BY SUBTLE alchemy of thought Roderick’s feelings toward Scotty Meisch
had become entirely changed. On the ranch he had treated the rough,
uncultivated and at times insolent youth with contempt that was scarcely
concealed. He was not of his class; and Roderick by his manner had shown
that he counted Scotty as outside the pale of good breeding—a fellow
not to be associated with except in the necessary work of roping a steer
or handling a mob of cattle. It had been almost an act of condescension
on his part to accept Scotty’s challenge to try out their respective
riding abilities at the frontier fair. Any hurt the lad might have
received in the contest was part of the day’s game, and at the moment
Roderick had treated the incident with indifference. But now he found
himself feeling quite solicitous as to the poor fellow’s condition.
Of course Gail Holden, who had interested herself in the injured cowboy,
had nothing to do with this change of sentiment—at least Roderick’s
consciousness took no cognizance of her influence in the matter. All the
same, as he walked over to the hospital on the following afternoon to
inquire about the invalid, he was conning in his mind the chances of
perhaps meeting Gail there.
However Scotty Meisch was alone when Roderick was admitted to the ward.
There was only another occupant of the long room, occupying a cot at
the farther end. The nurse as she brought Roderick to Scotty’s bedside
declared that her patient was getting along fine, and that a visit from
a friend would cheer him up and do him good. Roderick smiled as he sat
down at the foot of the bed and the nurse moved away to attend to other
duties. Except for a bandaged head the cowboy looked fairly fit.
“How are you, old man?” Roderick asked in a kindly tone.
Scotty seemed quite disconcerted by this friendly greeting. He looked
sheepish and shame-faced.
“Oh, I’ll be all right in no time,” he mumbled. “Expect you
think I’m a mean cuss,” he added, after a moment’s pause, glancing
at Roderick then hastily looking away again.
“I haven’t said so,” replied Roderick in a pleasant and assuring
way.
“No, I know you hain’t said it. But I’ve never, liked you from
the first time we met over at the Shield’s ranch. I don’t know
why—damned if I do. But I didn’t like you and don’t like you now,
and I’m gosh’lmighty ashamed of myself fer bein’ so ornery.”
“You shouldn’t speak of yourself so harshly,” said Roderick,
somewhat interested in the turn the conversation was taking.
“I don’t deserve any kindness at your hands,” Meisch went on. “I
sure planned to kill you onct ‘til I found out you weren’t sweet
on Barbara Shields. Oh, I’m a low-down cuss, but I’m ambitious. You
hain’t the feller I’m after any more. It’s that lawyer Carlisle
and I’ll git him, you jist see. He’s got to keep out of my way,”
and as Scotty, with a black scowl on his face, said this he looked the
part of an avenging demon right enough.
“I know,” he continued, “Barbara is older than I am, but I’m
dead gone on her, even if she don’t know it, an’ I’ll do things
yet to that feller Carlisle.” Roderick was fairly perplexed by these
references to Barbara Shields and the disclosure of the rough cowboy’s
feelings toward his employer’s daughter. For a moment he could not
find the proper word to say. He just ventured a platitude, kindly spoken
as it was kindly intended: “Oh, you must get over these broodings,
Scotty.”
“It’s not broodings—it’s business, and I mean it,” he
muttered. “Oh, you needn’t look so darned solemn. I’ve no more bad
feelin’s agin you. But when you first came to the ranch, you know you
couldn’t ride any better than a kid. But you began givin’ yourself
airs, an’ then when I thought you were goin’ to cut me out
with Barbara I jist got plum crazy. That’s why I sent you fair
warnin’.”
A light broke in on Roderick.
“So it was you who slipped that note under Grant Jones’ door, was
it?” he asked in great surprise.
“Yas. You can know it now; who cares? But it was only later I saw
I was on a blind trail—that it was the other one you’re
after—goin’ fishin’ an’ all that sort o’ thing.”
Roderick reddened.
“Oh, that’s all fudge too,” he exclaimed uneasily.
