CHAPTER XVI
EAST AND WEST
When Miranda Bailey heard the news she announced her determination ofcoming over to the Three Star to prepare for the visitors.
"I reckon my reputation'll stand it," she said, "seein' I'm older thantwo of you an' the third is still a married man. That spinelessgoverness'll be writin' back to the Keith woman about everything shesees, eats, sits or sleeps on. Pedro's cookin' is enough to give anyeasterner dyspepsy. The whole house wants reddin' up, it ain't beenswept proper fo' a year."
Abashed, the partners gave her full sway. They lived on the porch intheir spare waking moments, they ate cold victuals, and the lives ofPedro and Joe were made miserable. But the ranch-house was scoured fromtop to bottom. Miranda's car brought over curtains for the windows,flowers for the window-sills, odds and ends that made the place lookhomely, cheerful, inviting. Pedro was given lessons at the stove that heat first took sulkily but, being praised and his wages raised, tookpride in.
"He'll do," vouchsafed Miranda at last, the evening before the arrival."He's no hand at cookies or doughnuts an' never will be, but I'll bringthem over from time to time. He can make a pie an' biscuit an' he canbroil meat. I've taught him to mash his pertaters with milk 'stead ofwater an' to put butter in his hot cakes. I'm stayin' over till supperter-morrer to see everything has a good staht."
"She's stayin' over to git a good look at the Nicholson party," Sam saidto Mormon. "All this ain't jest for Molly."
"There's nothin' between Miss Mirandy an' myse'f," replied Mormon withdignity. "She's a wonderful housekeeper."
"She sure is. Me, I'm so I'm afeard to come into my own house, it's sogolderned clean. If that third wife of yor'n...."
The long-suffering Mormon turned upon his partner. They were seated onthe broad top rail of the breaking corral, waiting the call to supper.Mormon clutched Sam by his collar and jerked him off the rail, catchingthe slack cloth of his pants at the seat, holding him firmly gripped andbending him across his padded lap. Despite Sam's kicks and squirms, hepaddled him unmercifully and then dropped him sprawling into the corral.
"I ain't done that to you, Sam Manning," he said sternly, "fo' five-sixyears. An' you've got too all-fired fresh. Nex' time I'll do it in frontof Mirandy, you ornery, bow-laiged, hornin'-in son of a lizard."
Sam said nothing. His face, as he stooped somewhat painfully, was fieryred. He took hold of a post to help himself up, pretending disability.On the post a horsehair lariat hung from the snub of a lopped-off boughof the tree that made the heavy stake. He fumbled with this while Mormonshook with laughter like a great jelly. The next moment the lariat cameflying, circling, settled down over Mormon's head, over his body andarms. Sam, working like a jumping-jack, took a quick turn, flung a coilabout Mormon's legs and in a few seconds, had him trussed helplessly tothe rail.
"Paddle me, you overgrown buzzard, will you? There you roost tillMirandy comes to look for you."
Mormon pleaded and Sam pretended to be inflexible. At last they came toa capitulation. Mormon promised to keep his hands off Sam, and thelatter vowed he would gibe no more about Mormon's matrimonial affairs,past, present or future.
"An' don't _look_ nothin', neither," added Mormon as Joe glided intosight and grunted his message.
"Grub piled. Squaw she say hurry."
For the life of him Sam could not resist a side glance of mirthfulsuggestion at Miranda's tendency to issue orders. Mormon did not noticeit.
"There's room for five--supposed to be--in my car," said Miranda. "An'there's four of us an' six to come back. The other car's in use. How wegoin' to manage it?"
"Mormon c'ud take the Nicholson party on his lap, if she ain't toofinicky," suggested Sam. This was hewing close to the line, and Mormonglared at him while the spinster sniffed.
"Molly'll ride in with me," said Sandy. "I'm goin' over early on Prontoan' take the white blazed bay along that Molly rode over the Goats'Pass."
"Ride in?"
