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

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СКАЧАТЬ before she comes. I –– I won’t know what to say.” He twisted about and fixed an eye on the doorway, but Lucy held out a restraining hand.

      “It has been a great secret,” she said, “and you must promise not to tell, but Kitty has been writing a play.”

      “A play!” exclaimed Hardy, astounded, “why –– what in the world is it about?”

      “About Arizona, of course,” cried Lucy. “Don’t you remember how eager she was to hear you men talk? And she collected all those spurs and quirts for stage properties! Why, she wrote books and books full of notes and cowboy words while she was down here and she’s been buried in manuscript for months. When she heard that you were having the round-up early this year she was perfectly frantic to come, but they were right in the midst of writing it and she just couldn’t get away.”

      “They?” repeated Hardy, mystified. “Why who –– ”

      “Oh, I forgot,” said Lucy, biting her lip. Then in a lower voice she added: “She has been collaborating with Tupper Browne.”

      “Tupper Browne! Why, what does he know about Arizona?” cried Hardy indignantly, and then, as Lucy looked away, he stopped short.

      “Oh!” he said, and then there was a long silence. “Well, Tupper’s a good fellow,” he remarked philosophically. “But Lucy,” he said, starting up nervously as the sound of horses’ feet came up from the creek bed, “you’ll –– you’ll do all the talking, won’t you?”

      “Talking!” repeated Lucy, pausing in her flight. “Why, yes,” she called back, laughing. “Isn’t that always the woman’s part?” And then she fell upon Kitty’s neck and kissed her. Hardy came forward with less assurance, but his embarrassment was reduced to a minimum by Judge Ware who, as soon as the first greetings were over, brought forward the mild-mannered gentleman in khaki and introduced him.

      “Mr. Shafer,” he said, “this is my superintendent, Mr. Hardy. Mr. Shafer represents the United States Forestry Service,” he added significantly.

      “Ah, then you must bring us good news!” cried Hardy, holding out his hand eagerly.

      “Yes,” answered the official modestly, but his speech ended with that word.

      “I am convinced,” began Judge Ware, suddenly quelling all conversation by the earnestness of his demeanor. “I am convinced that in setting aside the Salagua watershed as a National Forest Reserve, our President has added to the record of his good deeds an act of such consummate statesmanship that it will be remembered long after his detractors are forgotten. But for him, millions of acres of public land now set aside as reserves would still be open to the devastation of unrestricted grazing, or have passed irrevocably into the power of this infamous land ring which has been fighting on the floor of Congress to deprive the American people of their rights. But after both houses had passed a bill depriving the executive of his power to proclaim Forest Reserves –– holding back the appropriations for the Forestry Service as a threat –– he baffled them by a feigned acquiescence. In exchange for the appropriations, he agreed to sign the act –– and then, after securing the appropriations, he availed himself of the power still vested in him to set aside this reserve and many other reserves for our children and our children’s children –– and then, gentlemen, true to his word, he signed the bill!”

      Judge Ware shook hands warmly with Mr. Shafer at the end of this speech and wished him all success in protecting the people’s domain. It was a great day for the judge, and as soon as Creede and the other cowmen came in with the day’s gather of cattle he hastened out to tell them the news.

      “And now, gentlemen,” he said, holding up his hand to stop the joyous yelling, “I wish to thank you one and all for your confidence in me and in the good faith of our Government. It called for a high order of manhood, I am sure; but in not offering any armed resistance to the incoming of the sheep your loyalty has withstood its supreme test.”

      “How’s that?” inquired Creede, scratching his head doubtfully. Then, divining the abysmal ignorance from which the judge was speaking, he answered, with an honest twinkle in his eye: “Oh, that’s all right, Judge. We always try to do what’s right –– and we’re strong for the law, when they is any.”

      “I’m afraid there hasn’t been much law up here in the past, has there?” inquired Mr. Shafer tactfully.

      “Well, not so’s you’d notice it,” replied the big cowboy enigmatically. “But say, Judge,” he continued, making a point at the old gentleman’s linen duster, “excuse me, but that yaller letter stickin’ out of your pocket looks kinder familiar. It’s for me, ain’t it? Um, thanks; this detective outfit back in St. Louie is tryin’ to make me out a millionaire, or somethin’ like that, and I’m naturally interested.” He tore the letter open, extracted a second epistle from its depths and read it over gravely. “Well, boys,” he observed, grinning cheerfully as he tucked it away in his shaps, “my luck always did run in bunches –– I’m rich!”

      He strode briskly over to the corral, caught up a fresh horse and, riding back to the camp, began to go through his war bag hurriedly. He was in the midst of a feverish packing, throwing away socks and grabbing up shirts, when a gay laugh from the house attracted his attention. He listened for a moment abstractedly; then he flew at his work once more, dumping everything he had out on his bed and stuffing what he needed back into his war bag; but when there came a second peal of laughter, he stopped and craned his neck.

      “Well –– I’ll –– be –– dam’d!” he muttered, as he recognized the voice, and then he flew at his work again, manhandling everything in sight. He was just roping his enormous bed, preparatory to depositing it in the bunk-house, when Kitty Bonnair stepped out of the house and came toward him, walking like a boy in her dainty riding suit. There was a great noise from the branding pen and as she approached he seemed very intent upon his work, wrestling with his bundle as if he were hog-tying a bull and using language none too choice the while, but Kitty waited patiently until he looked up.

      “Why, howdy do, Mr. Creede,” she cried, smiling radiantly. “I got a new idea for my play just from seeing you do that work.”

      The cowboy regarded her sombrely, took a nip or two with his rope’s end, jerked the cords tight, and sat down deliberately on the bundle.

      “That’s good,” he said, wiping the sweat from his eyes. “How’s tricks?” There was a shadow of irony in his voice but Kitty passed it by.

      “Fine and dandy,” she answered. “How are you coming?”

      “Oh, pretty good,” he conceded, rising up and surveying the battlefield, “and I reckon I ain’t forgot nothin’,” he added meaningly. He kicked his blanket roll, tied his war bag behind the saddle, and hitched up his overalls regally. “Sorry I ain’t goin’ to see more of you,” he observed, slipping his six-shooter into his shaps, “but –– ”

      “What, you aren’t going?” cried Kitty, aghast. “Why, I came all the way down here to see you –– I’m writing a play, and you’re the hero!”

      “Ye-es!” jeered Creede, laughing crudely. “I’m Mary’s little lamb that got snatched baldheaded to make the baby laugh.”

      “You’re nothing of the kind,” retorted Kitty stoutly. “You’re the hero in my play that’s going to be acted some day on the stage. You kill a Mexican, and win a beautiful girl in the last act!”

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