of them, exceptFrosty, who seemed wise to polite apparel--we were certainly a bunch ofwinners. Modesty forbids explaining just how _I_ appear in a dress suit.I will only say that my tailor knew his business--but the others werefearful and wonderful to look upon. To begin with, not all of them standsix-feet-one in their stocking-feet, or tip the scales at a hundred andeighty odd; likewise their shoulders lacked the breadth that goes with theother measurements. Hence my tailor would doubtless have wept at thesight; shoulders drooping spiritlessly, and sleeves turned up, andtrousers likewise. Frosty Miller, though, was like a man with his maskoff; he stood there looking the gentleman born, and I couldn't helpstaring at him.

  "You've been broken to society harness, old man, and are bridle-wise,"I said, slapping him on the shoulder. He whirled on me savagely, and hisface was paler than I'd ever seen it.

  "And if I have--what the hell is it to you?" he asked unpleasantly, andI stammered out some kind of apology. Far be it from me to pry into a man'spast.

  I straightened Sandy Johnson's tie, turned up his sleeves another inch,and we started out. And I will say we were a quaint-looking outfit.Perhaps my meaning will be clearer when I say that every one of us worethe soft, white "Stetson" of the range-land, and a silk handkerchiefknotted loosely around the throat, and spurs and riding-gloves. I've oftenwondered if the range has ever seen just that wedding of the East and theWest before in man's apparel.

  We'd scarcely got started when the wind caught Frosty's coat-tails andslapped them down along the flanks of his horse--an incident that thehorse met with stern disapproval. He went straight up into the air, andthen bucked as long as his wind held out, the while Frosty's quirt kepttime with the tails of his coat.

  When the two had calmed down a bit, the other boys profited by Frosty'sexperience, and tucked the coat-tails snugly under them--and those whowore the Tuxedos congratulated themselves on their foresight. We were amerry party, and we were willing to publish the fact.

  When we had overtaken the others we were still merrier, for thespectacular contingent plumed themselves like peacocks on theirfearsomeness, and guyed us conventionally garbed fellows unmercifully.

  When the thirty of us filed into the long, barn-like hall where they werehaving the dance, I believe I can truthfully say that we created asensation. That "ripple of excitement" which we read about so often inconnection with belles and balls went round the room. Frosty and I led theway, and the rest of the "biscuit-shooter brigade," as the others calledus, followed two by two. Then came the real Wild West show, with theirhats tilted far back on their heads and brazen faces which it pained meto contemplate. We arrived during that humming hash which comes just aftera number, and every one stared impolitely, and some of them notovercordially. I began to wonder if we hadn't done a rather ill-bredthing, to hurl ourselves so unceremoniously into the merrymakings of theenemy; but I comforted myself with the thought that the dance was given asa public affair, so that we were acting within our technicalrights--though I own that, as I looked around upon our crowd, rangedsolemnly along the wall, it struck me that we _were_ a bit spectacular.

  She was there, chatting with some other women, at the far end of the hall,and if she saw me enter the room she did not show any disquietude; fromwhere I stood, she seemed perfectly at ease, and unconscious of anythingunusual having occurred. Old King I could n
ot see.

  A waltz was announced--rather, bellowed--and the boys drifted away fromme. It was evident that they did not intend to become wall flowers. Formyself, it occurred to me that, except my somewhat debatable acquaintancewith Miss King, I did not know a woman in the room. I called up all mycourage and fortitude, and started toward her. I was determined to ask herto dance, and I got some chilly comfort out of the reflection that shecouldn't do any worse than refuse; still, that would be quite bad enough,and I will not say that I crossed that room, with three or four hundredeyes upon me, in any oh-be-joyful frame of mind. I rather suspect that myface resembled that plebeian and oft-mentioned vegetable, the beet. I waswithin ten feet of her, and I was thinking that she couldn't possibly holdthat cool, unconscious look much longer, when a hand feminine was extendedfrom the row of silent watchers and caught at my sleeve.