"She wrote she was jest waitin' fo' the minute she c'ud climb into areal saddle, astride a range-bred hawss," said Sandy.
"She won't be dressed for it, travelin' on the train," said Mirandy.
"I've got a hunch she will," Sandy answered simply. "They got their ownprivate car. If she ain't, why, Sam can ride the bay back. But me an'Pronto, the bay an' Grit are goin' thataway."
There were certain tones of Sandy's voice that gave absolute finality tohis statements. He used them on this occasion. The argument dropped. Ina way Sandy was making the matter a test of Molly. If she was as anxiousas she wrote to "fork a bronco," if she understood Sandy and he her, shewould feel that he would be waiting with her mount for her to return tothe ranch western fashion. If not, it meant that she was out of thechrysalis and had become, not the busy bee that belongs to the mesquiteand the sage, but a gaudier, less responsible flutterer among easternflower-beds.
The bay with the white blaze had been groomed by Sandy until his hidewas glossy and rich as polished mahogany, while the blaze on his noseshone like a plate of silver. His dark mane and tail had been braidedand combed until it crinkled proudly, the light shone from his curvesas he moved, reflecting the sky in the high-lights. Hoofs had been oiledand Sandy had attended to his shoeing. The bay had been up for a monthand fed until he was almost pampered, save that Sandy took the excesspepper out of him every morning.
A new saddle came from Cheyenne, most famous of all cities for making ofsaddles that are tailor-made, the leather carved cunningly intoarabesques of cactus design, bossed and rimmed here and there withsilver, the pattern carried over into the tapideros that hooded thestirrups, even into the bridle. It was a masterpiece of art craft, thatsaddle, "made for a lady to ride astride," and it cost Sandy an evenquarter of a thousand dollars.
Sam and Mormon knew of the grooming of the horse but, when the saddle,cinched above a Navajo blanket, smote their vision, they blinked andcomplained. They too had gifts for the homecomer, but Sandy's outshonethem as a newly minted five-dollar gold piece does a silver coin.
"If that don't win her to stay west there ain't no use a-tryin',"declared Sam as Sandy mounted and rode away, leading the bay. Grit,newly washed also, sorely against his will, since he did not know theoccasion of the bath at the time of suffering it, went bounding on padsof rubber, leaping up, tearing ahead and back, a shuttling streak ofgold and silver.
Miranda's caravan started an hour later, she driving, Mormon and Sam inthe back, each dressed in his best, minus chaparejos and spurs, butotherwise most typically the cowboy and therefore out of place--andfeeling it--as they sat stiffly in the leatherette-lined tonneau.Miranda was in starched linen, destitute of all ornament, a dark redribbon at her throat the only touch of color, looking extremelyefficient and, as Sam whispered to Mormon, "a bit stand-offish." Hewanted to add, "'count of the Nicholson party," but dared not.
The train rolled in majestically, the private car gleaming with varnishand polished glass and brass, with a white-coated darky flashing whiteteeth on the platform as the fussy local engine took the detached luxuryto the side-track designated for its Hereford location. There,forewarned by the agent, much of Hereford assembled to witness thearrival of the magnate who had helped to place them more definitely onthe map and increased their revenues as supply depot for Casey Town. Theflivver was parked and Miranda, Mormon and Sam made one group a littleahead of the others, recognized by the crowd as privileged. Sandy satPronto, talking to the restive bay, proudly conscious of its newtrappings and the remarks of the onlookers.
If Wilson Keith, clad in tweeds tailored on Fifth Avenue, a littleportly, square-faced, confident, a trifle condescending, typified theEast, Sandy was the West. A good horse is the incarnation of symmetry,grace and power. Sandy, erect in the saddle, lean and keen, matched allof Pronto's fitness. Man and mount both eminently belonged to the land,shimmering with sage, far-stretching to the mountains, a land thatdemanded and bred such a combination.
