_East and West_
Mrs. Adams, ironing in the kitchen, was startled by a peremptory ringing
of the bell on the office desk. The Overland had arrived and departed
more than an hour ago. She patted her hair, smoothed her apron, and
stepped through the dining-room to the office. A rather tired-looking,
stylishly gowned woman immediately asked if there were comfortable
accommodations for herself and her daughter. Mrs. Adams assured her that
there were.
"We had an accident," continued the woman. "I am Mrs. Weston. This is my
daughter."
"You are driving overland?"
"We were. We have had a terrible time. A man tried to rob us, and we
almost wrecked our car."
"Goodness! Where did it happen?"
"At a place called 'The Notch,' I think," said Alice Weston, taking the
pen Mrs. Adams proffered and registering.
"I can give you a front double room," said Mrs. Adams. "But the single
rooms are cooler."
"Anything will do so long as it is clean," said Mrs. Weston.
Mrs. Adams's rosy face grew red. "My rooms are always clean. I attend
to them myself."
"And a room with a bath would be preferable," said Mrs. Weston.
Her daughter Alice smiled. Mrs. Adams caught the twinkle in the girl's
eyes and smiled in return.
"You can have the room next to the bathroom. This is a desert town, Mrs.
Weston. We don't have many tourists."
"I suppose it will have to do," sighed Mrs. Weston. "Of course we may
have the exclusive use of the bath?"
"Mother," said Alice Weston, "you must remember that this isn't New
York. I think we are fortunate to get a place as comfortable and neat as
this. We're really in the desert. We will see the rooms, please."
Mrs. Weston could find no fault with the rooms. They were neat and
clean, even to the window-panes. Alice Weston was delighted. From her
window she could see miles of the western desert, and the far,
mysterious ranges bulked against the blue of the north; ranges that
seemed to whisper of romance, the unexplored, the alluring.
While Mrs. Adams was arranging things, Alice Weston gazed out of the
window. Below in the street a cowboy passed jauntily. A stray burro
crossed the street and nosed among some weeds. Then a stolid Indian
stalked by.
"Why, that is a real Indian!" exclaimed the girl.
"A Navajo," said Mrs. Adams. "They come in quite often."
"Really? And--oh, I forgot--the young man who rescued us told us that he
was your son."
"Lorry! Rescued you?"
"Yes." And the girl told Mrs. Adams about the accident and the tramp.
"I'm thankful that he didn't get killed," was Mrs. Adams's comment when
the girl had finished.
Alone in her room, Alice Weston bared her round young arms and enjoyed a
real, old-fashioned wash in a real, old-fashioned washbowl. Who could be
unhappy in this glorious country? But mother seemed so unimpressed! "And
I hope that steering-knuckle doesn't come for a month," the girl told a
framed lithograph of "Custer's Last Fight," which, contrary to all
precedent, was free from fly specks.
She recalled the scene at the Notch: the sickening sway of the car; the
heavy, brutal features of the bandit, who seemed to have risen from the
ground; the unexpected appearance of the young cowboy, the flash of his
rope, and a struggling form whirling through the brush.
And she had said "please" when she had asked the young cowboy to let the
man go. He had refused. She thought Western men more gallant. But what
difference did that make? She would never see him again. The young
cowboy had seemed rather nice, until just toward the last. As for the
other man--she shivered as she wondered what would have happened if the
cowboy had not arrived when he did.
It occurred to her that she had never been refused a request in her life
until that afternoon. And the fact piqued her. The fate of the tramp was
a secondary consideration now. She and her mother were safe. The car
would have to be repaired; but that was unimportant. The fact that they
were stranded in a real desert town, with Indians and cowboys in the
streets, and vistas such as she had dreamed of shimmering in the
afternoon sun, awakened an erstwhile slumbering desire for a draught of
the real Romance of the West, heretofore only enjoyed in unsatisfying
sips as she read of the West and its wonder trails.
A noise in the street attracted her attention. She stepped to the
window. Just across the street a tall, heavy man was unlocking a door in
a little adobe building. Near him stood the young cowboy whom she had
not expected to see again. And there was the tramp, handcuffed and
strangely white of face. The door swung open, and the tall man stepped
back. The tramp shuffled through the low doorway, and the door was
closed and locked. The cowboy and the tall man talked for a while. She
stepped back as the men separated.
Presently she heard the cowboy's voice downstairs. She flushed, and
gazed at herself in the glass.