“I’m not so sure ‘bout that,” replied Scotty, with a cunning
look in his eyes. “‘Sides, she’s dead gone on you, that’s
a cert. She was here all yesterday afternoon, and could speak about
nothin’ else—praised yer ridin’ and allowed she was tarnation
sorry to have missed seein’ you on Gin Fizz. Which reminds me that
I’ve got to comgratulate you on the championship.” He slipped a hand
timidly and tentatively from under the bed-spread. “Oh, I can admit
myself beat when I’m beat. You’ve grown to be a better’n rider
than me. I’m only a little skinny chap at the best, but you
showed yourself strong enough to kill that great big steer in the
bull-doggin’. You’ve got me skinned, and you hold the championship
right enough. Shake.”
And Scotty at last mustered up the moral courage to extend his hand.
Roderick took it and shook it warmly. So Gail had been talking about
him!—his heart had leaped with joy.
“I’m glad to hear you speak like that, Scotty,” he said with great
cordiality. “You and I can come to be mighty good friends.”
“Gee, but I wish I looked like you,” remarked Scotty, lapsing into a
half smile. “Shake hands again with me, won’t you?”
Roderick reached over and once more bestowed a good honest squeeze;
and he improved the occasion by begging Scotty not to indulge in evil
thoughts about killing people or anything of that sort.
“What makes you kind t’ me?” asked the lad as he looked
inquiringly at Roderick.
“I don’t know that I have been particularly kind to you,” replied
Roderick. “I begin to realize that I should have been here before now
to help cheer you up a bit while convalescing.”
Scotty turned from Roderick and looking at the ceiling was silent for a
few moments. At last he said: “Expect if I’d stay here a long, long
time you’d keep on bein’ kind t’ me. Possibly you would bring
Barbara with you on some of your visits. But I know I’m goin’ t’
get well, that’s the pity of it all. I wouldn’t be in bed now if
the doctor hadn’t said I got ter stay here for a few days. When I’m
well, why, then it’s all off with you an’ Scotty. You won’t pay
any more attention to me when I’m once more sound as a nut an’
ridin’ range than you would a low down coyote.”
“Why should I become indifferent to you?” inquired Roderick.
“Oh, no reason why you should, only you will,” replied Scotty.
“You are of the high-falutin’ an’ educated kind an’—well, I
never went to school more’n two weeks in my life. I got tired of the
educatin’ business—stole a horse and never did go back. An’ they
never caught me, nuther.”
He brightened up when he said this and laughed at his cleverness as if
it were a most pleasant remembrance.
“Where was your childhood home?” inquired Roderick.
“Now, right there,” replied Scotty, “is where yer presumin’.
You’re not talkin’ to me. D’ye suppose I’m goin’ ter tell yer
and have this whole business piped off and those fellers come out here
an’ pinch me for hoss-stealin’. Not on yer life, so long as Scotty
Meisch knows himself.”
Roderick smiled as he said: “Surely, Scotty, you are a very suspicious
person. I had no thought of doing what you suggest.”
“Waal,” drawled Scotty, “if you’d have been as near goin’ to
the penitentiary as often as I have, you’d learn to keep yer mouth
shut when people begin to inquire into your past hist’ry an’ not
unbosom yerself. Fact is, my hist’ry won’t stand investigatin’.
It’s fuller of thin places an’ holes than an old-fashioned tin corn
grater. You know what a grater is, don’t you? It’s a tin bent over
into a half moon an’ nailed to a board with holes punched from inside
out to make it rough. Where I come from we used to husk new corn just as
soon as it was out of the milk an’ grate it into meal. About the only
thing we had to live on was cornmeal mush an’ milk. Wish I had some
now. I’m hungrier than hell for it.”
The primitiveness of it all rather appealed to Roderick, and he called
the nurse and asked if she wouldn’t serve the patient with some
cornmeal mush with milk for dinner that evening.
“Certainly,” she replied, “if Dr. Burke does not object,” and
went away to make inquiries. In a little while she returned and said:
“The doctor says a nice bowl of cornmeal mush and milk would be just
the thing for Mr. Meisch.” And it was so arranged.
When the nurse had gone Roderick noticed a tear trickling down the cheek
of Scotty and in order not to embarrass the boy he turned away and stood
looking out of the window. Presently Scotty said: “I wish ter hell I
was decent, that’s what I wish.”
