Bat Wing Bowles Part 10

The only men who can stand the monotony of day-herding are those who are not overburdened with brains, and so have the ability to turn off the thinking-machine entirely until they need it again. Smoking helps, and singing long-drawn songs; but Bowles turned back to Wordsworth, the poet of nature. Stray s.n.a.t.c.hes of poems and sonnets rose in his mind, and he tried to piece out the rest; then he gazed at the quivering mirage, the plain, the straying cattle, and wondered how Wordsworth would see it. He was engaged in this peaceful occupation when, on the second day, he noted a moving figure, far away; dreamily he watched it as it emerged from the barbed-wire lanes of the nesters, and then, like a flash, the words of Brigham came back to him: "I knowed her four miles away by section lines." It was Dixie Lee, and she was coming his way!

There were three other worthless cowboys like himself on the day-herd, and they had seen her already. Like Brigham, they knew her by the way she rode, miles and miles away. Steadily she pounded along, keeping the rangy bay at an even lope, and then she turned toward the ranch. The long wire fence of the horse pasture had thrown her from her course, but now she was on the barren prairie and could skirt the north fence home.

A series of muttered comments marked this sudden turn to the west, and the tall, cigarette-smoking youth who had been rubbing the sleep from his eyes lopped down beneath his salt-bush again. But he had returned to Morpheus too soon, for almost immediately after he had laid his hat over his eyes the distant rider changed her course, and the boys held up their hands for silence. Dixie Lee was going to make them a visit, after all, and they would let her catch him asleep.

Swiftly the tireless bay came loping across the flats, winding in and out to dodge the dog towns, and soon the queen of the cowboys was up to the edge of the herd.

"h.e.l.lo, Uncle Joe!" she hailed, riding over toward the old-timer. "How's your head?"

"All right, Miss Dix," replied the puncher amiably. "Cain't hurt a cowboy in the haid, you know."

"No, but you can spoil his looks, Uncle," retorted Dixie May playfully.

"You want to remember that--I heard a lady down here inquiring for you mighty special. What's the matter with Slim over there?"

A whoop went up at this, and the sleeper sat up guiltily.

"Oh, him?" queried Uncle Joe, speaking loud so that all could hear.

"W'y, kinder overcome by the heat, I reckon. He gits took that way every once in a while."

"Ever since he begin settin' up with that nester girl!" put in the other day-herder, with a guffaw; and Dixie May began to chuckle with laughter as she rode around the herd.

"Well, it's too bad about him," she called back. "I'll have to go over there and see if he's likely to die."

It took her but a moment to diagnose the sad case of Slim, and then the other cowboy had his call from the consulting physician. Bowles was the last man on the circuit, but he did not step out and bow. He did not expect a visit--and, besides, something told him she did not approve of it. So he stood quietly by his horse, and only his eyes followed her as she bore down on him, her head turned back to fling some gay retort and her horse falling into his stride. She rode to the right of him, and as she faced about and met his glance she stared, as if surprised.

"Why, h.e.l.lo there, cowboy!" she challenged bluntly; and then, with a smile on her face, she went galloping on toward the ranch.

n.o.body heard her speak but Bowles; and he, poor, unsophisticated man, was more puzzled than enlightened by her remarks. Of one thing he was sure--she had lowered her voice on purpose, and her words were for him alone. But her smile--was it one of derision, or a token of forgiveness and regard? And her secret greeting--was it an accident, or was she ashamed of his friends.h.i.+p? Perhaps she had weighty reasons for keeping their acquaintance unknown. Somehow, that thought appealed to him above the rest. Perhaps she knew more than he did of the dangers which surrounded him--from Hardy Atkins, or some other jealous suitor, to whom a single smile for him might be the signal for reprisal. They might--why, there were a thousand things they might do if they knew what was in his heart! Bowles ran it all over in his mind: her sudden turning upon him as they approached the Chula Vista hotel; her haughty repudiation of him when he met her at the big house; and now this secret greeting, so carelessly given, yet so fraught with hidden meaning.

"Why, h.e.l.lo there, cowboy!" she had said. And she appeared surprised, as if she had not expected to see him in the guise of an ordinary puncher.

