Out of the Depths: A Romance of Reclamation. Bennet Robert Ames

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СКАЧАТЬ for–for him–in particular?” he stammered.

      “I am sorry you dislike him,” she said, regaining her composure when she saw that he too was agitated.

      He did not reply. She tactfully changed the subject. By the time they had circled around, back to the half open feed-sheds, he was gayly chatting with her on music and the drama. When they came down to the horse corral she proceeded to lecture him on the duties of a cowboy and showed him how to hold and throw a rope. Under her skillful tuition, he at last learned the knack of casting an open noose.

      Evening was near when they returned to the house. As before, they caught Knowles in the front porch contentedly puffing at his pipe. He dropped it down out of sight. The girl shook her finger at him, nodded to Ashton, and went indoors. Immediately the cowman put his pipe back into his mouth and drew another from his pocket, together with an unopened sack of tobacco.

      “Smoke?” he asked.

      Ashton’s eyes gleamed. In the girl’s presence he had been able to restrain the fierce craving that had tortured him since dinner. Now it so overmastered him that he almost snatched the pipe and tobacco out of the cowman’s hand. The latter gravely shook his head.

      “Got it that bad, have you?” he deplored.

      Ashton could not answer until his pipe was well under way.

      “I’m–I’m breaking off,” he replied. “Haven’t had a cigarette all day–nor anything else. A-ah!”

      “Glad you like it,” said Knowles. “A pipe is all right with this kind of tobacco. You can’t inhale it like you can cigarettes, unless you want to strangle.”

      “I shall break off entirely as soon as I can,” asserted Ashton.

      “Well,” considered Knowles, “I’m not saying you can’t or won’t. It’s mighty curious what a young fellow can do to please a pretty girl. Just the same, I’d say from the color of Kid’s fingers that he hasn’t forgotten how to roll a fat Mexican cigaretto.–Hello! ‘Talk of the devil–’ Here he comes now.”

      Gowan came around the corner of the house, his spurs jingling. His eyes were as cold and his face as emotionless as usual.

      “Well?” asked Knowles. “Have a seat.”

      “Didn’t get him,” reported Gowan, dropping into a chair. “Near as I could make out, he cut straight across for the railroad, on the jump.”

      “Then it must have been that guide!” exclaimed Ashton.

      “Looks that way,” added Knowles. “Glad of it. We won’t see him again, unless you want to notify the sheriff, when you ride over tomorrow.”

      “No, oh, no. I am satisfied to be rid of him.”

      “If he don’t come back,” remarked Gowan.

      “He won’t,” predicted Knowles.

      “Well, not for a time maybe,” agreed Gowan.

      CHAPTER VIII

      A MAN’S SIZE HORSE

      At dusk the sonorous boom of a Japanese gong gave warning of the approach of the supper hour. A few minutes later a second booming summoned all in to the meal. Miss Isobel sat at one end of the table; her father at the other. Along the sides were the employés, Ashton and Gowan at the corners nearest the girl. A large coal oil lamp with an artistic shade cast a pink light on the clean white oilcloth of the table and the simple tasteful table service.

      Yuki, the silent Jap, served all with strict impartiality, starting with the mistress of the house and going around the table in regular succession, either one way or the other. The six rough-appearing haymakers used their knives with a freedom to which Ashton was unaccustomed, but their faces were clean, their behavior quiet, and their occasional remarks by no means inapt.

      After the meal they wished Miss Knowles a pleasant “Good-night,” and left for the bunkhouse. But Ashton and Gowan, at the smiling invitation of the girl, followed her into the front room. Knowles came in a few minutes later and, with scarcely a glance at the young people, settled down beside a tableful of periodicals and magazines to study the latest Government report on the reclamation service.

      Ashton had entered the “parlor” under the impression that here he would have Gowan at a disadvantage. To his surprise, the puncher proved to be quite at ease; his manners were correct and his conversation by no means provincial. A moment’s reflection showed Ashton that this could not well be otherwise, in view of the young fellow’s intimacy with Miss Chuckie Isobel.

      Another surprise was the discovery that Gowan had a remarkably good ear for music and knew even more than the girl about the masters and their works. There was a player attachment to the piano, and the girl and Gowan had a contest, playing the same selections in turn, to see which could get the most expression by means of the mechanical apparatus. If anything, the girl came out second best. At least she said so; but Ashton would not admit it.

      Between times the three chatted on a thousand and one topics, the girl always ready to bubble over with animation and merriment. She bestowed her dimpled smiles on both her admirers with strict impartiality and as impartially stimulated each to his best with her tact and gay wit.

      At nine o’clock sharp Knowles closed his report and rose from his comfortable seat.

      “Time to turn in, boys. Coal oil costs more than sunlight,” he announced, in the flat tone of a standing joke. “We’ll take a jog down creek to the Bar-Lazy-J ranch, first thing tomorrow, Kid.–Ashton, you’d better start off in the cool, before sunup. Here’s my bunch of letters, case I might forget them.”

      He handed over half a dozen thinly padded envelopes. Gowan was already at the door, hat in hand.

      “Good night, Mr. Knowles. Good night, Miss Chuckie. Pleasant dreams!” he said.

      “Same to you, Kid!” replied the girl.

      “May I give and receive the same?” asked Ashton.

      “Of course,” she answered. “But wait a moment, please. I’ve some letters to go, myself, if you’ll kindly take them with Daddy’s.”

      As she darted into a side room, Knowles stepped out after Gowan. When the girl returned, Ashton took the letters that she held out to him and deliberately started to tie them in a packet with those of her father. His sole purpose was to prolong his stay to the last possible moment. But inadvertently his eye caught the name “Blake” on one of the envelopes. His smile vanished; his jaw dropped.

      “Why, Mr. Ashton, what is the matter?” said the girl.

      “I–I beg your pardon,” he replied. “I did not realize that–But it’s too absurd–it can’t be! You did not mean what you said this afternoon. It can’t be you’re writing to that man to come here.”

      “I am,” she replied.

      “But you can’t–you must not. He’s the very devil for doing impossible things. He’ll be sure to turn loose a flood on you–drown you out–destroy your range!”

      “If it can be done, the sooner we know it the better,” she argued. “Daddy says little, but it is becoming a monomania with him–the dread. I wish СКАЧАТЬ