JOURNEYS END IN LOVERS’ MEETING
It had been six days since the two Ned Bannisters had ridden away
together into the mountains, and every waking hour since that time had
been for Helen one of harassing anxiety. No word had yet reached her of
the issue of that dubious undertaking, and she both longed and dreaded
to hear. He had promised to send a messenger as soon as he had anything
definite to tell, but she knew it would be like his cousin, too, to
send her some triumphant word should he prove the victor in the
struggle between them. So that every stranger she glimpsed brought to
her a sudden beating of the heart.
But it was not the nature of Helen Messiter to sit down and give
herself up a prey to foreboding. Her active nature cried out for work
to occupy her and distract her attention. Fortunately this was to be
had in abundance just now. For the autumn round-up was on, and since
her foreman was away the mistress of the Lazy D found plenty of work
ready to her hand.
The meeting place for the round-up riders was at Boom Creek, five miles
from the ranch, and Helen rode out there to take charge of her own
interests in person. With her were six riders, and for the use of each
of them in addition to his present mount three extra ponies were
brought in the remuda. For the riding is so hard during the round-up
that a horse can stand only one day in four of it. At the appointed
rendezvous a score of other cowboys and owners met them. Without any
delay they proceeded to business. Mr. Bob Austin, better known as
“Texas,” was elected boss of the round-up, and he immediately assigned
the men to their places and announced that they would work Squaw Creek.
They moved camp at once, Helen returning to the ranch.
It was three o’clock in the morning when the men were roused by the
cook’s triangle calling them to the “chuck wagon” for breakfast. It was
still cold and dark as the boys crawled from under their blankets and
squatted round the fire to eat jerky, biscuits and gravy, and to drink
cupfuls of hot, black coffee. Before sun rose every man was at his post
far up on the Squaw Creek ridges ready to begin the drive.
Later in the day Helen rode to the _parada_ grounds, toward which a
stream of cattle was pouring down the cañon of the creek. Every gulch
tributary to the creek contributed its quota of wild cows and calves.
These came romping down the cañon mouth, where four picked men, with a
bunch of tame cows in front of them, stopped the rush of flying cattle.
Lunch was omitted, and branding began at once. Every calf belonging to
a Lazy D cow, after being roped and tied, was flanked with the great D
which indicated its ownership by Miss Messiter, and on account of the
recumbent position of which letter the ranch had its name.
It was during the branding that a boyish young fellow rode up and
handed Helen a note. Her heart pumped rapidly with relief, for one
glance told her that it was in the handwriting of the Ned Bannister she
loved. She tore it open and glanced swiftly through it.
DEAR FRIEND: Two hours ago my cousin was killed by one of his own men.
I am sending back to you a boy who had been led astray by him, and it
would be a great service to me if you would give him something to do
till I return. His name is Hugh Rogers. I think if you trust him he
will prove worthy of it.
Jim and I are going to stay here a few days longer to finish the work
that is begun. We hope to meet and talk with as many of the men
implicated in my cousin’s lawlessness as is possible. What the result
will be I cannot say. We do not consider ourselves in any danger
whatever, though we are not taking chances. If all goes well we shall
be back within a few days.
I hope you are not missing Jim too much at the roundup. Sincerely,
NED BANNISTER
She liked the letter because there was not a hint of the relationship
between them to be read in it. He had guarded her against the chance of
its falling into the wrong hands and creating talk about them.
She turned to Hughie. “Can you ride?”
“In a way, ma’am. I can’t ride like these men.” His glance indicated a
cow-puncher pounding past after a wild steer that had broken through
the cordon of riders and was trying to get away.
“Do you want to learn?”
“I’d like to if I had a chance,” he answered wistfully.
“All right. You have your chance. I’ll see that Mr. Austin finds
something for you to do. From to-day you are in my employ.”
She rode back to the ranch in the late afternoon, while the sun was
setting in a great splash of crimson. The round-up boss had hinted that
if she were nervous about riding alone he could find it convenient to
accompany her. But the girl wanted to be alone with her own thoughts,
and she had slipped away while he was busy cutting out calves from the
herd. It had been a wonderful relief to her to find that _her_ Ned
Bannister was the one that had survived in the conflict, and her heart
sang a paean of joy as she rode into the golden glow of the westering
sun. He was alive—to love and be loved. The unlived years of her future
seemed to unroll before her as a vision. She glowed with a resurgent
happiness that was almost an ecstasy. The words of a bit of verse she
had once seen—a mere scrap from a magazine that had stuck in an obscure
corner of her memory—sang again and again in her heart:
Life and love
And a bright sky o’er us,
And—God take care
Of the way before us!
Ah, the way before them, before her and her romance-radiating hero! It
might be rough and hilly, but if they trod it together—Her tangled
thoughts were off again in another glad leap of imagination.