She had smiled, too; but--well, a little too broadly. Of course, out in the West--but, even then, it was a little broad.

CHAPTER XI

CONEY ISLAND

It is wonderful how much a smile, or even a grin, will do for a disconsolate lover. Bowles woke suddenly to the beauties of nature and the wild joy of living; and that evening, instead of dropping into his blankets like a dead man, he tarried by the fire. A chill wind swept in from the frigid north, and the smoke guttered and flurried from the burning logs; but the cowboys sat about in their s.h.i.+rt-sleeves and blinked patiently when they caught the smoke. Inside the bunk-house the noise of the perpetual pitch game told where battles were being lost and won, a secret understanding that every game was worth a quarter on pay-day being the contributing cause for the excitement, since Henry Lee allowed no gambling among his punchers. But outside everybody was either broke or in the hole, and so there was nothing but peace and amity and long-winded arguments.

The talk for the moment was centered upon "ring-tail" in horses, a subject upon which Brigham Clark claimed to be an authority, although Bowles had never even heard of it before.

"No, sir," a.s.serted Brigham, addressing the company at large; "you show me a ring-tailed hawse, and I'll show you a hawse with weak kidneys, every time. Now, I don't say how he gits them weak kidneys, y'understand; he may git 'em from bein' rode too young, the way Uncle Joe claims; or he may git 'em from drinkin' bad water, like folks; or he may jest be born that way. But that ain't the point--when you take a nice young hawse and turn him up a hill, and he quits and goes to ringin' his tail around--that hawse is weak, I say, or he wouldn't quit.

A ring-tailed hawse is a weak hawse, and you might jest as well give 'im to the kids to play with--he'll never be no good fer a cow-pony."

Coming as this did at the end of a long and technical argument, it was allowed to pa.s.s by the company. A quiet fell, and three or four men to leeward got up to avoid the smoke; but all the time Brigham Clark sat on the box he had captured, his big black hat pushed back on his head, his hand held out to the fire, and his shrewd eyes twinkling as he gazed down into the flames. Then he shook with silent laughter, and they knew he was off on another one.

"Heh, heh, heh!" he chuckled. "Speakin' of ring-tails reminds me of a ring-tailed monkey I used to have to take care of when I was on the road. He was the orneriest little brat you ever see in yore life--a little, spider-legged proposition, with a long, limber tail, and big eyes that he'd always be winkin' and a-blinkin' while he was figurin'

out some new kind of devilment--and all the time he'd be sneezin' and cuddlin' and snugglin' up ag'inst you like he loved you more'n his mammy. The boss's wife kept the little snifter fer company-like, and she'd pet and coddle and talk foolish to 'im until the boss would nigh have a fit. Jest like when a woman keeps a lap-dog, I reckon--kinder makes a man want to kill 'im, to keep her from muchin' 'im all the time.

"Well, this here lady was sh.o.r.e foolish about that monkey, and every mornin' when we were in a town I had to take 'im out fer a walk.

Leastways, somebody had to do it; and rather than not see the town at all I'd take him along under my arm. If I'd had a hand-organ I'd sh.o.r.e made a lot of money that trip--but I was thinkin' about the time I took the ring out of his tail. Every time we'd come to a tree, or a fire-escape, or something like that, the little devil would begin to hook up at it with his tail; and this time I'm speakin' of we was goin'

through a little park, and I'm a son-of-a-gun if he didn't git away on me. Jest reached out with his tail where it was hangin' down behind, and grabbed a limb, and slipped the collar on me.

"Yes, sir! And then he begun doin' circus stunts through them trees.

First he'd climb up one, and then another, and then he hooked on to a fire-escape, and I chased him clean over a house. Policeman came along and wanted to arrest me, but I give 'im a talk and kept travelin', because I knew if I didn't ketch that monkey I didn't need to go back to the tent. Well, I chased him till my tongue hung out, but about the time I'd reach out to ketch 'im he'd swing off with his tail and git into the next tree; so I went over to a fruit store and tried to ketch 'im with bananas. Last chance I had, and I was gittin' pretty mad. All the kids was there to tease me, the policeman was tellin' me to move on--and that cussed monkey kept hangin' down by his tail and makin' faces at me, until, by grab, I reached down and took up a rock.

