Bruce of the Circle A Part 38

Then Bayard walked to the other side of the room where a sheet had been tacked and hung down over bulky objects. He pulled it aside and stood back that Tommy might see the clothing that hung against the wall.

"How's that for raiment?" he demanded.

Tommy approached and lifted the skirt of the black sack coat gingerly, critically. He turned it back, inspected the lining and then put his hand to his lips to signify shock.

"Oh, my gosh, Bruce! Silk linin'! You'll be curlin' your hair next!"

"Nothing too good for this fracus, Tommy. Best suit of clothes I could get made in Prescott. Those shoes--patent leather!" He picked up one and blew a fleck of dust from it carefully. "Cost th' price of a pair of boots an' don't look like they'd wear a mile." He reached into the pocket of the coat and drew out a small package, unrolling it to display a necktie. "Pearl gray, they call it, Tommy. An' swell as a city bartender's!" He waved it in triumph before the sparkling eyes of his pug-nosed friend.

"Gosh, Bruce, you're goin' to be done out like a buck peac.o.c.k, clean from your toes up. You--

"Say, what are you goin' to wear on your head?"

Bayard's hand dropped to his side and a crestfallen look crossed his features.

"I'm a sheepherder, if I didn't forget," he muttered.

"Holy Smoke, Bruce, you can't wear an ordinary cowpuncher hat with them varnished shoes an' that there necktie an' that dude suit!"

"I guess I'll have to, or go bareheaded."

Tommy looked at him earnestly for he thought that this oversight mattered, and his simple, loyal heart was touched.

"Never mind, Bruce," he consoled. "It'll be all right, prob'ly. She won't--"

"You go out and make me a crown of mistletoe, Tommy. Why, she wouldn't like me not to be somethin' of my regular, everyday self. She'll like these clothes, but she'll like my old hat, too!"

Tommy seemed to be relieved.

"Yes, maybe she will," he agreed. "She's kinda sensible, Bruce. She ain't th' kind of a woman to jump her weddin' 'cause of a hat."

Bayard, in a sudden ecstasy of animal spirits, picked the small cowboy up in his arms and tossed him toward the ceiling, as if he were a child, and stopped only when Tommy wound his arms about his neck in a strangling clasp.

"Le'me down, an' le'me show you my outfit!" he cried. "Don't get stuck on yourself an' think you're goin' to be th' only city feller at this party!"

Breathlessly Bayard laughed as he put him down and followed him to the bunk where he had slept with his war-bag for a pillow. Tommy seated himself, lifted the sack to his lap and, with fingers to his lips for silence, untied the strings.

"Levi's!" he whispered, hoa.r.s.ely, as he drew out a pair of brand new overalls and shook them out proudly. "I ain't a reg'lar swell like you are," he exclaimed, "but even if I am poor I wear clean pants at weddin's!"

He groped in the bag again and drew out a scarf of gorgeous pink silk.

"Ain't that a eligent piece of goods?" he demanded, holding it out in the early sunlight.

"It is that, Tommy!"

"But that ain't all. Hist!"

He s.h.i.+fted about, hiding the bag behind his body that the surprise might be complete. Then, with a swift movement he held aloft proudly a stiff-bosomed s.h.i.+rt.

"Ah!" he breathed as it was revealed entirely. "How's that for tony?"

"That's great!"

"Reg'lar armor plate, Bruce! I've gentled th' d.a.m.n thing, too! Worked with him 'n hour yesterday. He bucked an' rared an' tried to fall over backwards with me, but I showed him reason after a while! Just proves that if a man sets his mind on anythin' he can do it ... even if it's bein' swell!"

Bruce laughed his a.s.sent and remarked to himself that the array of smudgy thumb prints about the collar band was eloquent evidence of the struggle poor Tommy had experienced.

"But this!" the other breathed, plunging again into the bag. "This here is--"

He broke short. "Why, you pore son-of-a-gun!" he whispered as he produced his collar.

Originally it had been a three-inch poke collar, but it was bent and broken and smeared on one side with a broad patch of dirty brown.

"Gosh a'mighty, Tommy, you've gone an' crippled your collar!" Bruce said in rebuke.

"Crippled is right, an' that ain't all! Kind of a sick lookin' pinto, he is, with that bay spot on him." He looked up foolishly. "I ought to put that plug in my pocket. You see, I rode out fast, an' this collar an' my eatin' tobacco was in th' bottom of th' bag tied on behind my saddle.

Nig sweat an' it soaked through an' wet th' tobacco an' ... desecrated my d.a.m.n collar!"

He rose resolutely.

"A li'l thing like that can't make me quit!" he cried. "I rode this here thing with its team-mate yesterday. I won't be stampeded by no change in color. I've done my family wash in every stream between th' Spanish Peaks an' California. I won't stop at this!"

He strode from the bunk house and Bruce, looking through the window, saw him lift a bucket of water from the well and commence to scrub his daubed collar vigorously.

Smoke rose from the chimney of the ranch house and through the kitchen doorway Bayard saw a woman pa.s.s with quick, intent stride. It was Mrs.

Boyd. She and Mrs. Weyl had arrived the day before to set the house aright and to deck the rooms in mountain greenery--mistletoe, juniper berries and other decorative growth.

The new bunkhouse, erected when plans for the wedding were first made, had been occupied for the first time by Bruce and Tommy that night.

Tommy was to return in the spring and put his war-bag under the bunk for good, because Bruce was going in for more cattle and would be unable to handle the work alone.

A half hour later the men presented themselves for breakfast, to be utterly ignored by the bustling women. They were given coffee and steak and made to sit on the kitchen steps while they ate, that they might not be in the way. Bruce was amused and rebuked the women gently for the seriousness with which they went about their work, but for Tommy the whole procedure was a grave matter. He ate distractedly, hurriedly, covering his embarra.s.sment by astonis.h.i.+ng gastronomic feats, glancing sidelong at Bayard whenever the rancher spoke to the others, as though those scarcely heeded remarks were something which made heavy demands upon human courage.

The interior of the house had been changed greatly. The kitchen range was new, the walls were papered instead of covered with whitewash. The room in which Ned Lytton had slept and fretted and come back toward health was no longer a bed chamber. Its windows had been increased to four that the light might be of the best. Its floor was painted and carpeted with new Navajo blankets and a bear skin. A piano stood against one wall and on either side of the new fireplace were shelves weighted with books that were to be opened and read and discussed by the light of the new reading lamp which stood on the heavy library table.

Tommy was obviously relieved when his meal was finished. He drew a long sigh when, wiping his mouth on a jumper sleeve, he stepped from the house and followed Bruce toward the corral where the saddle horses ate hay.

"It's a wonder you ain't ruined that horse, th' way you baby him," Clary remarked, when Bayard, brush in hand, commenced grooming Abe's sleek coat. "Now, with my Nig horse there, I figure that if he's full inside, he's had his share. I'm afraid that if I brushed him every day he'd get dudish an' unreliable, like me.... I'm ready to do a lot of rarin' an'

runnin' every time I get good an' clean!"

"I guess th' care Abe's had hasn't hurt him much," Bruce replied. "He was ready when the pinch came; th' groomin' I'd been givin' him didn't have much to do with it, I know, but th' fact that we were pals ... that counted."

His companion sobered and answered.

"You're right, there, Bruce, he sure done some tall travelin' that day."

"If he hadn't been ready ... we wouldn't be plannin' a weddin' this noon. That's how much it counted!"

Tommy moved closer and twined his fingers in the sorrel's mane. Neither spoke for a moment; then Clary blurted: