by Morgan Scott
CHAPTER II.
PLAYING THE PART.
For a few moments they stared in dumfounded silence at the latestarrival. Sile Crane was the first to speak; a grin broke over hishomely face, and in a suppressed tone he drawled:
“Great codfish! He’s sartainly come to school this arternoon alldressed up fit to kill.”
“Oh, ginger!” snickered Chipper Cooper. “Here’s the real wild andwoolly article now. Just look at it!”
Chub Tuttle snorted, clapping a hand to his mouth to check the spray ofhalf-munched peanuts which flew from his lips. “’Scuse me,” heentreated, as Barker fell back a step, frowning and producing ahandkerchief to brush some of the peanut crumbs from his coat sleeve.“Couldn’t help it. Did you ever see such a funny sight in all yourlife?”
Even Roger Eliot could not repress a smile as he gazed at the new boyin Oakdale who professed to come from the State of Texas; for neverbefore had a person thus attired ventured to cross the threshold of theacademy, and in a moment the eyes of nearly every boy and girl in theroom were focused upon Rodney Grant.
Grant was a well-set-up youngster of sixteen, somewhat large for hisage, and yet not large enough to be noticeably overgrown. He had clear,dark brown eyes, which were almost black; a strong, well-formed,prominent nose; a square, firm chin; and a mouth which, while in no waydisagreeable, had something about it to give the impression that theboy could say “no” and stick to it. In his dark brown hair there was aglint of red. The short time he had spent as a student at OakdaleAcademy had not yet begun to weaken perceptibly the deep tan of hischeek and neck.
Set a bit rakishly on the boy’s shapely head was a battered,wide-brimmed old felt hat that looked as if it had seen any amount ofwear. The crown was encircled by a buckled leather strap, and in frontthe brim had been turned up and fastened with a thong. Neither coat norvest covered the loose woollen shirt, which had been left open a bit atthe throat. A dark red handkerchief was knotted about the lad’s neck.His legs were encased in shiny, soiled, calfskin chaps, fringed downthe outer seams; and these likewise bore the tokens of much wear.Hanging loosely from the point of his left hip was a cartridge-loopedbelt that supported a pistol holster dangling low against the upperpart of his right leg. On his feet were tight, thin-soled, high-heeledboots, to which were attached huge roweled spurs that clanked withevery step he took.
Calm, serene, without the flicker of a smile on his face or a symptomof self-consciousness in his manner, Rod Grant glanced around and thenwalked toward the staring lads near the steam radiator. His high-heeledboots gave him a somewhat awkward gait.
“Howdy, gents,” he saluted. “This yere weather is sure some nippingto-day. If it continues, it’s right certain she’ll freeze up tightbefore long. Out on the Canadian we’d get it this cold on the frontedge of a no’ther.”
Berlin Barker’s lips curled scornfully as he openly took the measure ofthe speaker from head to feet. “On my word,” he sneered, “you’re asight. You’re all dressed up, aren’t you?”
“Sure,” was the cheerful answer. “Not knowing but that I might beinvited out to afternoon tea or some sort of social function, I spentas much as five minutes adorning my person for the occasion. I own upI’m a heap more familiar with the social etiquette of the range, beinggenerally accustomed to taking my grub from the tail end of the cook’swagon; but, when he sent me East, my old man he says to me, says he,‘Rod, when you’re in Rome you must seek some to emulate the Romans.’Therefore, being plenty dutiful, I feel it incumbent to stand up andmeet what’s coming without shying or bucking.”
“Oh, slush!” snickered Cooper. “Who said he didn’t talk in thever—what-do-you-call-it?”
“I presume,” said Barker, “that he picked up that line of talk fromsome cheap Western novel.”