Sandy's clean-shaven face was sharp with obstacles fac
ed and overcome,his eyes held clean fine spirit, his jaw showed determination and thegood lines of his mouth belied obstinacy. He wore the regalia of hiscow-punching holidays, soft-collared shirt of blue, silk bandanna ofdark weave in lieu of tie, leather gauntlets, leather chaps, fringed andbuttoned with leather and trimmed with disk of silver, silver spurs onhis high-heeled boots, trousers of dark gray stripe, a quirt with thehandle plaited in black and white diamonds of horsehair dangling fromone wrist, and the blue Colts in the twin holsters. He could not avoidbeing picturesque, yet there was nothing of the masquerader, themoving-picture cowboy. He held the eye, even of Hereford, but onlybecause they liked to gaze upon a good man on a good horse. His bodyresponded to every shift of Pronto, jigging impatiently, showing off,pretending to be afraid of the panting locomotive, body shining likemetal of bronze and aluminum, his nostrils pink as the inside of ashell, ears twitching, rider and mount one in every movement. Grit stoodwith plumy tail erect and waving gently, ears up, red tongue playingbetween white teeth, his eyes like jewels; braced on his feet, tiptoe onhis pads, watching the parking of the private car with now and then aglance of inquiry at Sandy.
Keith stood by the railing of his platform, the darky ready with thedismounting stool. He surveyed the crowd affably, with the poise of asuccessful candidate assured of welcome, waving his hand in demi-saluteto Sandy, Sam and Mormon, lifting his hat graciously to Miranda Bailey.The man and the car emanated prosperity. Yet, for all the booming ofCasey Town, the finding of pay-ore, the sale of shares, Keith's presentfinancial status was not all that he trusted it might be within a shorttime. It was part of the technique of his profession to assume a maskand manner of financial success, and of late he had worn these until attimes they jaded him, but they were well designed, well worn, and no onedoubted but that Wilson Keith was a man of ready millions.
Keith was essentially a gambler. He knew that those who bought hisshares were largely tinctured with the same spirit that exists, more orless, in almost every man. They were amateurs and Keith theprofessional, that was the main difference. The average man likes tobelieve himself lucky. Keith was no exception. He knew the prevalence ofthe trait and traded upon it. Also he knew the gold mining game fromprospect to prospectus and possible profit. But the expert faro-dealer,after his trick is over, is apt to take his wages to the roulette wheelof an opposition house and buck a game that his experience tells him is,like his own, run with the percentages against the player.
Keith had dallied with oil, had speculated, plunged, been persuaded toinvest heavily. He was beginning to have a vague fear of not being socertain as he would have wished as to which end of the line he hadtaken, that of the baited hook, or the end that was attached to the reelthat automatically plays the fish.
He sold gold and he was buying oil. More, he was sinking wells, infectedwith the fever of the game, whereas, with his own mines, he was coolwith the poise of the physician who takes count of a pulse. Others,partners with him in new enterprises in the petroleum field, were makingsudden fortunes. His turn had not come yet, but they assured him thathis ventures promised even more than those that had enriched them.Faster than gold came out of Casey Town, Keith used it in Oklahoma andTexas. He had come west to view his resources, to strain them to theutmost, to overlook the ground with the eye of the past-master ofpromotion, who could conjure up visions of wealth from the barestindication of pay-ore, trusting to find inspiration for furtherflotation on his return to New York, his market-place, "fresh from thefield of operations."
The engine uncoupled and panted off, leaving the car at rest on thespur-track. The fox-faced secretary came out, held the door open. Someone followed Molly Casey. Sandy surmised it must be Donald Keith, but hehad sight for nothing except the slender figure whose radiant face,between a Panama hat and a dustcoat of pongee silk, shone straight athim. It was Molly, but a glorified Molly, woman not girl. The freckleshad gone, the snub nose had become defined, the eyes of Irish blueseemed to have deepened in hue back of their smudgy lashes. The widemouth was the same, scarlet and soft as cactus blossom, smiling, openingin a glad cry....