The days passed somehow. She busied herself with the affairs of the
ranch, rode out often to the scenes of the cattle drives and watched
the round-up, and every twenty-four hours brought her one day nearer to
his return, she told herself. Nora, too, was on the lookout under her
longlashed, roguish eyelids; and the two young women discussed the
subject of their lovers’ return in that elusive, elliptical way common
to their sex.
No doubt each of these young women had conjectured as to the manner of
that homecoming and the meeting that would accompany it; but it is safe
to say that neither of them guessed in her day-dreams how it actually
was to occur.
Nora had been eager to see something of the round-up, and as she was no
horsewoman her mistress took her out one day in her motor. The drive
had been that day on Bronco Mesa, and had finished in the natural
corral made by Bear Cañon, fenced with a cordon of riders at the end
opening to the plains below. After watching for two hours the busy
scenes of cutting out, roping and branding, Helen wheeled her car and
started down the cañon on their return.
Now, a herd of wild cattle is uncertain as an April day’s behavior.
Under the influence of the tame valley cattle among which they are
driven, after a little milling around, the whole bunch may gentle
almost immediately, or, on the other hand, it may break through and go
crashing away on a wild stampede at a moment’s notice. Every
experienced cowman knows enough to expect the unexpected.
At Bronco Mesa the round-up had proceeded with unusual facility. Scores
of wiry, long-legged steers had drifted down the ridges or gulches that
led to the cañon; and many a cow, followed by its calf, had stumbled
forward to the herd and apparently accepted the inevitable. But before
Helen Messiter had well started out of the cañon’s mouth the situation
changed absolutely.
A big hill steer, which had not seen a man for a year, broke through
the human corral with a bellow near a point where Reddy kept guard. The
puncher wheeled and gave chase, Before the other men could close the
opening a couple of two-year-olds seized the opportunity and followed
its lead. A second rider gave chase, and at once, as if some imp of
mischief had stirred them, fifty tails went up in wild flight. Another
minute and the whole herd was in stampede.
Down the gulch the five hundred cattle thundered toward the motor car,
which lay directly in their path. Helen turned, appreciated the danger,
and put the machine at its full speed. The road branched for a space of
about fifty yards, and in her excitement she made the mistake of
choosing the lower, more level, one. Into a deep sand bed they plowed,
the wheels sinking at every turn. Slower and slower went the car;
finally came to a full stop.
Nora glanced back in affright at the two hundred and fifty tons of beef
that was charging wildly toward them. “What shall we do?” she gasped,
and clambered to the ground.
“Run!” cried Helen, following her example and scudding for the sides of
the cañon, which here sloped down less precipitately than at other
points. But before they had run a dozen steps each of them was aware
that they could not reach safety in time to escape the hoofs rushing
toward them so heavily that the ground quaked.
“Look out!” A resonant cry rang out above the dull thud of the
stampeding cattle that were almost upon them. Down the steep sides of
the gorge two riders were galloping recklessly. It was a race for life
between them and the first of the herd, and they won by scarce more
than a length. Across the sand the horses plowed, and as they swept
past the two trembling young women each rider bent from the saddle
without slackening speed, and snatched one almost from under the very
hoofs of the leaders.
The danger was not past. As the horses swerved and went forward with
the rush Helen knew that a stumble would fling not only her and the man
who had saved her, but also the horse down to death. They must contrive
to hold their own in that deadly rush until a way could be found of
escaping from the path of the living cyclone that trod at their heels,
galloped beside them, in front, behind.
For it came to her that the horse was tiring in that rush through the
sand with double weight upon its back.
“Courage!” cried the man behind her as her fearful eyes met his.
As he spoke they reached the end of the cañon and firm ground
simultaneously. Helen saw that her rescuer had now a revolver in his
hand, and that he was firing in such a way as to deflect the leaders to
the left. At first the change in course was hardly perceptible, but
presently she noticed that they were getting closer to the outskirts of
the herd, working gradually to the extreme right, edging inch by inch,
ever so warily, toward safety. Going parallel to their course, running
neck and neck with the cow pony, lumbered a great dun steer.
Unconsciously it blocked every effort of the horseman to escape. He had
one shot left in his revolver, and this time he did not fire into the
air. It was a mighty risk, for the animal in falling might stagger
against the horse and hunt them all down to death. But the man took it
without apparent hesitation. Into the ear of the bullock he sent the
lead crashing. The brute stumbled and went down head over heels. Its
flying hoofs struck the flanks of the pony, but the bronco stuck to its
feet, and next moment staggered out from among the herd stragglers and
came to halt.
The man slid from its back and lifted down the half-fainting girl. She
clung to him, white a trembling. “Oh, it was horrible, Ned!” She could
still look down in imagination upon the sea of dun backs that swayed
and surged about them like storm-tossed waves.
