The Lure of the Dim Trails

by B. M. Bower

  CHAPTER III. FIRST IMPRESSIONS

  Thurston, dressed immaculately in riding clothes of the latest Englishcut, went airily down the stairs and discovered that he was not early,as he had imagined. Seven o'clock, he had told himself proudly, was notbad for a beginner; and he had smiled in anticipation of Hank Graves'surprise which was fortunate, since he would otherwise have been cheatedof smiling at all. For Hank Graves, he learned from the cook, had eatenbreakfast at five and had left the ranch more than an hour before; themen also were scattered to their work.

  Properly humbled in spirit, he sat down to the kitchen table and ate hisbelated breakfast, while the cook kneaded bread at the other end of thesame table and eyed Thurston with frank amusement. Thurston had neverbefore been conscious of feeling ill at ease in the presence of aservant, and hurried through the meal so that he could escape into theclear sunshine, feeling a bit foolish in the unaccustomed bagginess ofhis riding breeches and the snugness of his leggings; for he had nevertaken to outdoor sports, except as an onlooker from the shade of a grandstand or piazza.

  While he was debating the wisdom of writing a detailed description ofyesterday's tragedy while it was still fresh in his mind and stowing itaway for future "color," Park Holloway rode into the yard and on to thestables. He nodded at Thurston and grinned without apparent cause, asthe cook had done. Thurston followed him to the corral and watched himpull the saddle off his horse, and throw it carelessly to one side. Itlooked cumbersome, that saddle; quite unlike the ones he had inspectedin the New York shops. He grasped the horn, lifted upon it and said,"Jove!"

  "Heavy, ain't it?" Park laughed, and slipped the bridle down over theears of his horse and dismissed him with a slap on the rump. "Don't yuhlike the looks of it?" he added indulgently.

  Thurston, engaged in wondering what all those little strings were for,felt the indulgence and straightened. "How should I know?" he retorted."Anyone can see that my ignorance is absolute. I expect you to laugh atme, Mr. Holloway."

  "Call me Park," said he of the tawny hair, and leaned against the fencelooking extremely boyish and utterly incapable of walking calmly downupon a barking revolver and shooting as he went. "You're bound to learnall about saddles and what they're made for," he went on. "So long asyuh don't get swell-headed the first time yuh stick on a horse thatside-steps a little, or back down from a few hard knocks, you'll be allright."

  Thurston had not intended getting out and actually living the life hehad come to observe, but something got in his nerves and his blood andbred an impulse to which he yielded without reserve. "Park, seehere," he said eagerly. "Graves said he'd turn me over to you, so youcould--er--teach me wisdom. It's deuced rough on you, but I hope youwon't refuse to be bothered with me. I want to learn--everything. And Iwant you to find fault like the mischief, and--er--knock me into shape,if it's possible." He was very modest over his ignorance, and his voicerang true.

  Park studied him gravely. "Bud," he said at last, "you'll do. You'regreener right now than a blue-joint meadow in June, but yuh got theright stuff in yuh, and it's a go with me. You come along with us afterthat trail-herd, and you'll get knocked into shape fast enough. Smoke?"

  Thurston shook his head. "Not those."

  "I dunno I'm afraid yuh can't be the real thing unless yuh fan yourlungs with cigarette smoke regular." The twinkle belied him, though."Say, where did you pick them bloomers?"

  "They were made in New York." Thurston smiled in sickly fashion. He hadall along been uncomfortably aware of the sharp contrast between his ownmodish attire and the somewhat disreputable leathern chaps of his host'sforeman.

  "Well," commented Park, "you told me to find fault like the mischief,and I'm going to call your bluff. This here's Montana, recollect, and Iraise the long howl over them habiliments. The best thing you can do ispace along to the house and discard before the boys get sight of yuh.They'd queer yuh with the whole outfit, sure. Uh course," he went onsoothingly when he saw the resentment in Thurston's eyes, "I expectthey're real stylish--back East--but the boys ain't educated to standfor anything like that; they'd likely tell yuh they set like the hideon the hind legs of an elephant--which is a fact. I hate to say it, Kid,but they sure do look like the devil."

  "So would you, in New York," Thurston flung back at him.

  "Why, sure. But this ain't New York; this here's the Lazy Eight corral,and I'm doing yuh a favor. You wouldn't like to have the boys shootingholes through the slack, would yuh? You amble right along and get somepants on--and when you've wised up some you'll thank me a lot. I'm goingon a little jaunt down the creek, before dinner, and you might go along;you'll need to get hardened to the saddle anyway, before we start forBillings, or you'll do most uh riding on the mess-wagon."

  Thurston, albeit in resentful mood, went meekly and did as he wascommanded to do; and no man save Park and the cook ever glimpsed thosesmart riding clothes of English cut.

  "Now yuh look a heap more human," was the way Park signified hisapproval of the change. "Here's a little horse that's easy to ride anddead gentle if yuh don't spur him in the neck, which you ain't liableto do at present; and Hank says you can have this saddle for keeps. Hankused to ride it, but he out-growed it and got one longer in the seat.When we start for Billings to trail up them cattle, of course you'll geta string of your own to ride."

  "A string? I'm afraid I don't quite understand."