“You’ve certain got two more guesses coming, partner,” retorted Grant,still unruffled. “Since locating on this here section of the range,I’ve spent the greater part of my time in the right painful effort totalk pure Bostonese. What has been the result? You gents hereaboutshave acquired the impression that I’m an impostor, and therefore all mytrouble has gone for naught. I allow you’ll admit that this must be aheap discouraging to a person with a naturally retiring and sensitivenature—that’s me. I now give you notice that henceforth and hereafterI’m Rodney Grant of the Star D Ranch, Roberts County, Texas Panhandle,and any gent who doesn’t approve of my style is at liberty to segregatehimself from my society.”
Roger Eliot laughed outright, which was unusual for him.
“That’s plain enough,” he said. “A great many people find it necessaryto play the part in order to be accepted as the real thing.”
Grant flashed him a look from those deep brown eyes; to his surprise,here was a fellow who seemed to understand.
Barker shrugged his shoulders. “My dear chap,” he said patronizingly,“I’m afraid you were rather careless in letting us get onto yourcurves. Tell us, how much did that rig-out cost you? I presume youbought it from some fake cowboy in a dime museum.”
“I’ve already noticed,” returned Rodney, “that you’re a presuming sortof a gent. Being of a forgiving nature, I’ll overlook it and charge itup to your ignorance.”
Barker flushed with anger. “Cut it out, you freak!” he exclaimed. “Why,you’re a sight! Folks around here weren’t born yesterday, and you can’tfool anybody with your bluff. Next thing we know you’ll be calling ustenderfeet; but we’re not so tender we can’t tell the differencebetween a fake and the genuine article.”
“I pray thee, be not so harsh, Berlin,” chuckled Cooper. “Why, we canall see by looking at his clothes that Mr. Grant is a real, genuine,_bona fide_ cow-puncher from the Texas Panhandle, just as he claims tobe. At least, he not only looks it, but he’s slinging the lingo.”
Sleuth Piper shook his head doubtfully. “He hasn’t yet said ‘whoop’ or‘galoot’ or ‘varmint’,” he muttered.
“Thanks, my friend,” bowed Grant, beaming on Cooper. “It’s sure arelief to know that at last I’m making an impression on one person, atleast.”
“Have a peanut,” invited Chub Tuttle. “Can you shoot a pistol?”
“I’m a rip-roarer with a gun.”
“Know how to throw a lasso?”
“Sure. I can rope and tie a wild steer in thirty-six seconds. Theworld’s record is something like forty-one and a half. But that’sbecause I’ve never competed in a public steer-roping contest.”
“Bah!” sneered Barker. “Did you ever see a longhorn steer in your life?”
“At least,” returned Grant, gazing fixedly at him, “I’ve seen along-eared donkey.”
“Score one for the gent from the Panhandle,” snickered Cooper.
“You insolent puppy!” breathed Barker, in a low, savage voice. “Youwant to be careful of your language, or you’ll have a fight on yourhands. Somebody will——”
“I never fight with my fists.”
“No, I don’t suppose you ever fight with anything but your mouth. Youshowed the white feather when Hunk Rollins got after you. It’s myopinion you’re a big case of blow.”
“Your opinions are of so little value that they don’t disturb me any atall.”
“Quit it, fellows!” interposed Eliot, stepping forward to keep themapart in case Barker should go at Grant. “You know what it means tohave a scrap here, Berlin.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t touch him—here; but, if he isn’t more civil,I’ll catch him somewhere and teach him a lesson.”
With which threat Berlin turned disdainfully and walked away, watchedas he departed by the eyes of Grant, in which there shone a strangegleam of mingled anger and amusement.
“Yeou better not git that feller stirred up, Mr. Cow-puncher,” advisedSile Crane. “He’s a bad critter when he’s mad. He never forgits agrudge.”
“I ask you fair and square, gents,” said Grant, “did I begin it? Didn’the start the rumpus by
spurring me a plenty with slurs and insults?Never mind, I won’t fight him anyhow, because, as I before stated, Idon’t fight.”
“How about fighting cattle thieves and Injuns?” questioned Cooper.