"I am going to make him sorry he refused to let that man go," she told
the mirror. "Oh, I shall be nice to him! So nice that--" She did not
complete the thought. She was naturally gracious. When she set out to be
exceptionally nice--"Oo, la, la!" she exclaimed. "And he's nothing but a
cowboy!"
She heard Lorry clump upstairs and enter a room across the hall. She
knew it was he. She could hear the clink of his spurs and the swish of
his chaps. While she realized that he was Mrs. Adams's son and had a
right to be there, she rather resented his proximity, possibly because
she had not expected to see him again.
She had no idea that he had been discharged by his foreman, nor that he
had earned the disapproval of his mother for having quarreled. Of course
he had ridden to Stacey to bring the prisoner in, but he knew they were
in Stacey, and Alice Weston liked to believe that he would make excuse
to stay in town while they were there. It would be fun--for her.
After supper that evening Mrs. Weston and Alice were introduced to
Waring, who came in late. Waring chatted with Mrs. Weston out on the
veranda in the cool of the evening. Alice was surprised that her mother
seemed interested in Waring. But after a while, as the girl listened,
she admitted that the man was interesting.
The conversation drifted to mines and mining. Mrs. Weston declared that
she had never seen a gold mine, but that her husband owned some stock
in one of the richest mines in Old Mexico. Waring grew enthusiastic as
he described mine operating in detail, touching the subject with the
ease of experience, yet lightly enough to avoid wearisome
technicalities. The girl listened, occasionally stealing a glance at the
man's profile in the dusk. She thought the boy Lorry looked exceedingly
like Mr. Waring.
And the person who looked exceedingly like Mr. Waring sat at the far end
of the veranda, talking to Buck Hardy, the sheriff. And Lorry was not
altogether happy. His interest in the capture and reward had waned. He
had never dreamed that a girl could be so captivating as Alice Weston.
At supper she had talked with him about the range, asking many
questions; but she had not referred to that morning. Lorry had hoped
that he might talk with her after supper. But somehow or other she had
managed to evade his efforts. Just now she seemed to be mightily
interested in his father.
Presently Lorry rose and strode across the street to the station. He
talked with the agent, who showed him a telegraph duplicate for an order
on Albuquerque covering a steering-knuckle for an automobile. When Lorry
reappeared he was whistling. It would take some time for that
steering-knuckle to arrive. Meanwhile, he was out of work, and the
Westons would be at the hotel for several days at least.
There was some mighty fine scenery back in the Horseshoe Range, west.
Perhaps the girl liked Western scenery. He wondered if she knew how to
ride. He was rather inclined to think that her mother did not. He would
suggest a trip to the Horseshoe Mountains, as it would be pretty dull at
the hotel. Nothing but cowboys and Indians riding in and out of town.
But there were some Hopi ruins over in the Horseshoe. Most Easterners
were interested in ruins. He wished that the Hopis had left a ruin
somewhat nearer town.
Yet withal, Lorry was proud to think that his father could be so
interesting to real Easterners. If they only knew who his father was!
Lorry's train of thought was making pretty good time when he checked it
suddenly. Folks in town didn't know that Waring was his father. And "The
whole dog-gone day had just been one gosh-awful mess!"
"Weston, you said?" Waring queried.
"Yes--John Archibald Weston, of New York." And Mrs. Weston nodded.
Waring smiled. J.A. Weston was one of the stockholders in the Ortez
Mine, near Sonora.
"The principal stockholder," said Mrs. Weston.
"I met him down there," said Waring.
"Indeed! How interesting! You were connected with the mining industry,
Mr. Waring?"
"In a way. I lived in Sonora several years."
"That accounts for your wonderful descriptions of the country. I never
imagined it could be so charming."
"We have some hill country west of here worth looking at. If you intend
to stay any length of time, I might arrange a trip."
"That's nice of you. But I don't ride. Perhaps Alice would like to go."
"Yes, indeed! But--"
"We might get Mrs. Adams to come. She used to ride."
"I'll ask her," said Alice Weston.
"But, Alice--" And Mrs. Weston smiled. Alice had already gone to look
for Mrs. Adams.
Lorry, who had heard, scowled at a veranda post. He had thought of that
trip to the Horseshoe Range long before it had been mentioned by his
father. Wimmin made him tired, he told the unoffending post.