"Sandy!" Her arms went out toward him in greeting over the brassrailing. Then Grit, catapulting from ground to platform, with franticyaps of welcome, fairly bowled over the darky with his mounting blockand bounded up into Molly's embrace. There was confusion on the platformfor a moment with Grit as the nucleus. Another person had come out,evidently Miss Nicholson. She was neither undernourished nor thin, shewas medium-sized and her bones were well covered. She had the generalappearance of a white rabbit and the manners of a maternally intentionedbut none too efficient hen. "Amenable" described her in one word. Thedarky was bringing out kitbags and suit-cases, piling them on theground. Sam tackled him and showed him the flivver.
"There's a cupple of trunks," said the porter.
"We'll come back for them," Sam told him and helped him pile in thesmaller baggage.
Keith descended first, Molly darted by his extended hand and ranstraight to Sandy, who had dismounted.
"I'm going to hug you, and Mormon and Sam, as soon as we get home to theranch," she cried. "Home! I'm so glad to be here. Pronto, you beauty,and my own bay, Blaze! Do you remember the trip over the mesa, Blaze?How did you know I wanted to ride to Three Star instead of drive?"
"Took a chance," said Sandy. "Do you?" The old woman-shyness had comeover him, fighting with his knowledge of the child who had changed intoa woman. And the pongee duster deceived him.
"Do I? Didn't I write you I was aching to fork a saddle? Look!"
She unbuttoned the duster with swift fingers and stripped it off,standing revealed in riding togs of smallest black and white checks,coat flaring out from the trim waist, slim straight legs in breeches andriding boots, a white stock about the slender, rounded neck. She gaveone hand to Mormon, the other to Sam, gazing at her in admiration thatwas radiant and goggle-eyed.
"You're losing weight, Mormon," she said. "I believe you must be inlove."
"I allus was, with you," gallantried Mormon.
"You stand aside, you human chuckawalla!" said Sam. "Miss Molly, yousure look good to sore eyes. An' I'm sure happy you're in my debt, ifyou ain't grown up too fur to pay yore dues."
"I always pay my debts, Sam. What do you mean?"
"It was me kissed the dawg," said Sam. "I give the animile somethin' Ihadn't received."
Molly laughed at him reassuringly. Sandy, looking down at her, saw hereyes crinkle at the corners in the old way. Keith and his son joinedthem, coming from the car, the Amenable Nicholson hovering behindingratiatingly.
"Glad to see you, Bourke," he said. "And you, Manning. You too, Peters.Meet my son, Donald."
The three partners shook hands gravely with the boy, appraising himwithout his guessing it.
"Glad to see you out west," said Mormon. "We'd sure admire to have youvisit us fo' a spell."
"I was hoping for a bid," said young Keith. "Thanks. The car is here, orwill be within an hour or two. Father shipped it ahead. Sims wired us itwas at the junction. He will drive it over for us to go on to Casey Townas soon as he overhauls it. Then I'll run in from the mines, as soon asDad can spare me."
"Donald has to get acquainted with a real mining property," said Keithaffably. "Molly was certain you would have a horse for her, Bourke.Don't wait round for us. We have to get some supplies and we'll wait inmy car till the machine comes. Er"--he looked around, and Miss Nicholsonfluttered up--"this is Molly's companion, Miss Nicholson. She goes withyou to the ranch. How...?"
Sandy indicated the flivver and introduced Miranda Bailey, who had beendirecting the stowage of the grips and the proper subordination of theporter, who had not seemed appreciative of the flivver.
Molly held out a gloved hand for the reins of the fretful Blaze. YoungKeith advanced with the proffer of a palm of her mounting. She shook herhead at him.
"Blaze wouldn't know what you were trying to do, Don," she said. Sheturned the stirrup, set in her foot, grasped mane and horn and raisedhe
rself lightly, holding her body close to the bay's withers for asecond as he whirled, then lifting to the saddle, firm-seated, with alaugh for Blaze's plungings.
"I see they didn't unteach you ridin' back east," said Mormonadmiringly.
