The weekly stage from Willcox to Aravaipa Canon, which stopped at the
ranch on Mondays, brought a letter to Limber from Allan Traynor,
instructing the foreman to meet himself and his wife upon their arrival
from California on Thursday. There was also a note from Doctor Powell,
who was still in Tucson, saying that he would return to the ranch on
Wednesday.
The men had just eaten lunch and were grouped about the stables when
Limber imparted the news to them, adding, "The Boss says to slick up the
big room on the front porch, and we've got to hustle to get it done in
time. They'll be here in three days."
"Say, Limber," interrupted Bronco, who was usually the ruling spirit,
"Don't you think we'd oughter get a weddin' present for 'em?"
"I sure do!" endorsed Limber, "But, what kin we get? If we'd had any
sense among us we'd of sent off long ago for somethin' proper. Mrs.
Green would of knowed, but it's too late now."
"Let's chip in and get some big Navajo blankets like Mrs. Green's,"
suggested Holy. "Looked a heap prettier'n carpets on her floor."
"Gee! Holy, you do get an idee onct in a while," jeered Bronco, whose
chief delight in life was to tease Holy, and, like tourists who throw
stones into the crater of a volcano, stand by in admiration of the
eruption that followed.
"Now, see here," admonished Limber, "don't you and Holy get to millin'.
Thar ain't no time for it."
Holy glared at Bronco, who grinned back at him and murmured, "Fust
blood."
Limber reverted to the letter. "It says that Mrs. Traynor will have the
little room off'n the big room for her'n, and we'd better whitewash it."
He broke off and looked at the others, as he said, "Have we got a
whitewash brush that is fitten to use?"
"Whitewash your grandmother!" retorted Bronco contemptuously. "We'd
oughter paper it. I seen some dandy paper with pink roses stampeding all
over it at the Headquarter Store. Whitewash is all O.K. for cowpunchers
and bronco busters, but girls likes paper and--and--them sorter things,"
he concluded hastily.
"We don't know how to do it," objected Limber, "and thar ain't no
paperhanger in Willcox."
"Shucks! Tain't no trick noway," responded Bronco airily. "I'll show
you. All you got ter do is get the paper an' do what I tell you."
Impressed by his convincing air the quartette engaged in making a list
of the things Bronco considered necessary, the principal items being the
paper with pink roses and three of 'the biggest, highest priced and
reddest Navajo blankets in town.'
After watching Bronco start on his mission, Limber and the others
saddled their ponies for the daily routine work on the range, as they
knew that Bronco could not get home before late that night.
It was nearly midnight when Bronco rode into the stables, but the entire
bunch of men met him with a volley of questions as he dismounted from
his pony. Bursting with importance, he unrolled the Navajo blankets
which had been tied to the back of his saddle; while the paper,
carefully packed in gunny-sacks, was swung across the front horn.
The men grasped the purchases and carried them to the bunkhouse where
they opened the sacks eagerly. The blankets had been fully endorsed and
admired; but when Bronco, imitating the storekeeper, unrolled a sample
of the paper and held it up with a flourish, no words were left to
express their delight.
"Now, we'll get up early tomorrow so's to tackle the job and get it
over," said Limber, after they had disposed of the packages in the room
they contemplated papering. Filled with joyful anticipations they
tumbled into their bunks.
Bronco was the first to waken, and he roused the others before daylight,
despite their protests.
Roarer sat up and blinked stupidly at the lamp which Bronco was
lighting.
"I ain't had no sleep that was any good," he quavered in his thin voice.
"I was chasin' pink roses all night--they had horns and tails and four
legs, jest like cows, and I was tryin' to rope 'em. I'm plumb played
out."
His tale of woe was unheard by the others as they hurriedly adjusted
clothes and tumbled out of the bunkhouse to the ranch kitchen for
breakfast. Fong, the cook, was in no amiable mood because he had to
serve breakfast an hour earlier than usual; but when he learned that
they expected to take possession of his kitchen and sundry utensils, his
wrath was expressed in a wordy battle in 'pidgin English. He only
succumbed to superior numbers when he retreated to the back porch. His
mutterings could be heard distinctly by those in the kitchen, and Bronco
cocked his head on one side and listened attentively to the angry cook.
"Say, Holy, I don't savvy what that year Chink is sayin', but it sounds
a heap worse'n anything I ever heerd you say. He's got you beat to a
frazzle. Why don't you learn Chinee? Then when your stock of cuss words
gets stale you can start on a new lot."
Holy's retort was cut short by Limber, who paused in rolling a cigarette
and observed, "You're captain of this round-up, Bronco. How do you start
her?"
They all gathered about Bronco as he explained the process
unhesitatingly. He did not divulge that he had asked information at the
store, regarding the preparation of paper, making paste and other
necessary details of paperhanging. It had seemed so simple that he was
sure he could remember everything.
"Well, fust you cut the edges off'n the paper, then you make a biscuit
dough and thin her out and stick the paper up, and thar you are! Easy as
rollin' off'n a log!"
"That's all right so long as the log ain't pinted into a mudhole whar
thar's a buckskin cow," murmured Holy, with a side glance at Bronco. The
innuendo was loftily ignored, and Holy tried other tactics.
"Whar' did you learn to paper, anyhow?" he demanded suspiciously. "You
never let on you knowed how until last night."
"Think I'm Hasayampering?" Bronco answered indignantly. "I seed them
paper a room down to Eureka Springs three years ago. I helped them do
it." He reserved the elucidation that he had helped carry in a
galvanized tub, nothing more. "Mebbe you don't believe me, but if any of
you fellers thinks he knows more'n I do about it, I'm willin' to lay
back in harness and let him take the lead, and yours truly won't do no
kickin' over the traces, neither."
As no one was disposed to dispute his authority, he continued in a
mollified voice:
"Roarer, you go get all the flour you kin find and bring it here."
Roarer looked dubiously toward the back porch and scratched his head,
then he tiptoed to the door, peeped through it, and discovering Fong had
deserted the place, started on his search, while Bronco issued his
commands to the others.
"Limber, you kin chase that new whitewash brush I left in the bunkhouse,
and Holy can trim the edges off'n the paper. Then you kin all help mix
the paste when I get ready."
"Does anybody know whar the shears is?" queried Holy, knowing from
experience that a needle in a haystack could be located twenty times
before the one pair of shears on the ranch was generally found by the
searcher. "Bronc, you had them scissors three weeks ago cuttin' Limber's
hair. I seed you. Whar are they?"
Bronco looked nonplussed, then asserted, "Roarer took 'em away from us
before the job was done, and then he disremembered whar he'd put 'em.
Limber had to go to town with one side his hair cut and Dunning finished
up the job."
Limber appeared with the whitewash brush, and at his heels came Roarer
dragging two sacks of flour.
"This is all I kin find," said Roarer. "Reckon it will be enough?"