A GOOD SPORT
"Whew!" sighed Vivian, shifting her position in the saddle for the tenth
time in as many minutes, and taking off her broad-brimmed hat to fan her
tanned, flushed face. "I think sagebrush must attract the sun. I never was
hotter in all my life! I wish now we'd stayed at the Buffalo Horn and
waited till after supper to start back. Of course I don't exactly love
riding in the dark, but of the two I'd about as soon be scared to death as
baked. Where is the next shady spot, Virginia? I can't see a tree for
miles! I honestly can't!"
"There aren't any," said the comforting Virginia, brushing back the damp
rings of hair from her hot forehead, "and the next shady spot is two miles
away. The trail bends and there are some quaking-asps by a spring. We'll
rest there, and eat our cookies, and drink some real water. 'Twill be a
change from the river."
"I'm thankful for the river though, even if I have drunk all kinds of
bugs. I guess we'd have died without it through all these miles of
sagebrush. When will the others get home, do you suppose?"
"Not until late," Virginia answered, "that is, if they wait for supper.
I'd have loved to have stayed, but William wants Pedro for the range
to-morrow, and I wanted him to have a longer rest. Besides, he runs so
with the other horses and gets nervous. You were a peach to come with me,
Vivian. Right in the hottest part of the day, too."
Vivian was honest.
"It wasn't all out of kindness," she admitted, "though, of course, I love
to ride with you. I didn't especially care about riding home at night, and
I don't like such a big crowd either. Siwash always forgets how old he is,
and begins to act kittenish, and I never know what to do. I'm thirsty
again. Shall we drink a few more bugs?"
"Might as well, I suppose," Virginia replied. "Pedro and Siwash seem
ready. Ugh! I got one that time! Actually felt him go down my throat! We
ought not to put water on our faces, Vivian. They're peeling now! Here's
some cold cream!"
Vivian squeezed the tube and smeared her glowing nose, before she again
mounted Siwash.
"We mustn't drink any more of the river," she said. "I feel like an insect
cabinet already. Let's get to the quaking-asps as soon as we can and
rest."
Virginia's eyes glowed with pride as she watched Vivian mount Siwash and
ride away from the river. One would never have known it was the same
Vivian who nearly seven weeks ago had begged to stay at home from the
getting-acquainted trip. She had learned to ride well and easily, and no
apparent fear, at least of Siwash, remained. With still more pride
Virginia saw her tanned, happy face, the red color in her cheeks, and the
extra pounds which Wyoming had given her. The Big Horn country had been
kind to Vivian in more ways than one.
"I never saw any one improve so in riding, Vivian," she could not resist
saying. "You do every bit as well as Priscilla, and Don thinks she's a
marvel. I'm proud as Punch of you!"
Vivian's cheeks glowed redder.
"I can't help but be a tiny bit pleased with myself," she said
hesitatingly, "at least about the riding. And--and there are other things,
too, Virginia. Of course I know there have been loads of silly things--Mr.
Crusoe, for instance. I'll never forget how awful that was, even though
you were all so fine about it. But in spite of everything foolish, I have
learned things out here, Virginia, that I never knew in all my life.
Mother and Father probably won't see any difference next week when I get
home, but there is some just the same. I'm not quite such a--a coward as I
was! I feel it inside!"
"I know you do," said Virginia, riding Pedro closer. "It shows on your
face, too. I guess what's really inside of us usually does. You're getting
to be a good sport, Vivian, and we're all proud of it--with you!"
The knowledge of Virginia's approval somehow made the mid-day heat less
intense, and the two miles to the quaking-asps less long. It was good to
reach them, and to lie at full length on the cool ground before drinking
from the spring a few steps away. Pedro and Siwash were grateful, too, as
they cropped the sweet, moist grass. A half hour here would sustain them
against the three miles of sagebrush beyond.
Virginia and Vivian lay flat on their backs with their arms straight above
their heads and rested, as they had been taught to do at St. Helen's.
Above them the interlaced branches of the quaking-asps shut out the sun.
The air was still with that strange stillness which sometimes comes before
a storm. Even the ever-active leaves of the quaking-asps moved not at
all.
"It's the stillest place I ever knew," said Vivian, as she reached for a
cookie. "How far is it to the nearest house?"
Virginia considered.
"Six miles," she said. "No, there's a homesteader's cabin nearer. That's
about four, I guess, but Michner's, the cattle ranch, is six. We always
call them the nearest neighbors from here. It is still, isn't it?"