The pair rode out of the crowd that opened for them, with whisperedcomments upon Molly's appearance, or rather, her reappearance. Therewere few stings in the remarks; the girl's spontaneous gaiety, herabsolute unconsciousness of effort or cause, her evident delight in herreturn and reunion with the Three Star partners, disarmed all criticismof her costume. The Amenable Nicholson clambered into the flivver besideMiranda Bailey. Sam, Mormon and the grips packed the tonneau, and Keithand his son were left standing by the private car.
Keith was soon surrounded with a crowd, making himself popular,flattering them until they finally went away convinced that they had allconstituted a first-class reception committee to meet the illustrious,the energetic, good-fellow-well-met promoter and engineer of otherpeople's fortunes.
Some of them were invited into the car for a private talk. It is certainthat cigars were handed round and it was hinted that some private stockhad found its way upon the car. When, three hours later, the big machinewith Sims the chauffeur, imperturbable as ever, at the wheel, departedwith the promoter and his heir, the name of Keith was, for a time atleast, a household word in Hereford.
There was not much spoken between Molly and Sandy on the way back to theranch. She seemed content to breathe in deep the herb-scented air andgaze at the mountains.
Sandy, riding a little to one side, a little back of her, so that hecould see her better without appearing to stare, echoed, for the time,her happiness. It seemed to him as if this ride had been dreamed of byhim, long ago, as if he had always known this was to happen, the gallop,side by side, the wind in their faces, their gaze toward the range, heand a woman who was all the world to him. Even the dog, leaping besidethem as they loped, ranging when the pinto and the bay broke to abreathing walk, belonged in that picture. It was, he told himself, as ifa boy had long cherished an illustration seen in a book and, suddenly,the beloved picture had become real and he a part of it.
This was Molly, the girl, who had sworn when she told them of herfather's death. He could recall the tone of the words at will.
"The damned road jest slid out from under. He didn't have ahell-chance!"
Molly, who had put arms about his neck and kissed him good-by when shewent to school--how long ago that seemed--and said, "Sandy, I don't wantto go, but I'll be game."
Game! Sandy looked at the supple strength of her, so subtly knit incurves of graciousness, alert and upright in the new saddle, Panama hatin one hand, the better to get the wind full in her face, her cheeksflushed with the caress of it, the thick brown braids fluffing here andthere;--she was the essence of gameness. He had quoted _Lasca_ to heronce--a line or two. More came to him now.
To ride with me and forever ride, From San Saba's shore to Valacca's tide.
Molly, who had told him, the first time the woman-look had come into hereyes, "Yo're sure a white man. I'll git even with you some time if Iwork the bones of my fingers through the flesh fo' you. Thanks don't'mount to a damn 'thout somethin' back of them 'em. I'll come through."
That Molly, and yet another Molly, swiftly maturing, with all lifeopening up before her to wider horizons than would have been hers if shehad stayed back west.
I want free life and I want free air, And I sigh for the canter after the cattle, The crack of whips like shots in battle, The melee of horns and hoofs and heads.
Pronto's hoofs beat out the cantering rhythm of the poem.
That wars and wrangles and scatters and spreads, The green beneath and the blue above, And dash and danger and life and----
He had stopped the quotation there before. Now he finished the stanza,
----and life and love And Lasca!
Only it was Molly! The knowledge swept over Sandy and left him tingling.Love came to him, the first, clean white flame of first love, burninglike a lamp in the heart of a man. It was for this, he knew, that he hadbeen woman-shy, that he had cherished his own thought of womanhood assomething so rare a thought might tarnish it. First love, shorn of boyfallacies, strong, irresistible, protective, passionate. He closed hiseyes and, for the first time in his life, touched leather, gripping thehorn of his saddle as if he would squeeze it to a pulp.
Game and dainty, tender, true, a girl-woman, partner--what a partner shewould make, western-bred...!
