Bat Wing Bowles Part 13

"Of course," he said at length, "your daughter is very attractive----"

"Oh, do you think so?" exclaimed Mrs. Lee, making no concealment of her pleasure in the fact. "I thought, from the way you spoke to her--when I introduced you, you know----"

"Oh, that was just my manner!" interrupted Bowles hastily. "A little embarra.s.sed, perhaps."

"But I thought," persisted Mrs. Lee, "I thought from the way you both acted that you had met before. In New York, perhaps--you know, she has been there all winter--or some time before that evening. You know, Dixie is generally so free with the new cowboys, but she spoke up at you so sharply, and you----"

"Ah--excuse me," interposed Bowles, "perhaps I would better explain.

I did meet your daughter, very informally to be sure, on the morning of my arrival at Chula Vista. It was that which caused my embarra.s.sment--always painful when people fail to recognize you, you know--and especially with a lady. Er--what do all these prairie-dogs live on, Mrs. Lee? We have pa.s.sed so many of them, but I don't see----"

"Mr. Bowles," said Mrs. Lee, placing her hand once more upon his arm and looking at him with an anxious mother's eyes, "I want you to meet my daughter again. She was in New York all winter, you know, and perhaps you have some friends in common. Anyway, I wish we could see more of you--it would be such a pleasure to me, and Dixie----"

She let her eyes express her longing for the improvement of Dixie's diction--a certain approval, too, of Bowles--but he did not respond at once. Fighting within his breast was a mad, fatuous desire to stand in the presence of his beloved, to hear the music of her voice and behold the swiftness and grace of her comings and goings; but almost as an echo in his ears he could hear the mocking formalism of her answers, and feel the scorn in her eyes as she sneered at him for pursuing her. His face became graver as he thought, and then, with the ready wit of his kind, he framed up a tactful excuse.

"Oh, thank you," he said. "It's very kind of you, I'm sure--and there is nothing I should enjoy more--but under the circ.u.mstances I am afraid I shall have to decline. You know of course that, whatever my life may have been in the past, at present I am nothing but a hired hand--and a very poor hand at that, I am afraid. And since Mr. Lee has asked you not to make exceptions among the men, I should be very sorry indeed to go against his wishes."

"Oh, that is not the rule, Mr. Bowles," protested Mrs. Lee. "We make exceptions to it all the time, and I am sure Henry would be glad to have you come. Some evening after supper, you know. I want so much to have Dixie meet people of refinement and education, and while for the moment you may be working as a common cowboy, of course we know----"

"You know very little, as a matter of fact," interposed Bowles; "and I am sorry that circ.u.mstances make it impossible for me to discuss my antecedents. But has it not occurred to you, Mrs. Lee, that, considering the att.i.tude of the cowboys in the past, it might--well, my motives might be misunderstood--if I should call."

"Why, surely, Mr. Bowles," began Mrs. Lee, her eyes big with wonder, "you are not--er--afraid of what the cowboys----"

"Oh, no, no!" protested Bowles, blus.h.i.+ng to the tips of his sunburned ears. "Certainly not! I did not mean the cowboys."

"Well, what then?" demanded Mrs. Lee, in perplexity.

Mr. Bowles hesitated a moment, looking straight ahead to where Chula Vista rose between the horses' ears.

"You will excuse me, Mrs. Lee, I'm sure," he said, speaking very low.

"But when I spoke of my motives being misunderstood, I did not have reference to the cowboys. I was--er--thinking of your daughter."

"My daughter!" echoed Mrs. Lee, suddenly sitting up very straight in her seat. Then, as the significance of his remarks became evident, she gazed across at him reproachfully.

"Why, Mr. Bowles!" she said; and then there was a long, pensive silence, broken only by the thud of flying feet, the rattle and rumble of wheels, and the _yikr-r-r_ of startled prairie-dogs.

CHAPTER XIII

A LETTER FROM THE POSTMISTRESS

The morning after Bowles' return from his trip to Chula Vista--during which he had made the startling proposition about being misunderstood by Dixie Lee--the entire Bat Wing outfit packed up its plunder and pulled out for the big round-up. First the cowboys, with a fifteen-mile ride ahead of them before they began to gather, went stringing across the plains at a high trot; then the remuda, stretching out in a mighty fan of horses, came fogging along behind them, to be ready for a change at the cutting-grounds; and last the chuck-wagon and the bed-wagon--one full of Dutch ovens and provisions, the other piled high with well-lashed beds--went hammering through chuck holes and dipping into dry washes in a desperate attempt to reach the rendezvous in time for dinner.