"Awfully!" returned Vivian.
Their words were hardly finished when the sound of hoofs broke the
stillness. Pedro and Siwash snorted. Virginia and Vivian sat up
quickly--one interested, the other alarmed. Some one was coming along the
rough trail through the sagebrush. Some one was very near! They peered
through the quaking-asps. The some one was a lone cowboy riding a buckskin
horse. He was leaning forward in his saddle and clutching the horn. His
face, almost covered by the big hat he wore, was close to the black mane
of the sturdy little buckskin.
From their shelter they watched him draw near with beating hearts. There
was something strange about him--strange as the stillness. They could not
see that he was guiding the horse, who apparently knew not only the way,
but her mission as well. She came straight toward the shady thicket and
stopped beneath the trees a few rods away from the two anxious spectators.
Her rider, conscious perhaps from the halt that he had reached his
destination, loosened his hold upon the saddle-horn, swung himself with a
mighty effort from the saddle, and fell upon the ground, his hat all
unnoticed falling from his head.
The buckskin was apparently worried. She sniffed the air dubiously,
snorted an anxious greeting to Pedro and Siwash, and moved to one side,
lest by mistake she should tread upon her master, who lay in a motionless
heap close beside her. Then Virginia's quick eyes discovered blood upon
the man's head and face. She jumped to her feet.
"He's hurt somehow, Vivian," she said, "terribly hurt, I'm afraid. We
mustn't leave him like this. He might die here all alone! Come on! Let's
see what we can do."
Vivian, too surprised to remonstrate, followed Virginia through the
quaking-asps. The man lay where he had fallen, unconscious of anything
about him. Blood was flowing from an ugly wound just above his forehead.
He was a sad and sorry sight. Vivian shuddered and drew back.
"Who is he, Virginia?" she breathed. "You know who he is, don't you? Oh,
what are you going to do?" For Virginia's strong young arms were trying
to pull the man into a more comfortable position, and farther beneath the
trees.
"No, I don't know who he is," she whispered, fanning the man's white face
with her broad-brimmed hat. "That doesn't make any difference. He's
awfully hurt! I thought at first 'twas a shot, but I guess he's fallen. It
looks like that. The horse belongs to Michner's. I know by the brand. Fan
him, Vivian, while I fix his head and see if he has any whisky about him
anywhere."
The dazed and frightened Vivian obediently took the fan, and turning her
face away, frantically fanned the quaking-asps until they danced and
fluttered once more. Virginia untied the cow boy's slicker from the back
of the buckskin's saddle and folded it into a pillow, which she placed
beneath the sick man's head. The buckskin was relieved and whinnied her
thanks. Then from one pocket she drew a small, leathern flask and shook
it.
"Empty!" she said. "Hard luck! Water will have to do. We were careless to
forget our drinking-cups. Rinse this flask, and get some water from the
spring, Vivian."
Vivian, still waving the fan in the air, brought the water, which Virginia
tried to pour between the man's lips. It seemed to arouse him, for he
drank some gratefully, though without opening his eyes.
"I ought to wash some of this blood away," said Virginia, "but I guess I
won't take the time. You can do that after I'm gone. There's only one
thing to do. We can't leave this man here in this condition. He might die
before any one found him. I'll take Pedro and ride on to Michner's as fast
as I can for help. Or," she added, seeing Vivian's eyes open wider, "_you_
take him, and I'll stay here. Either you like, only we must decide at
once. Maybe we'll meet somebody or somebody'll come, or maybe there'll be
somebody at the homesteader's cabin. Which will you do, ride or stay?"
Vivian had decided before she looked at Pedro. She always felt that Pedro
entertained scorn for her, contempt that wild gallops through the
sagebrush should, together with his youth and speed, present terrors. She
knew that he despised her for preferring Siwash to him.
"I'll stay," she said firmly. "Pedro will do more for you than for me.
When will you be back?"
Virginia was already in the saddle.
"Probably in little more than an hour, if I find folks," she said. "Keep
giving him some water if he needs it, and fan him. He may come to.
Good-by."
The sound of Pedro's feet died away all too quickly. The stillness which
followed was deeper than ever. It fairly sang in the air. For fully five
minutes Vivian stood motionless, loath to believe that Virginia had gone.
She did not want to be alone! Something inside of her cried out against
it. But she _was_ alone--she, Vivian Winters, alone with a dying cow boy
on a limitless Wyoming plain. Since the relentless knowledge pushed itself
upon her, she might as well accept it. _She was alone!_ And there was the
cow boy!