  "Ellie Carleton, it's never you!" chirped a familiar voice.

  I turned, a bit dazed with the unexpected interruption, and saw that itwas Edith Loroman, whom I had last seen in the East the summer before,when I was gyrating through Newport and all those places, with BarneyMacTague for chaperon, and whom I had known for long. Edith had chosen tobe very friendly always, and I liked her--only, I suspected her of being abit too worldly to suit me.

  "And why isn't it I? I can't see that my identity is more surprising thanyours," I retorted, pulling myself together. It did certainly give me astart to see her there, and looking so exactly as she had always looked.I couldn't think of anything more to say, so, as the music had started,I asked her if she had any dances saved for me. I couldn't decently leaveher and carry out my original plan, you see.

  She laughed at my ignorance, and told me that this was a "frontier" dance,and there were no programs.

  "You just promise one or two dances ahead," she explained. "As many as youcan remember. Beryl told me all about how they do here; Beryl King is mycousin, you know."

  I didn't know, but I was content to take her word for it, and asked herfor that dance and got it, and she chattered on about everything under thesun, and told all about how they happened to be in Montana, and how longthey were going to stay, and that Mr. Weaver had brought his auto, andanother fellow--I forget his name--had intended to bring his, but didn't,and that they were going to tour through to Helena, on their way home, andit would be such fun, and that if I didn't come over right away to callupon her, she would never forgive me.

  "There's a drawback," I told her. "I'm not on your cousin's visiting-list;I've never even been introduced to her."

  "That," said Miss Edith complacently, "is easily remedied. You know mamawell enough, I should think. Aunt Lodema--funny name, isn't it?--isstopping here all summer, with Beryl. Beryl has the strangest tastes. She_will_ spend every summer out here with her father, and if any of us poormortals want a glimpse of her between seasons, we must come where she is.She's a dear, and you must know her, even if you do hold yourselfsuperior to us women. She's almost as much a crank on athletics as youare; you ought to see her on the links, once! That's why I can'tunderstand her running away off here every summer. And, by the way, Ellie,what are _you_ doing here--a stranger?"

  "I'm earning my bread by the sweat of my brow," I told her plainly. "I'm acowboy--a would-be, I suppose I should say."

  She looked up at me horrified. "Have you--lost--your millions?" she wantedto know. Edith Loroman was always a straightforward questioner, at anyrate.

  "The millions," I told her, laughing, "are all right, I believe. Dad has acattle-ranch in this part of the world, and he sent me out here to reformme. He meant it as a punishment, but at present I'm getting rather thebest of the deal, I think."

  "And where's Barney?" she asked. "One reason I came near not recognizingyou was because you hadn't your shadow along."

  "Barney is luxuriating in idleness somewhere," I answered lightly. "Onecouldn't expect _him_ to turn savage, just because I did. I can't imagineBarney working for his daily bread."

  "I can," retorted Miss Edith, "every bit as easily as I can imagine you!And, if you'll pardon me, I don't believe a word of it, either."

  On the whole, I could hardly blame her. As she had always known me, I musthave appeared to her somewhat like Solomon's lilies. But I did not try toconvince her; there were other things more important.

  I went and made my bow to Mrs. Loroman, and answered sundryquestions--more conventional, I may say, than were those of her daughter.Mrs. Loroman was one of the best type of society dames, and I will ownthat I was a bit surprised to find that she was Beryl King's aunt. Inspite of that indefinable little air of breeding that I had felt in my twomeetings with Miss King, I had thought of her as distinctly a daughter ofthe range-land.

  "I'll introduce you to my cousin and aunt now, if you like," Edith offeredgenerously, in an undertone--for the two were not ten feet from us,although Miss King had not yet seen fit to know that I was in the room.How a woman can act so deuced innocent, beats me.