Without turning from the window Roderick inquired: “How old are you,
Scotty?”
“Guess I’m about nineteen. I don’t know fer sure. They never did
tell me when my birthday was.”
“How would you like to go to school, Scotty? Brace up and be an
educated chap like other fellows.”
“Me learn to read an’ write?” exclaimed Scotty. “Look here, Mr.
Warfield, are you chaffin’ me? That’s what some Englishmen called it
when they meant teasin’ and so I say chaffin’. Might as well use all
the big words a feller picks up on the way.” Roderick laughed aloud
at Scotty’s odd expressions and turned to him and said: “Scotty, you
aren’t a bad fellow. You have a good heart in you.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Scotty, shaking his head. “One
time there was a feller told me that tough cusses like me don’t have
hearts—just gizzards.”
“Well,” said Roderick, laughing, “my time has come to go now but I
want to tell you I like you, Scotty. You seem to me to be the making of
a very decent sort of chap, and if you will be a real good fellow
and are sincere about wanting to go to school and make something of
yourself, I believe I can arrange for you to do so.”
“Honest, Mr. Warfield, honest? Are you tellin’ me the truth or is
this a sick bed jolly?”
“Certainly I am telling you the truth,” replied Roderick. “You
think it all over until I come and see you again.”
“When’ll you come? Tomorrow?”
“Yes,” replied Roderick, “I’ll come tomorrow.”
“All right,” said Scotty, “I’ll sure look for yer.” The
next day when Roderick called, Major Buell Hampton and Grant Jones
accompanied him. They had a long talk with Scotty whose rapid recovery
showed improvement even from the previous day. After the subject had
been introduced by Roderick, who told Scotty that he had informed his
friends of the lad’s desire to go to school, Major Buell Hampton
observed: “A printing office, Mr. Meisch, is a liberal education
within itself. I have been talking this matter over with Mr. Jones,
the Editor of the Dillon Doublejack, and with Mr. Warfield, and we have
mutually agreed that if you are in earnest about leaving the range for
a while and will learn to read books and generally improve your mind,
we shall give you the opportunity. As soon as you are able to leave the
hospital, how would you like to go over to the little town of Dillon
with Mr. Grant Jones, this gentleman at my right, and go into his
printing office?”
“You would be my devil to start in with,” said Grant,
good-naturedly.
“Guess that’d about fit me,” responded Scotty with a grin.
“I’m a sort of a devil anyway, ain’t I?” and he looked toward
Roderick.
“Mr. Jones means a different kind of a devil, Scotty,” laughed
Roderick. “What Major Buell Hampton suggests to you is most excellent
advice, and I think you had better accept the offer. This job will give
you a home, and you will work in the printing office. You will soon
learn to read books, and also you will become a typesetter which, as
Major Hampton told you, is a practical education within itself and will
lead to better things and greater things along educational lines. Of
course, it may be some time before that knock on your head gets all
right.”
“Oh, don’t worry about my old bean,” said Scotty with a smile, as
he touched the bandage that encircled his cranium.
Finally Scotty said he believed he would like to try the new job. “You
know, I’ve been knocked ‘round over the world an’ kicked an’
thumped an’ had my ears cuffed an’ my shins barked so much that
I don’t hardly know what to make uv you fellers. If I was sure you
wasn’t stringin’ me an’ really meant it all as a kindness, why,
I’ll be goshdamed if I wouldn’t git up out o’ bed this minute
an’ start for Dillon. That’s what I’d do. I ain’t no piker.”
This speech was very amusing to Grant Jones; and he assured the injured
boy that he himself was not going over to Dillon for perhaps a week,
by which time if he were attentive to the instructions of the doctor he
probably would be able to accompany him.
“I’ll take you over,” said Grant, “and we’ll batch it together
so far as a place to sleep is concerned in the printing office. There
is a good boarding house just across the street where you can get your
meals.”
“Who’s goin’ ter pay for them?” asked Scotty. “I ain’t got
any money.”