Virginia had said that he might come to! For her own sake she hoped he
didn't. He was awful enough as he was--blood-smeared and dirty--but at
least he did not realize the situation, and that was a scant comfort. If
he came to, he might be insane. Blows on the head often made persons so.
Given insanity and a gun, what would be the demonstration?
A low groan from the quaking-asp thicket brought Vivian to herself.
Imagination had no place here. This man was hurt, and she was strong and
well. There was a spring of water near by, and she had extra handkerchiefs
in her pocket. It was plainly up to her!
The stillness was less persistent after she had gone to the spring for
water. She forgot all about it as she knelt beside the wounded man and
washed the blood from his pain-distorted face. He opened his eyes as he
felt the cold cloths, and Vivian saw that they were good, blue eyes. They,
together with the absence of blood and dirt, told her that her patient was
young--only a boy, in fact! The cut on his head was ugly! Something
fluttered inside of her as she parted his hair to place a clean
handkerchief upon it, and for a moment she was ill and faint. The cow
boy's "Thank you, miss," brought her to herself. Perhaps he was coming
to! It was not so awful as she had thought.
But he again fell asleep, cleaner and more comfortable than before. The
buckskin whinnied her thanks, and put her nose against Vivian's arm as she
went to the spring for more water. For the first time in her life Vivian
felt the comradeship, the dumb understanding of a horse. Then Siwash
became glorified. He was something more than a ragged, decrepit old pony.
He was a companion, and Vivian stopped to pat him before she hurried back
to her patient.
Upon her return from her third journey after water, she found the cow
boy's eyes again open. This time he had raised himself on his elbow and
was looking at her. He had come to, and it was not horrible at all. Her
only feeling was one of alarm lest his sitting up should cause his wound
to bleed again, and she hurried to him.
"You're feeling better, aren't you?" she faltered. "But you'd better lie
down. You've got a pretty bad cut on your head."
The boy smiled in a puzzled way.
"I don't seem to remember much," he said, "except the header. My horse
fell when I wa'n't expectin' it, and I went on a rock. 'Twas the only one
on the prairie, I guess, but it got me for sure. What are you doin' here,
miss? I don't seem to remember you."
Vivian explained as simply as possible. She and her friend had been
resting when his horse brought him to the quaking-asps. One of them had
gone for help, and the other had stayed. She was the other.
"You're not from these parts, I take it," said the boy, still puzzled.
"You don't speak like us folks."
"No," Vivian told him, "I'm from the East. I came out here six weeks ago
to visit my friend."
Her patient looked surprised and raised himself again on his elbow in
spite of Vivian's restraining hand.
"So much of a tenderfoot as that?" he said, gazing at her. "They ain't
usually such good sports as you are, miss. Yes, thank you, I'll have some
more water. It's right good, I tell you!"
Then he fell asleep again, and left Vivian to the companionship of Siwash
and the buckskin. Her patient comfortable, she fed them the remaining
cookies, wondering as she did so where the awful sense of loneliness had
gone. She should welcome Virginia--already it was time for her--but the
knowledge that she must stay another hour would not present such terrors
to her.
It was Siwash who first caught the sound of returning hoofs--Siwash and
the relieved buckskin. They neighed and told Vivian, who ran from the
thicket to see if they were right. Yes, there was Virginia, with Pedro
still in the lead, and two men on horseback behind her. She had luckily
met them a mile this side of Michner's, and hurried them back with her.
The cow boy had again raised himself, as they rode up to him and
dismounted. He was better, for he could look sheepish! This being thrown
from one's horse was a foolish thing!
They would stay with him, the men said. They knew him well. He was called
"Scrapes" at Michner's because he was always getting into trouble. This
last was the worst yet. They would camp there that night, and in the
morning he could ride home, they felt sure. They were grateful to the
girls. Scrapes was a likeable chap, and no one wanted him hurt.
But Scrapes himself was the most grateful. He staggered to his feet as
Vivian went up to tell him good-by and shook hands with her, and then with
Virginia. But his eyes were for Vivian.
"You're the best tenderfoot I ever knew, miss," he said. "You was sure
some good sport to take care o' me. Would you take my quirt? It's bran
new, and I made it all myself. Get it off my horn, Jim. Yes, I want you to
have it. Good-by!"
"Scrapes is right," said Virginia, as they left the thicket and started
homeward. "I said a while ago that you were getting to be one, Vivian, but
now I know you've got there--for sure!"