A gangling youth in overalls, and with a pair of cheap "can-opener"

spurs on his shoes, acted the part of a.s.sistant to the horse-wrangler; and an open-faced individual with a great taste for plug tobacco and the song called "Casey Jones" drove the bed-wagon for Gloomy Gus; but Bowles rode out with the cowboys. By a piece of good luck, he had backed Wa-ha-lote into a corner that morning, and so menaced him with his rope that the good-natured monarch had finally stood and surrendered for a handful of sugar. So Mr. Bowles rode out in style, without any ostensible glances toward the big house, where Dixie May was reviewing her admirers from the gallery. By this time, of course, Mrs. Lee would have informed her daughter of the Eastern stray's presumption--of his daring to suggest that, in case he called, she, Dixie, might misunderstand his motives and think he was laying siege to her heart--and of course Dixie May would be indignant!

But, if she was, she carried it off well, for Bowles never got a look from her. Of course, in a bunch of thirty cowboys, even on such a fancy mount as high-headed Wa-ha-lote, one man does not stand out conspicuously from the rest--that is, not unless his horse is pitching.

Hardy Atkins was on an outlaw sorrel called El Paso del Norte, and he made up the center of the picture. Del Norte was a wonder at the buck-jump, especially if some one spurred him in the shoulders, which Hardy did, and the departure of our hero was a little dimmed by his dust. Still Bowles was pleased, even if he was leaving the home of his beloved for two weeks, for something told him that he had at last won distinction in the ruck of suitors--the only man who had not let it go for granted that he was in love with Dixie Lee. Of course, he was--desperately so--but an instinct deep down in his breast warned him to conceal it from all the world. And especially from Dixie, the capricious; otherwise, she might win him by a glance and a smile, and then disprize him forever.

But now the stern realities of life loomed up before him, and Bowles found himself with a real round-up on his hands. It does not take much of a man to sit on the front porch and talk near-love with a girl; but to follow a Western round-up is a task to try the hardiest. For three hours Bowles rode at a rough trot across the valley, fighting down the awful instinct to rise in his stirrups and "bob"; and then as the distant hills grew nearer the cowboys broke into a lope. They separated into two parties that formed the horns of a circle, dropping off man after man as they jumped up cattle, and still spurring on and on. The puncher with the weakest horse was dropped first, for there would be no chance to change till noon, and the best mounted was saved to the last in order to get his full strength. Bowles was on Wa-ha-lote, and he rode to the end before Henry Lee sent him back with the herd.

Very slowly now he plodded along behind his bunch of cattle, riding back and forth as he picked up strays, and driving them all to some common center. To the right and left, and far across to distant hills, he could see lone men at their task, and the great plain became dotted with cattle as the circle closed in on the grounds. A hundred cow-trails, sinuous as snake-tracks, led in to this place they all sought, and when the lowing strings of cattle met it was on the flat by a dammed-up lake.

There the herds were thrown together, carefully so that no mother should lose her calf; and while they stood them upon the cutting-ground the wrangler brought up his horses, and each man caught out a fresh mount.

Nowhere in all his work is the mastery of the cowboy more apparent than when he changes horses on the open plain. The great remuda of over two hundred horses was driven in on the gallop; then the cowboys rounded them up, and each man dropped to the ground. One by one they took down their ropes and threw the loose ends to their neighbors, and there in a minute's time was a corral that would hold the wildest outlaw, for a rope is the greatest terror of a cow-pony. It was a rope that fore-footed him when he was a colt, and bound him at the branding; every morning the long, snaky loops whizzed past their ears and dragged out those who must ride till they were ready to drop; and so, even though they had the power to brush the rope fence aside, the frightened horses huddled away from it and submitted to the noose.

Bowles was barred, for his Mother Hubbard roping threw the herd into a frenzy; so he saddled up for Brigham and let that doughty puncher drag out his mount. Then the cutting and branding began, and Henry Lee put him to flanking calves. Perhaps he, too, had heard of the tenderfoot's remarks about his daughter; or it may have been the original grouch; but Bowles knew from the look in his eye that he was elected to do his full share. So he labored on, trying to learn the tricks of the older flankers, and schooling himself to their stoical endurance.

A heavy wind came up, sweeping the dust across the flat in clouds, and still the cutters rode and roped. They ate dinner in relays, turning their backs to the storm and bolting their grimy food in silence, and hurried back to the herd. The sparks from the branding-fire flew fifty feet in a line, and the irons would hardly hold heat in the wind; but they carried the work through to the end. Then they moved the herd to harder ground, and cut it between the gusts, when every horse turned tail and the riders shut their eyes. The ones and twos were lumped together, the strays turned loose on the plain, and the outfit plodded on to the east, driving their cut before them.