He checked himself there. She was western born but, what had thetransplanting done? Would she ever now be satisfied with western ways?She would come to him, Sandy knew that. Whatever he asked her she wouldnot refuse. But would that be fair to her? And he did not want her tocome to him out of gratitude. He wanted her nature to fuse with his.Swiftly maturing as she had done, out of the ruggedness of her earlyyears, she was still young in Sandy's eyes.
It seemed no time since he had taken her from her saddle and carriedher, a tired heartsore child, in his arms. She must have a fair chanceto see if the East, with all it could offer her of amusement andinterest, would not outbid the claims of the West. He must wait andwatch and hold himself in hand though his love and his knowledge of itthrilled through him, charging him as if with an electric current thatstrove to close all gaps between him and Molly, struggling ever, in mindand body, to complete the circle.
Molly reined up Blaze and turned in her saddle toward him, her eyessparkling, the color of lupines damp with the dew of dawn. Their eyesmet, the glance held, welded. For a moment the circuit was formed,polarity effected. For a moment Sandy looked deep and then Molly's eyeshazed with tenderness, with a yearning that made Sandy's heartconstrict, that warned him his emotions were getting beyond control, hisown eyes betraying him. He summoned his will. His face hardened to theeffort, his eyes steeled. Molly's face flushed rose, from the line ofher white linen riding stock up to her hair, then it paled, her eyesseemed to hold surprise, then hurt. Their expression changed, Sandycould not read it now as long lashes veiled them. He spoke with aneffort, his voice sounded strange to himself, phonographic.
"How's the saddle?" he heard himself asking.
"It's wonderful. I'm not going to begin to thank you for it, now,Sandy."
"Glad to be back?"
She shook her head at him.
"No words for that, Sandy." Her eyes crinkled at him, with a hint ofmischief, the old Molly looking out. "If you want to find that out, justyou watch my smoke," she said, and set her heels sharply to the flanksof her mount. The astonished Blaze responded with a snort and a leap andcut loose his speed, Sandy after them on the pinto.
They got to the ranch ahead of the flivver by a scant margin. MirandaBailey inducted Molly and her chaperon governess into the quarters shehad helped prepare for them, Molly giving little cries of delight at theimprovements she saw down-stairs. Miranda came down first and joined thepartners.
"Molly is certainly sweet," she said. "She's grown into a woman an'she's grown away from the old Molly. Can't say as how she's affectednone an' her speech an' manners is sure fine. That gel's natcherally gota grand disposition.
"The Nicholson person--her first name is Clarice--is well-meanin'enough. She ain't shif'less, but she ain't what you'd call practical. Ireckon she does fine in teachin' Molly some things, but she'd be plumbwasted out West. She never saw a churn an' she'd likely die of thirstbefore she'd ever learn how to milk a cow. She's like the rest of 'emback East, I imagine, goes fine so long as folks can be hired to doeverything fo' you. I'll say she never washed out anything bigger than ahankychif or cooked a thing larger'n an egg. An' she c'udn't boss a sicklizard. But she's easy to git along with, I suppose."
There was a certain complacency about the spinster's summing up of theAmenable Nicholson that made Sam wink covertly at Sandy, watching Mormonat the same time. Sam was convinced that, despite the handicap of athird wife, present whereabouts unknown, Miranda had made up her m
ind tomarry Mormon and regarded all other women as possible rivals.
"That Donald is a good-lookin' lad," went on Miranda. "It must take himan awful waste of time to fix his clothes every time he puts 'em on. Idon't know how smart he is inside, but he's got some of themmovin'-picture heroes beat on appearance. I'm wonderin' what Mollythinks about him. As for his father, he's smart enough inside an' out.But he talks too much like a politician to suit me. I'm mighty glad wegot cash for our claims. Keith's too slick an' smooth an' smilin' tosuit me. So long as he had lots he'd give you some to help the gameerlong but, when the grazin' gits short, he'll hog the range or quit it.That's my opinion. Or ruther, it ain't my opinion, for I ain't done aheap of thinkin' on it, it's the way I feel. Some apples sets my teethon aidge before I know it, some victuals riles my stomach jest tomention 'em. I never c'ud abear castor-ile, jest the mention of it makesme squirmy. Keith affects me that way, on'y in my mind, well as in thepit of my stomach."
It was a lengthy diatribe from Miranda Bailey, accustomed as they wereto hear her state opinions freely. The trio at Three Star haduniversally come to respect her decisions and also her intuitions andnone of them had felt especially cordial toward Keith as a man, thoughthey considered him good in his profession.
"The writer, Kiplin'," said Sandy, "wrote a poem about East an' West,sayin' that never the two c'ud meet. I reckon he meant White Man an'Yeller Man but, seems to me, sometimes they do breed mighty differenteast an' west of the Mississippi. The man in New York is sure a heapdifferent from the man in Denver or San Francisco or Phoenix. Out herewe reckon a man is square till we find him out different an', back East,they figger he's a crook till he proves he ain't--which is apt to besome job. I don't cotton to Keith myse'f, because he ain't my kind of ahombre. He don't talk my talk, or think my line of thought, any mo' thanhe wears the same clothes or does the same work. Give him a cow pony orstrand me alongside one of them stock-market tickers an' we'd both lookfoolish. I'm playin' him as square till I find he ain't. Ef he tries toflamjigger Molly out of anything that's comin' to her by rights, why, Ireckon that's one time the West an' East is goin' to meet--an' mebbe lapover a bit. So fur, he's put money in our pockets. Here's Molly...."
"I'm goin' home," said Miranda, as the girl entered the room. "I've gotyou started an' I'll run over once in a while to see how Pedro is makin'out."
She said good-by to Molly, who had swiftly changed out of her ridingclothes into a gown that looked simple enough to Sandy, though he sensedthere were touches about it that differentiated it from anything turnedout locally. With the dress she looked more womanly, older, than in theboyish breeches. Miss Nicholson had made some changes also, but she hada chameleon-like faculty of blending with the background that preservedher alike from being criticized or conspicuous. As she shook hands withMiranda the two presented marked contrasts. Miranda wastwentieth-century-western, of equal rights and equal enterprise; MissNicholson mid-Victorian, with no more use for a vote than for one ofSandy's guns. Yet likable.
"I'm going to Daddy's grave," said Molly, when Miranda had flivveredoff. "I wish the three of you would come there to me in about tenminutes. Miss Nicholson, everybody's at home here. Please do anythingyou want to, nothing you don't want to. She rides, Sandy. And rideswell. Can you get up a horse for her to-morrow?"
Miss Nicholson's face flushed, the suggestion of a high-light came intoher mild eyes.
"I used to ride a good deal," she said. "But I have no saddle, no habit,and I am afraid--" She hesitated looking at them in embarrassment.
"Nicky, dear, you must learn to ride western fashion. With dividedskirts, if you like. We can get you a khaki outfit in Hereford."
"I should like to try it," said Miss Nicholson, her face still flaming,the high-light quite apparent.
"Up to you, Sam," said Sandy. "I sh'ud think the blue roan w'ud suit."
"I'll have her gentled to a divvy-skirt this time ter-morrer," said Samgallantly. "You've got pluck, marm--I mean, miss--an' once you've forkeda saddle, you'll never ride otherwise."
Miss Nicholson gasped at Sam's metaphor and Mormon kicked him on theshin.
"What's the idea?" he demanded after Molly had gone out and MissNicholson had ensconced herself on the veranda with a book.
"You're plumb indelicut. You ought to be ashamed of yorese'f. You got tobe careful round females, Sam Mannin', with yore expressions. Speshullyone like this Nicholson party. She's a lady."
"Who in hell said she ain't?" demanded Sam. "Me--I guess I know how totreat a lady, well as the nex' man. I don't notice you ever made a grandsuccess of it with yore three-strikes-an'-out."