  Miss King lowered her chin as much as half an inch, and looked at me as ifI were an exceeding commonplace, inanimate object that could not possiblyinterest her. Her aunt, Lodema King, was almost as bad, I think; I didn'tnotice particularly. But Miss King's I-do-not-know-you-sir air could notsave her; I hadn't schemed like a villain for a week, and riddentwenty-five miles at a good fast clip after a stiff day's work, just to bepresented and walk away. I asked her for the next waltz.

  "The next waltz is promised to Mr. Weaver," she told me freezingly.

  I asked for the next two-step.

  "The next two-step is also promised--to Mr. Weaver."

  I began to have unfriendly feelings toward Mr. Weaver. "Will you be goodenough to inform what dance is _not_ promised?" I almost finished "to Mr.Weaver," but I'm not quite a cad, I hope.

  "Really, we haven't programs here to-night," she parried.

  I played a reckless lead. "I wonder," I said, looking straight down intothose eyes of hers, and hoping she couldn't suspect the prickles chasingover me at the very look of them--"I wonder if it's because you're_afraid_ to dance with me?"

  "Are you so--fearsome?" she retorted evenly, and I got back instantly:

  "It would almost seem so."

  I had the satisfaction of seeing her lip go in between her teeth. (Ishould like to say something about those teeth--only it would sound likethe advertisement of a dentifrice, for I should be bound to mention pearlsonce or twice.)

  "You are flattering yourself, Mr. Carleton; I am not at all afraid todance with you," she said--and, oh, the tone of her!

  "I shall expect you to prove that instantly," I retorted, still lookingstraight into her face.

  A quadrille--the old-fashioned kind--was called, and she looked up at meand put out her hand. Only an idiot would wonder whether I took it.

  "This isn't a fair test," I told her, after leading her out in position."You won't be dancing with me a quarter of the time, you know. Only theclosest observer may tell, after we once get going, whom you are dancingwith."

  "That," she retorted, with a gleam in her eyes I couldn't--being no lady'sman--interpret--"that is a mere quibble, and would not hold in court."

  "It's going to hold in _this_ court," I answered boldly, and wished I hadnot so systematically wasted my opportunities in the past--that I hadspent more time drinking tea and studying the "infernal feminine."

  She gave me a quick, puzzling glance, and as we were commanded at thatinstant to salute our partners, she swept me a half-curtsy that made megrit my teeth, though I tried to make my own bow quite as elaborate andmocking. I couldn't make her out at all during that dance. Whenever wecame together there was that little air of mockery in every move shemade, and yet something in her eyes seemed to invite and to challenge. Thefirst time we were privileged, by the old-fashioned "caller," to "swingour partners," milady would have given me her finger-tips--only I wouldn'thave it that way. I held her as close as I dared, and--I don't know butI'm a fool--she didn't seem in any great rage over it. Lord, how I didwish I was wise
to the ways of women!

  The next waltz I couldn't have, because she was to dance it with Mr.Weaver. So I had the fun of sitting there watching them fly around theroom, and getting a good-sized dislike of the fellow over it. I don'tpretend to be one of those large-minded men who are always painfullyunprejudiced. Weaver looked like a pretty good sort, and under othercircumstances I should probably have liked him, but as it wasI emphatically did not.

  However, I got a waltz, after a heart-breaking delay, and it was worthwaiting for. I had felt all along that we could hit it off pretty welltogether, and we did. We didn't say much--we just floated off intoanother world--or I did--and there was nothing I wanted to say thatI dared say. I call that a good excuse for silence.

  Afterward I asked her for another, and she looked at me curiously.

  "You're a very hard man to convince, Mr. Carleton," she told me, with thatsame queer look in her eyes. I was beginning to get drunk--intoxicated, ifyou like the word better--on those same eyes; they always affected me,somehow, as if I'd never seen them before; always that same little tingleof surprise went over me when she lifted those heavy fringes of lashes.I'm not psychologist enough to explain this, and I'm strictly no good atintrospection; it was that way with me, and that will have to do.

  I told her she probably would never meet another who required so muchconvincing, and, after wrangling over the matter politely for a minute,got her to promise me another waltz, said promise to be redeemed aftersupper.

