ANOTHER STORY BEGINS
This chapter is very much like a preface: it is not absolutely
necessary, although many persons will read it and a few will be glad
that it was written.
The story itself is ended. To go on would be to begin another story;
to tell of the building up of the Quirt outfit, with Lone and Lone's
savings playing a very important part, and with Brit a semi-invalided,
retired stockman who smoked his pipe and told the young couple what
they should do and how they should do it.
Frank he mourned for and seldom mentioned. The Sawtooth, under the
management of a greatly chastened young Bob Warfield, was slowly
winning its way back to the respect of its neighbours.
For certain personal reasons there was no real neighbourliness between
the Quirt and the Sawtooth. There could not be, so long as Brit's
memory remained clear, and Bob was every day reminded of the crimes his
father had paid a man to commit. Moreover, Southerners are jealous of
their women,--it is their especial prerogative. And Lone suspected
that, given the opportunity, Bob Warfield would have fallen in love
with Lorraine. Indeed, he suspected that any man in the country would
have done that. Al Woodruff had, and he was noted for his indifference
to women and his implacable hardness toward men.
But you are not to accuse Lone of being a jealous husband. He was not,
and I am merely pointing out the fact that he might have been, had he
been given any cause.
Oh, by the way, Swan "proved up" as soon as possible on his homestead
and sold out to the Quirt. Lone managed to buy the Thurman ranch also,
and the TJ up-and-down is on its feet again as a cattle ranch. Sorry
and Jim will ride for the Quirt, I suppose, as long as they can crawl
into a saddle, but there are younger men now to ride the Skyline Meadow
range.
Some one asked about Yellowjacket, having, I suppose, a sneaking regard
for his infirmities. He hasn't been peeled yet--or he hadn't, the last
I heard of him. Lone and Lorraine told me they were trying to save him
for the "Little Feller" to practise on when he is able to sit up
without a cushion behind his back, and to hold something besides a
rubber rattle. And--oh, do you know how Lone is teaching the Little
Feller to sit up on the floor? He took a horse collar and scrubbed it
until he nearly wore out the leather. Then he brought it to the cabin,
put it on the floor and set the Little Feller inside it.
They sent me a snap-shot of the event, but it is not very good. The
film was under-exposed, and nothing was to be seen of the Little Feller
except a hazy spot which I judged was a hand, holding a black object I
guessed was the ridgy, rubber rattle with the whistle gone out of the
end,--down the Little Feller's throat, they are afraid. And there was
his smile, and a glimpse of his eyes.
Aren't you envious as sin, and glad they're so happy?