Shortly afterward Alice appeared. She had cajoled Mrs. Adams into
promising that she would ride to the Hopi ruins with them, as the
journey there and back could be made in a day. Alice Weston was aglow
with excitement. Of course the young cowboy would be included in the
invitation, and Alice premeditated a flirtation, either with that
good-looking Mr. Waring or Mrs. Adams's son. It didn't matter much which
one; it would be fun.
The Westons finally went to their rooms. Lorry, out of sorts with
himself and the immediate world, was left alone on the veranda.
"She just acted so darned nice to me I forgot to eat," he told the post
confidentially. "And then she forgot I was livin' in the same
county--after supper. And she did it a-purpose. I reckon she's tryin' to
even up with me for jailin' that hobo after she said 'please.' Well, two
can play at that even-up game."
He rose and walked upstairs quietly. As he entered his room he heard the
Westons talking. He had noticed that the door of one of their rooms was
open.
"No, I think he went away with that tall man," he heard the girl say.
"Cowboys don't go to bed early when in town."
"Weren't you a little too nice to him at dinner?" Mrs. Weston said.
Lorry heard the girl laugh. "Oh, but he's only a boy, mother! And it's
such fun to watch his eyes when he smiles. He is really good-looking and
interesting, because he hasn't been tamed. I don't think he has any real
feeling, though, or he wouldn't have brought that poor creature to
Stacey and put him in jail. But Mr. Waring is different. He seems so
quiet and kind--and rather distinguished."
Lorry closed his door. He had heard enough for one evening.
He did not want to go to bed. He felt anything but sleepy, so he tiptoed
downstairs again and out into the night. He found Buck Hardy in a saloon
up the street. Men in the saloon joked with Lorry about his capture. He
seldom drank, but to-night he did not refuse Hardy's invitation to
"have something." While they were chatting a rider from the Starr Rancho
came in. Edging up to Lorry, he touched his arm. "Come on out a minute,"
he whispered.
Outside, he told Lorry that High Chin, with several of the men, was
coming to town that night and "put one over" on the sheriff by stealing
the prisoner.
"And you know what that means," said the Starr cowboy. "High Chin'll get
tanked, and the hobo'll be lucky if the boys don't string him up. High
Chin's awful sore about something."
Lorry's first idea was to report all this to Buck Hardy. But he feared
ridicule. What if the Starr cowboys didn't come?
"Why don't you tell Buck yourself?" he queried.
His companion insisted that he dare not tell the sheriff. If High Chin
heard that he had done so, he would be out of a job. And there was the
reward. If the prisoner's identity was proven, Lorry would get the
reward. The cowboy didn't want to see Lorry lose such easy money.
The subject seemed to require some liquidation, and Lorry finally
decided that he himself was the only and legal custodian of the
prisoner. As for the reward--shucks! He didn't want blood-money. But
High Chin would never lay a hand on the hobo if he could help it.
* * * * *
Alice Weston, anticipating a real ride into the desert country and the
hills, was too excited to sleep. She drew a chair to the window, and sat
back where she could view the vague outline of the hills and a world
filled with glowing stars. The town was silent, save for the occasional
opening or closing of a door and the infrequent sound of feet on the
sidewalk. She forgot the hazards of the day in dreaming of the West; no
longer a picture out of books, but a reality. She scarcely noticed the
quiet figure that came round the opposite corner and passed into the
shadows of the jail across the street. She heard the clink of a chain
and a sharp, tearing sound as of wood being rent asunder. She peered
from her window, trying to see what was going on in the shadows.
Presently a figure appeared. The hat, the attitude, and manner seemed
familiar. Then came another figure; that of the tramp. She grew tense
with excitement. She heard Lorry's voice distinctly:--
"The best thing for you is to fan it. Don't try the train. They'll get
you sure if you do. No, I don't explain anything. Just ramble--and keep
a-ramblin'."
She saw one of the figures creep along the opposite wall and shuffle
across the street. She felt like calling out. Instead she rose and
opened her door. She would tell her mother. But what good would that do?
She returned to the window. Lorry, standing on the street corner, seemed
to be watching an invisible something far down the street. Alice Weston
heard the sound of running horses. A group of cowboys galloped up. She
heard the horses stop. Lorry had disappeared.
She went to bed. It seemed an age before she heard him come in.
Lorry undressed in the dark. As he went to bed he grinned. "And the
worst of it is," he soliloquized, "she'll think I did it because she
asked me to let him go. Guess I been steppin' on my foot the whole
dog-gone day."