  "Yuh don't savvy riding a string? A string, m'son, is ten or a dozensaddle-horses that yuh ride turn about, and nobody else has got anyright to top one; every fellow has got his own string, yuh see."

  Thurston eyed his horse distrustfully. "I think," he ventured, "one willbe enough for me. I'll scarcely need a dozen." The truth was that hethought Park was laughing at him.

  Park slid sidewise in the saddle and proceeded to roll anothercigarette. "I'd be willing to bet that by fall you'll have a good-sizedstring rode down to a whisper. You wait; wait till it gets in yourblood. Why, I'd die if you took me off the range. Wait till yuh set outin the dark, on your horse, and count the stars and watch the big dipperswing around towards morning, and listen to the cattle breathing closeby--sleeping while you ride around 'em playing guardian angel over theirdreams. Wait till yuh get up at daybreak and are in the saddle withthe pink uh sunrise, and know you'll sleep fifteen or twenty miles fromthere that night; and yuh lay down at night with the smell of new grassin your nostrils where your bed had bruised it.

  "Why, Bud, if you're a man, you'll be plumb spoiled for your littleold East." Then he swung back his feet and the horses broke into a lopewhich jarred the unaccustomed frame of Thurston mightily, though he keptthe pace doggedly.

  "I've got to go down to the Stevens place," Park informed him. "Youmet Mona yesterday--it was her come down on the train with me, yuhremember." Thurston did remember very distinctly. "Hank says yuh composestories. Is that right?"

  Thurston's mind came back from wondering how Mona Stevens' mouth lookedwhen she was pleased with one, and he nodded.

  "Well, there's a lot in this country that ain't ever been wrote about, Iguess; at least if it was I never read it, and I read considerable. Butthe trouble is, them that know ain't in the writing business, and themthat write don't know. The way I've figured it, they set back Eastsomewhere and write it like they think maybe it is; and it's a hell of ajob they make of it."

  Thurston, remembering the time when he, too, "set back East" and wroteit like he thought maybe it was, blushed guiltily. He was thankful thathis stories of the West had, without exception, been rejected as oflittle worth. He shuddered to think of one of them falling into thehands of Park Holloway.

  "I came out to learn, and I want to learn it thoroughly," he said, inthe face of much physical discomfort. Just then the horses slowed for aclimb, and he breathed thanks. "In the first place," he began again whenhe had readjusted himself carefully in the saddle, "I wish you'd tell mejust where you are going with the wagons, and what you mean by trailinga herd."

  "Why, I thought I said we were going to Bil
lings," Park answered,surprised. "What we're going to do when we get there is to receive ashipment of cattle young steer that's coming up from the Panhandle whichis a part uh Texas. And we trail 'em up here and turn 'em loose thisside the river. After that we'll start the calf roundup. The Lazy Eightruns two wagons, yuh know. I run one, and Deacon Smith runs the other;we work together, though, most of the time. It makes quite a crew,twenty-five or thirty men."

  "I didn't know," said Thurston dubiously, "that you ever shipped cattleinto this country. I supposed you shipped them out. Is Mr. Graves buyingsome?"

  "Hank? I guess yes! six thousand head uh yearlings and two year-olds,this spring; some seasons it's more. We get in young stock every yearand turn 'em loose on the range till they're ready to ship. It's cheaperthan raising calves, yuh know. When yuh get to Billings, Bud, you'll seesome cattle! Why, our bunch alone will make seven trains, and that ain'ta commencement. Cattle's cheap down South, this year, and seems likeeverybody's buying. Hank didn't buy as much as some, because he runsquite a bunch uh cows; we'll brand six or seven thousand calves thisspring. Hank sure knows how to rake in the coin."

  Thurston agreed as politely as he could for the jolting. They hadagain struck the level and seven miles, at Park's usual pace, washeartbreaking to a man not accustomed to the saddle. Thurston hadwritten, just before leaving home, a musical bit of verse born of hisluring dreams, about "the joy of speeding fleetly where the grasslandmeets the sky," and he was gritting his teeth now over the idioticlines.

  When they reached the ranch and Mona's mother came to the door andinvited them in, he declined almost rudely, for he had a feeling thatonce out of the saddle he would have difficulty in getting into itagain. Besides, Mona was not at home, according to her mother.

  So they did not tarry, and Thurston reached the Lazy Eight alive, butwith the glamour quite gone from his West. If he had not been the son ofhis father, he would have taken the first train which pointed itsnose to the East, and he would never again have essayed the writingof Western stories or musical verse which sung the joys of gallopingblithely off to the sky-line. He had just been galloping off to asky-line that was always just before and he had not been blithe; nor didthe memory of it charm. Of a truth, the very thought of things Westernmade him swear mild, city-bred oaths.

  He choked back his awe of the cook and asked him, quite humbly, whatwas good to take the soreness from one's muscles; afterward he had creptpainfully up the stairs, clasping to his bosom a beer bottle filled withpungent, home-made liniment which the cook had gravely declared "out uhsight for saddle-galls."

  Hank Graves, when he heard the story, with artistic touches from thecook, slapped his thigh and laughed one of his soundless chuckles. "Theson-of-a-gun! He's the right stuff. Never whined, eh? I knew it. He'shis dad over again, from the ground up." And loved him the better.