by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: EVEN MUSHROOMS HELP
Bud wanted to have a little confidential talk with Marian. He hoped thatshe would be willing to tell him a great deal more than could be writtenon one side of a cigarette paper, and he was curious to hear what itwas. On the other hand, he wanted somehow to let her know that he wasanxious to help her in any way possible. She needed help, of that he wassure.
Lew returned on Tuesday, with a vile temper and rheumatism in his leftshoulder so that he could not work, but stayed around the house and tooevidently made his wife miserable by his presence. On Wednesday morningMarian had her hair dressed so low over her ears that she resembled alady of old Colonial days--but she did not quite conceal from Bud'skeen eyes the ugly bruise on her temple. She was pale and her lips werecompressed as if she were afraid to relax lest she burst out in tears orin a violent denunciation of some kind. Bud dared not look at her, norat Lew, who sat glowering at Bud's right hand. He tried to eat, tried toswallow his coffee, and finally gave up the attempt and left the table.
In getting up he touched Lew's shoulder with his elbow, and Lew let outa bellow of pain and an oath, and leaned away from him, his right handup to ward off another hurt.
"Pardon me. I forgot your rheumatism," Bud apologized perfunctorily, hisface going red at the epithet. Marian, coming toward him with a plateof biscuits, looked him full in the eyes and turned her glance to herhusband's back while her lips curled in the bitterest, the most scornfulsmile Bud had ever seen on a woman's face. She did not speak--speechwas impossible before that tableful of men--but Bud went out feeling asthough she had told him that her contempt for Lew was beyond words, andthat his rheumatism brought no pity whatever.
Wednesday passed, Thursday came, and still there was no chance to speaka word in private. The kitchen drudge was hedged about by open ears andcurious eyes, and save at meal-time she was invisible to the men unlessthey glimpsed her for a moment in the kitchen door.
Thursday brought a thunder storm with plenty of rain, and in the drizzlethat held over until Friday noon Bud went out to an old calf shedwhich he had discovered in the edge of the pasture, and gathered hisneckerchief full of mushrooms. Bud hated mushrooms, but he carried themto the machine shed and waited until he was sure that Honey was in thesitting room playing the piano--and hitting what Bud called a blue notenow and then--and that Lew was in the bunk-house with the other men, andDave and old Pop were in Pop's shack. Then, and then only, Bud took longsteps to the kitchen door, carrying his mushrooms as tenderly as thoughthey were eggs for hatching.
Marian was up to her dimpled elbows in bread dough when he went in.Honey was still groping her way lumpily through the Blue Danube Waltz,and Bud stood so that he could look out through the white-curtainedwindow over the kitchen table and make sure that no one approached thehouse unseen.
"Here are some mushrooms," he said guardedly, lest his voice shouldcarry to Honey. "They're just an excuse. Far as I'm concerned you canfeed them to the hogs. I like things clean and natural and wholesome,myself. I came to find out what's the matter, Mrs. Morris. Is thereanything I can do? I took the hint you gave me in the note, Sunday, andI discovered right away you knew what you were talking about. That was aholdup down in the Sinks. It couldn't have been anything else. Butthey wouldn't have got anything. I didn't have more than a dollar in mypocket."
Marian turned her head, and listened to the piano, and glanced up athim.
"I also like things clean and natural and wholesome," she said quietly."That's why I tried to put you on your guard. You don't seem to fit in,somehow, with--the surroundings. I happen to know that the races heldhere every Sunday are just thinly veiled attempts to cheat the unwaryout of every cent they have. I should advise you, Mr. Birnie, to be verycareful how you bet on any horses."
"I shall," Bud smiled. "Pop gave me some good advice, too, about runninghorses. He says, 'It's every fellow for himself, and mercy toward none.'I'm playing by their rule, and Pop expects to make a few dollars, too.He said he'd stand by me."
"Oh! He did?" Marian's voice puzzled Bud. She kneaded the breadvigorously for a minute. "Don't depend too much on Pop. He's--variable.And don't go around with a dollar in your pocket--unless you don't mindlosing that dollar. There are men in this country who would willinglydispense with the formality of racing a horse in order to get yourmoney."
"Yes--I've discovered one informal method already. I wish I knew how Icould help YOU."
"Help me--in what way?" Marian glanced out of the window again as ifthat were a habit she had formed.
"I don't know. I wish I did. I thought perhaps you had some troublethat--My mother had the same look in her eyes when we came back tothe ranch after some Indian trouble, and found the house burned andeverything destroyed but the ground itself. She didn't say anythingmuch. She just began helping father plan how we'd manage until we couldget material and build another cabin, and make our supplies hold out.She didn't complain. But her eyes had the same look I've seen in yours,Mrs. Morris. So I feel as if I ought to help you, just as I'd helpmother." Bud's face had been red and embarrassed when he began, but hisearnestness served to erase his selfconsciousness.
"You're different--just like mother," he went on when Marian did notanswer. "You don't belong here drudging in this kitchen. I never saw awoman doing a man's work before. They ought to have a man cooking forall these hulking men."