“That’s a heap different. Having a right violent temper of my own, Ireckon it’s best for me to keep it hobbled constant and regular. Gents,when I’m riled I’m bad—I sure am. I opine I’ve caused my old man no endof disturbance and worry. This yere is the first school I’ve never beenexpelled from—and there’s enough time for that. Last school I attended,the master allowed it was his duty to give me a ferruling. It certainwas the mistake of his life, for he got me going some, and I clean lostmy head. As a result, I threw him, traddled him, and lifted his scalp.”
“You wha-what?” gasped Phil Springer. “You don’t mean that you actuallysus-scalped a schoolmaster, do you?”
“Sure. I removed a portion of the gent’s topknot with my trustyscalping knife. I opine it was a severe shock to his system, but herecovered in time, though he remained baldheaded in a spot as big asthe palm of your hand.”
“You must be dangerous,” laughed Cooper. “I suppose you learned thescalping business that time you was captured by Injuns. You know yousaid you were captured once.”
“Such was the fate which befell me.”
“Tell us abaout it,” urged Crane. “Haow did yeou escape?”
“By breaking the bonds with which the savages tied me. I am thepossessor of sure enough amazing strength, which enabled me toaccomplish the seeming impossible. There were three of the oneryredskins. They caught me when I was sound asleep, and they were takingme to their tribe for the self-evident purpose of amusing themselves byburning me at the stake, or something like that. It was a journey oftwo days or more. The first night we camped in a dark and lonelyvalley. My captors regaled themselves on roast beef cut from one of myfather’s steers which they had stolen, but not a morsel did they offerme, although I was mighty near starved to death. When they had eatentheir fill they rolled themselves in their blankets and slept. There Iwas, tied hand and foot, and apparently helpless. I watched thecampfire die down and the stars twinkle forth in the lonely sky. I knewit was up to me, and so when the aborigines were securely wrapped inthe arms of Morpheus I proceeded to put forth my energies to burst mybonds, and finally succeeded.”
“I s’pose yeou sneaked off and took to your heels then, didn’t ye?”questioned Crane.
“No, indeed, not any. I knew they would awaken and follow me. I knewthere was only one salvation for me: I must destroy all three of thosered fiends.”
“Did yeou kill ’em?”
“I confess that I did, but never in the history of the world haveredskins died in such a manner. They laughed themselves to death.”
“How was that?” asked Tuttle, so interested that he had forgotten toeat peanuts.
“As they slept I crept upon them, one by one, seized them, gagged them,bound them all. This I did to each one in turn, without arousing theothers. Having them securely bound, I meditated on my future course. Itsure seemed some inhuman to hike off and leave them trussed up tostarve or to be eaten by coyotes. I shuddered a plenty at the thoughtof tomahawking or shooting them. It was a right long time before Ifinally hit upon a mode of execution. Finally I removed theirmoccasins—stripped their feet bare. Then from the topknot of the chiefI plucked some feathers. With those very feathers I proceeded to ticklefirst one and then another of the redskins upon the soles of his feet.In about two jiffys I had all three laughing and squirming, and themore I tickled them the more they laughed. I kept it up, gents, untilthose redskins laughed themselves to death.”
“Ge-gee!” exploded Phil Springer. “What a whopper!”
“Pretty fair,” nodded Roger Eliot—“pretty fair.”
Prof. Richardson entered. He paused a moment to peer over hisspectacles, and his eyes fell on Rodney Grant. Slowly an expression ofwonderment crept over the old man’s face.
“What’s this, young man—what’s this?” he inquired, coming forward andremoving his knit woollen gloves. “What are you doing here in such arig?”
“I reckon you’ll pardon me, Professor, but people around this neck ofthe woods seem to think I’m a fake Texan because I don’t look it, andtherefore I took a notion to wear my cowboy regalia this afternoon.”
The professor shook his head disapprovingly. “Go home,” he said—“gohome at once and change those clothes for civilized garments. Icertainly shall not approve of your wearing such a rig while you attendthis school.”
“Fate is against me,” murmured Rodney Grant, as he turned toward thedoor.
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