On the Cowboy's Trail: Western Boxed-Set. Coolidge Dane

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ you about them cattle I’m just sendin’ to town. If I didn’t have other business on hand I’d go down with you gladly and sell ’em for you, but when you git to Bender you go to Chris Johansen, the cattle buyer, and give him this list. You won’t savvy what it is but Chris will, and you tell him that if he don’t give you the best market price for them cows he’ll have to –– lick –– me! This is a dry year and feeders ain’t much nohow, but I don’t want to see no friend of mine robbed. Well, so-long, Miss Ware. Hope you have a good trip.”

      He gripped her hand awkwardly, picked up his bridle lash, and thrust one boot thoughtfully into the stirrup. Then, as if suddenly cognizant of a neglected duty, he snapped his foot out and threw the lash back on the ground.

      “I’ll say good-bye to the judge,” he drawled, “so’s to show they ain’t no hard feelin’. Your old man don’t exactly fit in these parts,” he observed apologetically, “but he means well, I reckon. You can tell ’im some time that I was kind of excited when I quit.”

      His farewell was a sober and dignified affair, after the courtly school of the South –– no allusions to the past, no references to the future, merely a gentlemanly expression of regret that his guest’s visit should have been so suddenly terminated. But when he turned to Miss Kitty his masterful eyes began to glow and waver and he shifted his feet uneasily.

      “Kin I speak with you a minute outside?” he said at last; and Kitty, still eager to read the heart of Man, the Unfinished, followed after him, laughing as he stooped to pass his high hat through the door.

      “Come on out by the corral,” he urged, confidently leading the way. When they were concealed by the corner of the fence he stopped and dropped his bridle rein.

      “Well, we’ve had a pretty good time together down here, hain’t we?” he observed, twisting the fringe of his shaps and smiling at her from beneath his forelock. “I ain’t got but a minute –– and there’s some rough work ahead, I reckon –– but I jest wanted to –– well, I wanted to give you this.” He dove down into his overalls’ pocket and brought up a nugget, worn smooth by long milling around between his spare change and his jackknife.

      “That’s a chunk of gold I found over by Red Butte one time,” he said, handing it over. “Thought you might want to keep it for me, you know. But say –– ” He crowded his hands into his pockets and canted his head to one side, ogling her roguishly.

      Kitty had never observed just such conduct before, and she was curious.

      “Why –– what?” she inquired, tossing back her hair tantalizingly.

      “Don’t I git nothin’ to remember you by, little girl?” he demanded, his voice vibrant with passion. “We’ve been pretty good friends, you know. In fact –– well, say, don’t I git jest one kiss?”

      He drew her gently into his arms as he spoke, waited a fraction of a second for her to resist, and then kissed her, suddenly and with masterful violence.

      “One more,” he pleaded insistently. “No? All right then,” he said, swinging gracefully up on his horse as she pushed him away. “I’ll always remember that one, anyhow!”

      He leaned forward and Bat Wings shot away up the cañon like a charger that sniffs the combat, thundering out across the parada grounds, swinging beneath the giant mesquite, and plunging down the bank that led to the creek. And all the time his rider sat with one hand on the cantle, his white teeth flashing back a wistful smile.

      Taken by surprise Kitty Bonnair stood staring blankly after him, rubbing her cheek which burned hot where he had kissed her. She would always remember that kiss too, and all too late she remembered to become indignant. But, no one being about, she laughed low to herself and hurried back to the house, her eyes downcast and pensive. She had known many men and lovers in her time, but never a one like Jeff Creede.

      There was a sound of hasty packing in the Dos S ranch house that morning, and the wagon drove noisily up to the door. Rafael carried out the steamer trunks and luggage, the snake-skins, the smoky opals, the Indian baskets, the braided quirts, and all the scattered plunder that the cowboys had given Kitty and that she could not bear to leave behind. He saddled up their horses, clattering recklessly into the bunk-house where Hardy was sleeping in order to get his blankets, and still, unmindful of noise or preparation, or the friends who must say good-bye, he lay sprawled on the rough blankets, dead with sleep.

      Rafael kicked off the brake and started on his weary journey around Red Butte to Moreno’s, which would take him the rest of the day; Judge Ware, possessed to get out of the country before he became particeps criminis to some lawless outrage, paced restlessly up and down the ramada, waiting for the girls to get ready; and Kitty and Lucy, glancing guiltily at each other, fidgeted around in their rooms waiting for Rufus to wake up.

      “I’m ready,” said Lucy at last, putting the final touches to the room which he had given up to her. “Are you, Kitty?”

      Their eyes met in an uneasy stare, each wishing the other would speak.

      “Yes,” said Kitty, “but –– shall we go without saying good-bye?”

      “What in the world are you girls waiting for?” demanded the judge, thrusting his head impatiently in at the door. “I declare, I begin to think there is something in these jokes about Adam waiting for Eve to get her hat on straight. Now please come at once or we won’t get to Moreno’s in time for supper.”

      “But, father,” protested Lucy, “Kitty and I do not wish to leave without saying good-bye to Rufus. Would you mind –– ”

      “No, no!” exclaimed Judge Ware irritably, “if he chooses to sleep all day –– ”

      “But, father!” burst out Lucy, almost tearfully, “he was so tired –– he fell asleep as soon as he sat down, and I never did get him to consent to be my superintendent! Don’t you see –– ”

      “Well, write him a note then,” directed the judge brusquely, “and leave it on his desk. Now, Lucy dear, really I’m getting so nervous I’m hardly accountable. Please hurry. And, Kitty, please hurry, too!”

      Like two souls haled from the world without a word of explanation or confession, Kitty and Lucy both sat down under duress to pen a last appeal to the little man who, despite his stern disregard, somehow held a place in their hearts. Kitty could have wept with vexation at the thought of not seeing him again –– and after she had brought her mind to forgive him, too! She wrote blindly, she knew not what, whether it was accusation or entreaty, and sealed the envelope with a bang of her tiny fist –– and even then he did not awaken. Lucy wrote carefully, wrestling to turn the implacable one from his purpose and yet feeling that he would have his will. She sealed her note and put it upon his desk hesitatingly; then, as Kitty turned away, she dropped her handkerchief beside it. It was a time-worn strategy, such as only the innocent and guileless think of in their hour of adversity. When she ran back to recover it Lucy drew a dainty book from her bosom –– Mrs. Browning’s “Sonnets from the Portuguese” –– and placed it across her note as if to save it from the wind, and between two leaves she slipped the forget-me-nots which he had given her at Hidden Water.

      As the thud of horses’ hoofs died away silence settled down upon the Dos S ranch house, the sombre silence of the desert, unbroken by the murmur of women’s voices or the echo of merry laughter, and the sleeping man stirred uneasily on his bed. An hour passed, and then from the ramada there came a sound of wailing. Hardy rose up on his bed suddenly, startled. The memory СКАЧАТЬ