  I tried to talk to "Aunt Lodema," but she would have none of me, and sheseemed to think I had more than my share of effrontery to attempt such athing. Mrs. Loroman was better, and I filled in fifteen minutes or so verypleasantly with her. After that I went over to Edith and got her to sitout a dance with me.

  The first thing she asked me was about Frosty. Who was he? and why was hehere? and how long had he been here? I told her all I knew about him, andthen turned frank and asked her why she wanted to know.

  "Mama hasn't recognized him--yet," she said confidentially, "but I wassure he was the same. He has shaved his mustache, and he's much brownerand heavier, but he's Fred Miller--and why doesn't he come and speak tome?"

  Out of much words, I gathered that she and Frosty were, to put it mildly,old friends. She didn't just say there was an engagement between them, butshe hinted it; his father had "had trouble"--the vagueness of women!--andEdith's mama had turned Frosty down, to put it bluntly. Frosty had,ostensibly, gone to South Africa, and that was the last of him. Miss Edithseemed quite disturbed over seeing him there in Kenmore. I told her thatif Frosty wanted to stay in the background, that was his privilege and mygain, and she smiled at me vaguely and said of course it didn't reallymatter.

  At supper-time our crowd got the storekeeper intimidated sufficiently toopen his store and sell us something to eat. The King faction had lookedupon us blackly, though there were too many of us to make it safemeddling, and none of us were minded to break bread with them. Instead, wesat around on the counter and on boxes in the store, and ate crackers andsardines and things like that. I couldn't help remembering my last Fourth,and the banquet I had given on board the _Molly Stark_--my yacht, namedafter the lady known to history, whom dad claims for an ancestress--andI laughed out loud. The boys wanted to know the cause of my mirth, and so,with a sardine laid out decently between two crackers in one hand, and ablue "granite" cup of plebeian beer in the other, I told them all aboutthat banquet, and some of the things we had to eat and drink--whereat theylaughed, too. The contrast was certainly amusing. But, somehow, I wouldn'thave changed, just then, if I could have done so. That, also, is somethingI'm not psychologist enough to explain.

  That last waltz with Miss King was like to prove disastrous, for weswished uncomfortably close to her father, standing scowling at Frosty andsome of the others of our crowd near the door. Luckily, he didn't see us,and at the far end Miss King stopped abruptly. Her cheeks were pink, andher eyes looked up at me--wistfully, I could almost say.

  "I think, Mr. Carleton, we had better stop," she said hesitatingly. "Idon't believe your enmity is so ungenerous as to wish to cause meunpleasantness. You surely are convinced now that I am not afraid of you,so the truce is over."

  I did not pretend to misunderstand. "I'm going home at once," I told hergently, "and I shall take my spectacular crowd along with me; but I'm notsorry I came, and I hope you are not."

  She looked at me soberly, and then away. "There is one thing I should liketo say," she said, in so low a tone I had to lean to catch the words."Please don't try to ride through King's Highway again; father hates youquite enough as it is, and it is scarcely the part of a gentleman toneedlessly provoke an old man."

  I could feel myself grow red. What a cad I must seem to her! "King'sHighway shall be safe from my vandal feet hereafter," I told her, andmeant it.

  "So long as you keep that promise," she said, smiling a bit, "I shall tryto remember mine enemy with respect."

  "And I hope that mine enemy shall sometimes view the beauties of WhiteDivide from a little distance--say half a mile or so," I answereddaringly.

  She heard me, but at that minute that Weaver chap came up, and she begantalking to him as though he was her long-lost friend. I was clearly out ofit, so I told Edith and her mother good night, bowed to "Aunt Lodema" andgot the stony stare for my reward, and rounded up my crowd.

  We passed old King in a body, and he growled something I could not hear;one of the boys told me, afterward, that it was just as well I didn't. Werode away under the stars, and I wished that night had been four times aslong, and that Beryl King would be as nice to me as was Edith Loroman.