That night they camped at a ranch, throwing down their beds in barns and sheds, and eating in the open. The next day they braved the wind and combed the distant mountain, riding far over the rocky slopes, and branding in a canon. On the third day the wind brought up rain and sleet, and the mountains were powdered with snow, but the round-up moved on inexorably. Then the wind veered to the east and the air became bitter cold; Gloomy Gus could hardly cook for the gale that a.s.saulted him, and the wrangler lost eight or ten horses; but still the hardy cowboys rode and cut and branded, for a round-up never stops for wind and weather.

As for Bowles, his face was peeled and swollen, his eyes half-blinded by dust and wind, his body chilled through in spite of his clothes, and he saw himself in that company like a child among grown-up men. Half of the cowboys left their coats on the wagon until the day of the blizzard; and Brigham was still in his s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, having rolled up his coat with his bed and forgotten to bring his slicker. Yet none of them railed at the weather; no one quit; it was their life. Perhaps from their earliest boyhood they had braved the Texas northers or endured the continual sandstorms of high and windy plains. They were used to it, like the horses that bore them; but Bowles was a more delicate plant. All he could do was to live on from day to day, wondering at their courage and hardihood, and marveling at his own presumption in thinking he could play at their game.

A week pa.s.sed, and the wind grew warmer, though it still swept in from the southeast. The outfit reached the limit of its circle and turned toward home, sending its cuts of dogies on before it. On the first of May they were contracted to be delivered at Chula Vista, there to be s.h.i.+pped to Colorado and the Texas Panhandle and fattened into steers.

But feed was short, for the cold had set back the gra.s.s, and Henry Lee had wired that he could deliver on the twentieth. So while he waited for an answer he sent his cattle ahead of him, and every day as he rode he watched for a messenger from home.

Nor was he alone in this, for the messenger would be Dixie; but no one said a word. It was part of the patience of these rugged sons of the desert that they should make no sign. They were camped in a grove of sycamores beneath the shelter of a hill, and the outfit was gathered about the fire, when she rode in at the end of the day. Each man of them regarded her silently as she carried the word to her father; and then, when he nodded his satisfaction, they stirred in expectation of her greeting.

"Howd-do, boys?" she said, vaulting lightly off her horse and coming nearer. "'Evening, Mr. Mosby; what's the chance for a little supper?"

She looked them all over casually as she drew off her gloves by the fire, and for a few minutes the conversation was confined to news. Then she went back to her saddle, and returned with a bundle of letters.

"Well, boys," she remarked, with a teasing smile, "I'm postmistress this trip, so line up here and give me your present names--also the names you went by back in Texas. 'James Doyle!' Why, is that your name, Red?

Here's one for you, too, Uncle Joe. All right now, here's one from Moroni--for Charley Clark! Aw, Brig, are you still writing to that girl down on the river? Well, isn't that provoking! And here's a whole bunch for Hardy Atkins. Every one from a girl, too--I can tell by the handwriting. No, Mr. Buchanan, you don't draw anything--not under that name, anyway. But here's one for Sam Houghton--maybe that's for you? No?

Well, who is it for? No, we can't go any further until I deliver this Houghton letter. Who is there here that answers to the name of Sam?"

She glanced all around, a roguish twinkle in her eye, but no one claimed that honor.

"Nothing to be afraid of," she urged. "It was mailed at Chula Vista, and written by a girl. Pretty handwriting, too--something like mine. I bet there's something nice inside of it--I can tell by the curly-cues on the letters."

Once more she surveyed her circle of smirking admirers, but no one answered the call. She looked again, and her eyes fell on Mr. Bowles.

"Stranger," she said, speaking with well-simulated hesitation, "I didn't quite catch your name down at the ranch--isn't this letter for you?"

For a moment Bowles' heart stopped beating altogether and a hundred crazy fancies fogged his brain; then he shook his head, and gazed shamefacedly away.

"My name is Bowles," he said stiffly; "Samuel Bowles."

"Well, this says Samuel," reasoned Dixie Lee, advancing to show him the letter. "Here--take a look at it!"

She stepped very close as she spoke, and as Bowles glanced at her he saw that her eyes were big with portent. Then he scanned the letter, and in a flash he recognized her handwriting--the same that he had seen on the train. A strange impulse to possess the missive swept over him at this, and his hand leaped out to seize it; but the look in her eyes detained him. They were big with mystery, but he sensed also a shadow of deceit.

And while she might merely have designs on his peace of mind, there were other possibilities involved. To be sure, his name had been Houghton on his railroad ticket, but that did not prove anything now; and, besides, he did not want even that to be known. Affairs of the heart prosper best in secret, without the aid of meddling or officious outsiders; and for that reason, if for no other, Bowles desired to remain incog. Even with a false clue, Dixie May might write to New York, and ultimately reach his aunt, thus cutting short his romantic adventures. She might even--but he skipped the rest of the things she might do, and straightened his face to a mask.

"Ah, thank you, no," he said, speaking very formally. "Not for me--though the handwriting does seem familiar."