THE FAR WEST
Three days is a short time in which to post a man on the Far West, but
if you don't care what you say, and say it quick, you can give him a
pretty good fill. Dixie Lee was almost sorry when the Limited rolled
into Albuquerque, and Mr. Bowles was fairly tearful in his adieus.
"Really, Miss Lee," he said, holding her hand with just a shade more
than the proper pressure, "really, I shall never forget your kindness.
The days have passed like a dream and I feel myself quite a Westerner
already. Yes, I am sure I shall love the West--it is so big, and
free--but what I like about it most is its splendid spirit of equality,
its camaraderie. I can feel it everywhere--it is in the air--these
great, rough-looking men, greeting perfect strangers in the smokers and
on the platforms and saying: 'Say, pardner, gimme a match'--or a smoke,
even! Oh, it is glorious! I--but, really, I must be going! So sorry our
ways should part here. Well, good-by, Miss Lee--so glad we should happen
to meet. I hope you have a pleasant journey. Thank you! Oh, don't
mention it--good-by!"
He raised his Dutch comedian hat once more, a trace of romantic
mistiness came into his violet eyes, and then he hurried back to his
luxurious quarters on the Limited while Dixie May sat and waited for the
southbound to take her to Deming. It was not a cheerful journey to
contemplate, for New Mexico and Arizona way trains are slow and dusty,
and given to making poor connections and unseemly arrivals; but by ten
o'clock that evening Dixie Lee hoped to get as far as Deming and then,
if the Overland happened to be late too, she could catch a westbound
passenger and get to Chula Vista before the hotel closed. The Western
Limited pulled out as her train still stood on its track and she glanced
at the rear-end of the observation car for a fluttering handkerchief;
but Mr. Bowles' emotions seemed to have overcome him, for he was lacking
in this last attention. She watched for him with a broad grin; then,
when she was sure he was really gone, Dixie May threw herself back in
her seat and laughed until she was silly.
She was in good humor all the way to Deming, where the westbound was
reported two hours late; but as she was pacing up and down the platform
at midnight her face came suddenly straight. The westbound was standing
on the track waiting for orders and she was walking along up toward the
front when suddenly, through the smoking-car window, she beheld Sir
Knight Bowles in eager converse with a grizzled old-timer! If it wasn't
he, it was his twin brother--for there was the hard-boiled hat as large
as life. The window was a little murky and the air was thick inside, but
Dixie May was sure she had seen him--or was she having dreams?
It seemed, somehow, as if she couldn't get that droll creature out of
her mind. All the way down from Albuquerque she had been hearing his
talk in her ears and laughing at the way he broadened his "a's" and
purred and purled over his "r's." At times she had burst into
inextinguishable laughter, insomuch that several of the male passengers
had regarded her with curious glances and the train boy had tried to get
gay with her; but Dixie Lee knew how to settle that kind of folks. A
peanut butcher was a peanut butcher to her, and nothing more; and if he
neglected to hawk his wares in order to drape himself over the back of
her seat she could put him in his place. It was Mr. Bowles that she was
thinking of--_Mr._ Bowles--and when she remembered the innocent look on
his face as she filled him up with Indian atrocities and cattle-war
stories she just simply had to laugh. But now to find him following
her--to discover him on the same train when he was ticketed west out of
Albuquerque--well, that was a different thing entirely!
Dixie Lee retired to the sleeper to snatch a few hours of repose and
when the dead-eyed porter set her down at Chula Vista she had entirely
forgotten her knight. It was five o'clock on a cold March morning and
the wind came in from across the prairie with a sweep that chilled the
blood. It was so cold that the ticket-agent had ducked back into his
inner sanctum before she could so much as hail him--and it was a quarter
of a mile up to the hotel! Dixie May took a long look about her; she
tried the waiting-room door; then, with a deep-drawn shudder, she turned
to go it alone, when lo, a tall and masculine figure stepped out from
behind the warehouse and she recognized Mr. Bowles!
"Pardon me, madam," he said, doffing his comedian hat and addressing her
as if she were a stranger; "I see you are all alone--can I be of any
service to you?"
It was dark, all right, but the idea of Mr. Bowles expecting to conceal
his identity by mere starlight! She knew him, of course, the minute she
saw his hat, but--well, what was the use of getting haughty about it?
Why not do a little play-acting, too, until they got up to the hotel?
"Why--why, yes," she faltered, simulating an appealing weakness. "It's
very kind of you, I'm sure. I--I expected my father to meet me here,
but----"
"Ah, yes--very unfortunate," put in Bowles promptly. "Is there any hotel
near? Just lead the way then, and I'll follow with your luggage. You
might put on my overcoat if you're suffering from the cold. Rather not?