“It was a near thing, but we made it, girl. So did Jim. He got out
before we did. It’s all past now. You can remember it as the most
exciting experience of your life.”
She shuddered. “I don’t want to remember it at all.” And so shaken was
she that she did not realize that his arm was about her the while she
sobbed on his shoulder.
“A cattle stampede _is_ a nasty thing to get in front of. Never mind.
It’s done with now and everybody’s safe.”
She drew a long breath. “Yes, everybody’s safe and you are back home.
Why didn’t you come after your cousin was killed?”
“I had to finish my work.”
“And _did_ you finish it?”
“I think we did. There will be no more Shoshone gang. It’s members have
scatted in all directions.”
“I’m glad you stayed, then. We can live at peace now.” And presently
she added: “I knew you would not come back until you had done what you
set out to do. You’re very obstinate, sir. Do you know that?”
“Perseverance, I call it,” he smiled, glad to see that she was
recovering her lightness of tone.
“You don’t always insist on putting your actions in the most favorable
light. Do you remember the first day I ever saw you?”
“Am I likely ever to forget it?” he smiled fondly.
“I didn’t mean _that_. What I was getting at was that you let me go
away from you thinking you were ‘the king.’ I haven’t forgiven you
entirely for that.”
“I expect y’u’ll always have to be forgiving me things.”
“If you valued my good opinion I don’t see how you could let me go
without telling me. Was it fair or kind?”
“If y’u come to that, was it so fair and kind to convict me so promptly
on suspicion?” he retaliated with a smile.
“No, it wasn’t. But—” She flushed with a divine shyness. “But I loved
you all the time, even when they said you were a villain.”
“Even while y’u believed me one?”
“I didn’t. I never would believe you one—not deep in my heart. I
wouldn’t let myself. I made excuses for you—explained everything to
myself.”
“Yet your reason told y’u I was guilty.”
“Yes, I think my mind hated you and my heart loved you.”
He adored her for the frank simplicity of her confession, that out of
the greatness of her love she dared to make no secret of it to him.
Direct as a boy, she was yet as wholly sweet as the most retiring girl
could be.
“Y’u always swamp my vocabulary, sweetheart. I can’t ever tell y’u—life
wouldn’t be long enough—how much I care for you.”
“I’m glad,” she said simply.
They stood looking at each other, palms pressed to palms in meeting
hands, supremely happy in this miracle of love that had befallen them.
They were alone—for Nora and Jim had gone into temporary eclipse behind
a hill and seemed in no hurry to emerge—alone in the sunshine with this
wonder that flowed from one to another by shining eyes, by finger
touch, and then by meeting lips. He held her close, knew the sweet
delight of contact with the supple, surrendered figure, then released
her as she drew away in maidenly reserve.
“When shall we be married, Helen? Is the early part of next week too
late?” he asked.
Still blushing, she straightened her hat. “That’s ridiculous, sir. I
haven’t got used to the thought of you yet.”
“Plenty of time for that afterward. Then we’ll say next week if that
suits y’u.”
“But it doesn’t. Don’t you know that it is the lady’s privilege to name
the day? Besides, I want time to change my mind if I should decide to.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he laughed joyfully. “So I have to insist
on an early marriage.”
“Insist?” she demurred.
“I’ve been told on the best of authority that I’m very obstinate,” he
gayly answered.
“I have a mind of my own myself. If I ever marry you be sure I shall
name the day, sir.”
“Will y’u marry me the day Nora does Jim?”
“We’ll see.” The eyes slanted at him under the curved lashes, teased
him delightfully. “Did Nora tell you she was going to marry Jim?”
Bannister looked mildly hurt. “My common sense has been telling it to
me a month.”
“How long has your common sense been telling you about us?”
“I didn’t use it when I fell in love with y’u,” he boldly laughed.
“Of all things to say!”
“Because it would have told me y’u couldn’t possibly care for me.”
“Oh, that’s different!”
“Not being able to help myself, I just went ahead.”
“Isn’t it good? Isn’t it too good to be true—Ned?”
Tears brimmed in her happy eyes, and unconsciously she leaned toward
him. In an instant she was in his arms again, both of them compelled by
the imperative impulse of true lovers.
Out of the hollow presently appeared Nora and McWilliams, very much
oblivious of the outside world. Presently they condescended to
recognize the existence of Bannister and Helen.
“We’re allowin’ to be married in September,” said Mac sheepishly, by
way of explanation.
The two girls flew into each other’s arms. Over Nora’s shoulder Ned
caught his sweetheart’s eye and read there a blushing consent to a
public announcement.
“That’s ce’tainly a strange coincidence, Jim. So are we,” he answered
immediately.
The two friends shook hands.
THE END.