"'Now, hyer,' I says, holdin' up the banana, 'you'd better come down before I git hot and soak you with this,' and I showed him the size of that pavin' stone.

"'Etchee-etchee-etchee!' he says, swingin' up for a limb; and then I let 'im have it. They wasn't any ring in his tail when he come down, believe me; and when I showed the remains to the missus she like to tore my hair out. Boss he fired me--mad as the devil--then when she wasn't lookin' he slipped me a twenty, and told me to go back to Coney. There was a happy man, fellers, but he had to let on different--married, you know. So I took the twenty and went back to old Coney, where they shoot the chutes and loop the loops, and any man that's got a dime is as rich as John G.

Rockefeller. Big doin's back there, fellers--you don't know what you're missin'."

An abashed silence followed this remark, calculated as it was to reduce his hearers to a proper state of humility; and then, to add to its effectiveness, the Odysseus of the cow camps turned to Bowles.

"Ain't that so, stranger?" he said; and Bowles thought he detected a twinkle in his eye.

"Yes, indeed!" he replied. "There's no place in the world like Coney Island. Changing very rapidly, too. Have you been there lately? That Dreamland is wonderful, isn't it? And Luna Park----"

"Hah!" exclaimed Brigham, slapping his leg. "That's the place! Loony Park! Ain't that the craziest place you ever see? Everything upside-down, topsy-turvy--guess I never told you boys about that. Didn't dare to, by grab--not till this gentleman come along to back me up!"

He glanced at Bowles significantly and waited for the questions.

"What does she look like, Brig?" inquired Bar Seven, the stray man.

"Pretty fancy, eh?"

"Fancy!" repeated Brigham, with royal insolence. "Well, believe me, goin' through this Loony Park would make Tucson look like a cow camp!

She's sh.o.r.e elegant--silver and gold, and big barroom looking-gla.s.ses everywhere--only everything is upside-down. You go into the house through the chimney, walk around on the ceilin' and there's all the tables and chairs stuck up on the top. Big chandeliers standin' straight up from the floor, and all the pictures hangin' wrong side to on the walls. Stairs is all built backwards, and when you're half way up, if you look like a Rube, they'll straighten 'em out like a flat board and shoot you into the attic. Talk about crazy--w'y, they's been a feller walked through this Loony Park and never knowed straight up afterwards.

It's sh.o.r.e wonderful, ain't it, pardner?"

"Yes, indeed!" answered Bowles suavely; and, seeing that he could be relied upon, Brigham Clark cut loose with another one.

"Ain't that so, mister?" he inquired at the end; and Bowles, who saw a chance for revenge, a.s.sured the gawking cowboys that it was. These were the boys who had been gloating over him for a week and more, but now it was his turn.

"Yes, indeed," he replied, with a blase, worldly-wise air; "quite a common occurrence, I'm sure."

At this the ready Brigham took fresh courage, and his little eyes twinkled with mischief.

"Friend," he said, "if it's none of my business, of course you'll let me know, but you've been around a little, haven't you? Seen the world, mebbe? Well now, what's the wonderfulest thing you ever see?"

A flush of pleasure mantled Bowles' sunburned face, for it was the first time he had been addressed as man to man since he struck the Bat Wing; but he did not lose the point--Brigham had a bigger story to bring out and he was waiting for a lead.

"Well," he said, "I _have_ seen a good many wonderful exhibitions, but the one that I think of at this moment as the most striking was Selim, the diving horse. You remember him, I guess--out at Coney Island. He was a beautiful horse, wasn't he? Snowy white, with a long, flowing mane, and intelligent as a human. He mounted to a platform forty-five feet high and leaped off into a pool of water. That was the most wonderful thing I ever saw, because he did it all by himself--climbed up to the platform, stepped out to the diving-place, and jumped off when his master said the word. Yes, that was certainly wonderful."

"You bet!" a.s.sented Brig, regarding him with admiring eyes; but the others were not so easily satisfied. That was one thing they claimed to be up on--horses--and they looked the solemn stranger over dubiously.

"How high did you say that platform was?" inquired Uncle Joe cautiously.

"Forty-five--well, that was sh.o.r.e high. I cain't hardly git my hawse to cross the crick."