"Oh, the kitchen!" Marian exclaimed impatiently. "I don't mind thecooking. That's the least--"
"It isn't right, just the same. I--I don't suppose that's it altogether.I'm not trying to find out what the trouble is--but I wish you'dremember that I'm ready to do anything in the world that I can. Youwon't misunderstand that, I'm sure."
"No-o," said Marian slowly. "But you see, there's nothing that you cando--except, perhaps, make things worse for me." Then, to lighten thatstatement, she smiled at him. "Just now you can help me very much if youwill go in and play something besides the Blue Danube Waltz. I've hadto listen to that ever since Honora sent away for the music with thewinter's grocery order, last October. Tell Honora you got her somemushrooms. And don't trust anyone. If you must bet on the horses, do sowith your eyes open. They're cheats--and worse, some of them."
Bud's glance followed hers through the window that overlooked thecorrals and the outbuildings. Lew was coming up to the house with aslicker over his head to keep off the drizzle.
"Well, remember I'd do anything for you that I'd do for my mother or mysister Dulcie. And I wish you'd call on me just as they would, if youget in a pinch and need me. If I know you'll do that I'll feel a lotbetter satisfied."
"If I need you be sure that I shall let you know. And I'll saythat 'It's a comfort to have met one white man,'" Marian assured himhurriedly, her anxious eyes on her approaching husband.
She need not have worried over his coming, so far as Bud was concerned.For Bud was in the sitting-room and had picked Honey off the pianostool, had given her a playful shake and was playing the Blue Danubeas its composer intended that it should be played, when Lew entered thekitchen and kicked the door shut behind him.
Bud spent the forenoon conscientiously trying to teach Honey that therests are quite as important to the tempo of a waltz measure as are thenotes. Honey's talent for music did not measure up to her talent forcoquetry; she received about five dollars' worth of instruction and noblandishments whatever, and although she no doubt profited thereby, atlast she balked and put her lazy white hands over her ears and refusedto listen to Bud's inexorable "One, two, three, one, two, three-and one,two, three." Whereupon Bud laughed and returned to the bunk-house.
He arrived in the middle of a heated argument over Jeff Hall's tacticsin racing Skeeter, and immediately was called upon for his private,personal opinion of Sunday's race. Bud's private, personal opinionbeing exceedingly private and personal, he threw out a skirmish line ofbanter.
Smoky could run circles around that Skeeter horse, he boasted, andJeff's manner of riding was absolutely unimportant, non-essentia
l andimmaterial. He was mighty glad that holdup man had fallen down, lastSunday, before he got his hands on any money, because that money wasgoing to talk long and loud to Jeff Hall next Sunday. Now that Bud hadstarted running his horse for money, working for wages looked foolishand unprofitable. He was now working merely for healthful exercise andto pass the time away between Sundays. His real mission in life, he haddiscovered, was to teach Jeff's bunch that gambling is a sin.
The talk was carried enthusiastically to the dinner table, where Budignored the scowling proximity of Lew and repeated his boasts in arevised form as an indirect means of letting Marian know that he meantto play the Burroback game in the Burroback way--or as nearly as hecould--and keep his honesty more or less intact. He did not think shewould approve, but he wanted her to know.
Once, when Buddy was fifteen, four thoroughbred cows and four calvesdisappeared mysteriously from the home ranch just before the calves hadreached branding age. Buddy rode the hills and the valleys every spareminute for two weeks in search of them, and finally, away over the ridgewhere an undesirable neighbor was getting a start in cattle, Buddy foundthe calves in a fenced field with eight calves belonging--perhaps--tothe undesirable neighbor.
Buddy did not ride down to the ranch and accuse the neighbor of stealingthe calves. Instead, he painstakingly sought a weak place in the fence,made a very accidental looking hole and drove out the twelve calves,took them over the ridge to Tomahawk and left them in a high, mountainmeadow pretty well surrounded by matted thickets. There, because therewas good grass and running water, the calves seemed quite as happy as inthe field.
Then Buddy hurried home and brought a branding iron and a fresh horse,and by working very hard and fast, he somehow managed to plant a deeptomahawk brand on each one of the twelve calves. He returned home verylate and very proud of himself, and met his father face to face ashe was putting away the iron. Explanations and a broken harness strapmingled painfully in Buddy's memory for a long time afterwards, but thefull effect of the beating was lost because Buddy happened to hear BobBirnie confide to mother that the lad had served the old cattle-thiefright, and that any man who could start with one thoroughbred cow andin four years have sufficient increase from that cow to produce eightcalves a season, ought to lose them all.
Buddy had not needed his father's opinion to strengthen his ownconviction that he had performed a worthy deed and one of which no manneed feel ashamed. Indeed, Buddy considered the painful incident ofthe buggy strap a parental effort at official discipline, and held noparticular grudge against his father after the welts had disappearedfrom his person.