“That,” said Roderick, “is what Major Buell Hampton is going to do
for you. Not only will he pay your board for one year until your work
is worth wages in the printing office, but he will also get you some
new clothes and a new pair of shoes and rig you out in good shape, old
man.”
“Gee, but you’re good to me, Major Hampton, and Warfield too. Yer
ought ter cuff my ears instead uv bein’ so all-fired kind.”
With this the loveless boy turned towards the wall and covered his
face. Both Major Hampton and Grant, as well as Roderick, were noticeably
affected, and the three walked over toward the window while Scotty was
collecting himself.
“I say,” said Grant, sotto voce, “in the language of Jim Rankin,
the worst that poor little devil will get—if he goes with me—will be
the best of it.”
Then the visitors turned round to say good-by. The invalid had had about
enough excitement for one day.
Just as they were departing, Scotty beckoned Roderick to his side.
“Stop a minute or two with me—alone,” he whispered. “I wants ter
tell you somethin’.”
Roderick excused himself to the others; he would join them on the porch
presently.
Scotty’s face wore a keen eager look.
“Say, if I helps you,” he began, “I’ll be doin’ a good turn,
won’t I, to the girl that saved my life by hurryin’ me along to this
‘orspital here?”
“I believe she will count it as a favor,” replied Roderick. “How
can you help me, Scotty?”
“An’ I’ll be doin’ you a favor,” continued the lad, without
answering the direct question, “if I do a good turn to your friend
with the name that reminds me of Bull Durham terbaccer?”
“Buell Hampton,” laughed Roderick.
“The Major you also call him. Wal, I can drop him a word o’
warnin’ too.”
“Oh, he has never a thought about love affairs,” replied Roderick,
smiling.
“But this is a warnin’ of another kind. Listen.” And Scotty drew
himself up to a sitting posture on the bed. “Come nearer.”
Roderick complied; his ear was close to Scotty’s lips. The cowboy
spoke in a whisper.
“The Major’s got a pile o’ rich ore stored in his house. There’s
a bunch o’ fellers agoin’ to get it, an’ they’ll shoot to kill
as sure as God made hell.”
Roderick mastered his emotion of surprise.
“When is this to take place, Scotty?” he asked quietly.
“Any night after tonight. Tonight they’ve fixed to square accounts
with some sheep herders over Jack Creek way. Then they’re goin’ for
the Major.”
Roderick gripped the other’s hand.
“Scotty, you have done me the biggest service in the world,” he said
earnestly. “But one thing more—who are these men?”
“I dassn’t tell. They’d plug me full o’ holes the moment I got
out o’ here.”
Roderick felt perplexed. He did not like to press for information that
might seem to threaten danger for Scotty himself.
The latter was watching his face furtively.
“I know you’re straight—you’ll never give a feller like me away
if I tell you one name.”
“Never. You may stake your life on that.”
“Wal, I don’t care what happens to him anyway. He’s a bad egg—a
rotten bad egg clean through. And I’m done with him from now right
on. I’m goin’ to take that printin’ devil’s job and act on the
square.”
“That’s right, Scotty. And we’ll all help you to get clear of bad
companions and bad influences. So it’s all right for you to give me
that name.”
“An’ she’ll be pleased too, won’t she, that Holden young
lady?”
“She’ll be always grateful to you for saving Buell Hampton.”
“That’s ‘nuff for me. The leader o’ that gang is—”
Scotty paused a moment; Roderick waited, silent and still.
“Bud Bledsoe,” whispered the lad. “Now I’ve stopped hatin’
you, I’ve sort o’ turned to hatin’ him and all his kind. But
you’ll not give me away, Warfield? I wants ter hold down that
printin’ job—that editor feller will make a man of me, that’s just
how I feel.”
“And just as we all feel,” said Roderick. “Now, Scotty, you must
lie down. Let me fix your pillow for you. You’ve got some fever yet, I
can see. You must rest, old fellow. You look tired.”
“Yes; I’m doggoned tired,” murmured the lad wearily, as he sank
back on the pillow and closed his eyes.
“He is sleeping now, I think,” said Roderick to the nurse as he
passed quietly out of the ward.