Mormon disdained to reply. They went outside and, at the end of the tenminutes, walked together toward the cottonwoods. Grit was lying on thegrave, and they saw Molly kneeling by the little railing. They advancedsilently over the turf and stood in a group about her with their hatsoff and their heads bowed. Grit made no move and Molly did not look upfor two or three minutes. Then she greeted them with a smile. There wereno tear-signs on her face though her eyes were moist.
"I wanted to thank you all," she said, "and to tell you how glad I amto be back. I have met lots of people, of all sorts and kinds, but notone of them who could hold a candle to any of you three kind,true-hearted friends. I wanted to do it here where Daddy is in the placeyou gave him and made for him under the trees, close to the runningwater. I was only a girl--a kiddie--when I went away. I think I am agreat deal older now, perhaps, than other girls of my age. And I realizeall you have done for me. The only thing is, I don't know how to beginto thank you."
She went to Mormon and took hold of both his hands, her head raised,lips curved to kiss him. Mormon stooped and turned his weathered cheek,but Molly kissed him full on the lips. So with Sam, despite the enormousmustache. Then she came to Sandy, taller than the others, his facegrave, under control, the eagerness smothered in his eyes, desirechecked by reverence for the pure affection of the offered salute. Hefancied that her lips trembled for a moment as they rested softly warm,upon his own. But the tremor might have been his own. He knew his heartwas pounding against the slight touch of her slenderness that wasmanifest with womanhood. His arms ached with the restraint he set uponthem, despite the presence of Mormon and Sam.
Grit surveyed the gift of thanks gravely, as a ceremony, as some ancientlineaged noble might have looked upon the bestowal of sacrament andaccolade for honorably deserved knighthood. Perhaps it was that and thedog knew it. To Sandy, the little space about the grave, where the greatcottonwoods waved overhead like banners, their trunks like pillars, thedappled carpet of the turf, with the sweet air blowing through theclearing and peeps of blue above through the boughs, was like asanctuary. That the two others, men of rough life and free habit, yet ofclean thought and decent custom, were touched with the same sensation,their eyes attested.
"I've brought some things for you," said Molly. "Just presents that Ibought in shops. But I wanted to thank you out here where Daddy lies."She sought their glances, searching to see if they understood,satisfied.
"We're sure glad to git back the Mascot of the Three Star," said Mormon.
"An' the sooner you git through bein' eddicated an' come back fo' keeps,the better," amended Sam.
Sandy said nothing but smiled at her and Molly smiled back again.
"I think you have been my mascot rather than me yours," she demurred.
"Shucks!" said Mormon. "Yore mine, warn't it? He found it," he added,setting a brown big hand on the headstone. "You wait till you see whatwe bought with our share of the Molly Mine. Prime stock an' machinery.Look at the new corrals an' buildin's. Wait till you've gone over theplace. An' we sure have been lucky with everythin'. I'll say you're amascot."
"I've still got my lucky piece," she said and pulled out of her neck,suspended by the fine chain of gold, the gold piece with which Sandy hadwon the stake that had started her east. "Now show me all theimprovements. We'll get Kate Nicholson. She's a first-class scout if youever get her out of the shell she
crawled into a long time ago when herfolks suddenly lost everything they had. If we had a piano, Sam, she'dplay the soul out of your body. Wait until she gets at the harmoniumto-night. You and she will have to play duets, Sam, you on thethree-decked harmonica I got for you."
"Aw, shucks!" protested Sam? "I'm no musician."
"You are," she said gaily. "You are my Three Wise Men of the West. Youare all magicians. You took me out of the desert, you have made lifebeautiful for me. Don't dispel the illusion, Soda-Water Sam. I'd ratherhear you play _El Capitan_ than listen to the Philharmonic Orchestra."
"Whatever that is," answered Sam.
Molly's words were light but her eyes were frankly wet now and so werethose of the three men.
"Come, Grit," she said, and the dog bounded to her, licking her hand,and so to the rest of them cementing the alliance in his own way.
"Some day!" speculated Mormon as they went to the ranch-house. He got agood deal into those two words, for all three of them.
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