Wherefore Bud, the man, held unswervingly to the ethical standard ofBuddy the boy. If Burroback Valley was scheming to fleece a stranger attheir races and rob him by force if he happened to win, then Bud feltjustified in getting every dollar possible out of the lot of them. Atany rate, he told himself, he would do his darndest. It was plain enoughthat Pop was trying to make an opportunity to talk confidentially, butwith a dozen men on the place it was easy enough to avoid being alonewithout arousing the old man's suspicions. Marian had told him totrust no one; and Bud, with his usual thoroughness, applied the warningliterally.
Sunday morning he caught up Smoky and rode him to the corral. Smokyhad recovered from his lameness, and while Bud groomed him for theafternoon's running the men of Little Lost gathered round him andoffered advice and encouragement, and even volunteered to lend him moneyif he needed it. But Bud told them to put up their own bets, and neverto worry about him. Their advice and their encouragement, however, heaccepted as cheerfully as they were given.
"Think yuh can beat Skeeter, young feller?" Pop shambled up to inquireanxiously, his beard brushing Bud's shoulder while he leaned close."Remember what I told ye. You stick by me an' I'll stick by you. Youshook on it, don't forgit that, young feller."
Bud had forgotten, but he made haste to redeem his promise. "LastSunday, Pop, I had to play it alone. To-day-well, if you want to make anhonest dollar, you know what to do, don't you?"
"Sho! I'm bettin' on yore horse t'day, an' mind ye, I want to see mymoney doubled! But that there lameness in his left hind ankle--I don'tsee but what that kinda changes my opinion a little mite. You shore hewon't quit on ye in the race, now? Don't lie to ole Pop, young feller!"
"Say! He 's the gamest little horse in the state, Pop. He never hasquit, and he never will." Bud stood up and laid a friendly hand on theold fellow's shoulder. "Pop, I'm running him to-day to win. That's thetruth. I'm going to put all I've got on him. Is that good enough?"
"Shucks almighty! That's good enough fer me,--plenty good fer me," Popcackled, and trotted off to find someone who had little enough faith inSmoky to wager a two-to-one against him.
It seemed to Bud that the crowd was larger than that of a week ago, andthere was no doubt whatever that the betting was more feverish, and thatJeff meant that day to retrieve his losses. Bud passed up a very goodchance to win on other races, and centred all his betting on Smoky. Hehad been throughout the week boastful and full of confidence, and now heswaggered and lifted his voice in arrogant challenge to all and sundry.His three hundred dollars was on the race, and incidentally, he neverleft Smoky from the time he led him up from pasture until the time camewhen he and Jeff Hall rode side by side down to the quarter post.
They came up in a small whirlwind of speed and dust, and Smoky was underthe wire to his ears when Skeeter's nose showed beyond it. Little Lostwas jubilant. Jeff Hall and his backers were not.
Bud's three hundred dollars had in less than a minute increased to alittle over nine hundred, though all his bets had been moderate. By thetime he had collected, his pockets were full and his cocksureness hadincreased to such an unbearable crowing that Jeff Hall's eyes werevenomous as a snake's. Jeff had been running to win, that day, and hehad taken odds on Skeeter that had seemed to him perfectly safe.
"I'll run yuh horse for horse!" he bellowed and spat out an epithet thatsent Bud at him white-lipped.
"Damn yuh, ride down to the quarter post and I'll show you somerunning!" Bud yelled back. "And after you've swallowed dust all the wayup the track, you go with me to where the women can't see and I'll lickthe living tar outa you!"
Jeff swore and wheeled Skeeter toward the starting post, beckoningBud to follow. And Bud, hastily tucking in a flapping bulge of stripedshirt, went after him. At that moment he was not Bud, but Buddy in oneof his fighting moods, with his plans forgotten while he avenged aninsult.
Men lined up at the wire to judge for themselves the finish, and DaveTruman rode alone to start them. No one doubted but that the start wouldbe fair--Jeff and Bud would see to that!
For the first time in months the rein-ends stung Smoky's flanks when hewas in his third jump. Just once Bud struck, and was ashamed of the blowas it fell. Smoky did not need that urge, but he flattened his ears andcame down the track a full length ahead of Skeeter, and held the paceto the wire and beyond, where he stopped in a swirl of sand and wentprancing back, ready for another race if they asked it of him.
"Guess Dave'll have to bring out Boise and take the swellin' outa thatsingin' kid's pocket," a hardfaced man shouted as Jeff slid offSkeeter and went over to where his cronies stood bunched and conferringearnestly together.
"Not to-day, he needn't. I've had all the excitement I want; and I'dlike to have time to count my money before I lose it," Bud retorted."Next Sunday, if it's a clear day and the sign is right, I might runagainst Boise if it's worth my while. Say, Jeff, seeing you're playinghard luck, I won't lick you for what you called me. And just to show myheart's right, I'll lend you Skeeter to ride home. Or if you want to buyhim back, you can have him for sixty dollars or such a matter. He 's anice little horse,--if you aren't in a hurry!"