Very well, then; let's hurry along to the hotel."
They hurried, Bowles struggling with the baggage, of which he had three
pieces, and Dixie Lee preparing her valedictory. Yes, much as she
regretted it, she would have to bid him farewell--otherwise he might
come tagging after her out to the ranch and set the whole country to
talking. It was all very well back in New York, or on the train, but in
the Tortugas--never! She would have to make her final effort cutting,
but she hoped he would not take it too hard--and meanwhile, as a penance
for his presumption, he could break his back packing her suitcases up
from the station.
"Ah, just a moment!" entreated Mr. Bowles, setting down the suitcases
and working his tortured hands. "Oh, no, not heavy at all--perhaps I can
fasten them together with this strap."
He unbuckled the shoulder-strap from his alligator-skin bag and looped
it through the handles of the suitcases.
"Hah! Just the thing!" he exclaimed, slinging the two suitcases over his
shoulder; and then, with a long, free stride, he swung along beside her,
as tireless as an Indian--and as silent.
A sudden sense of respect, almost of awe, came over Dixie Lee as she
contemplated his masterful repose, but the hotel door was near and she
nerved herself for the assault.
"You think you're smart, don't you?" she snapped. "Following along after
me this way! Just because I happened to be a little friendly----"
"Now, really, Miss Lee," broke in Bowles with admirable calm, "I hope
you will not be too hard on me. I assure you, if it had not been for
your distressing situation--which no gentleman could overlook--you would
never have been aware of my presence. But you have known me long enough,
I am sure, to know that I would never presume to force my society upon
any lady, more particularly upon one for whom----"
"Well, what are you tagging along for then?" demanded Dixie Lee
wrathfully. "When I said good-by to you up at Albuquerque you had a
through ticket to California. Now here you are down at Chula Vista. What
are you up to--that's what I want to know!"
"To be sure!" agreed Mr. Bowles. "Under the circumstances, you have a
perfect right to an explanation. I may as well confess then, Miss Lee,
that your stories told on the train have fired me with a desire to see
the real West, not the pseudo or imitation article, but the real thing
with the hair on, as you so aptly phrased it. But here was my
difficulty--I had no one to direct me. The hotel-keepers, the
ticket-agents, even my Eastern friends in the West, might send me astray
and I be none the wiser. I admit it was hardly a gentlemanly thing to
do, but rather than lose my last chance to see the great West of which
you spoke I followed after you; but without the slightest intention, I
assure you, of making myself obnoxious. Is this the hotel ahead?"
"Yes," said Dixie Lee, "it is. And while I wish to congratulate you upon
your explanation I want to inform you, Mr. Bowles, that right here is
where we part. You're looking for the Wild West, and here she is with
her hair down. If you are hunting experiences these Chula Vista boys
will certainly accommodate you; but from this time on, Mr. Bowles, we
are strangers. We don't know each other, do you understand? If what you
say is true, you followed me simply to find the Far West. This is it.
We're quits, then; and I shall have to ask you, as a gentleman, not to
annoy me further. You may be all right--back in New York--but out here
it's different and I don't want to have the folks joshing me about you.
So I'll bid you farewell, Mr. Bowles, and thank you kindly for carrying
up my baggage--but don't you dare come around the Bat Wing Ranch, or
I'll tell the boys to kill you!"
She grabbed up her baggage as she spoke and hurried ahead, and when Mr.
Bowles stepped into the hotel some minutes later she was as distant as
an ivory goddess. Or a bronze goddess, to be exact, for the sun and wind
had caressed the fair cheeks of Dixie May until they were as brown and
ruddy as a berry, and even the steam heat of a New York apartment could
only reduce their coloring. She seemed a goddess indeed to Bowles as she
lingered beside the stove, her smooth, capable hands bared to the glow
of the flames, and her body buoyant with the grace of youth; but the
laughing brown eyes which had become the mirrors of his life were turned
away now and all the world was changed.
The bottle-nosed proprietor came shuffling in from the bar and silently
handed him a pen; then, without looking at the name that was signed, he
wrote a number after it and handed his guest a key.
"Baggage?" he inquired as Mr. Bowles stood helplessly to one side.
"Oh, yes!" said Bowles, recovering himself with an effort. "Here are the
checks. My trunks will be in on a later train. Have them sent up, won't
you?"
"Sample room?" queried the hotel-keeper brusquely.
"Beg pardon?"
"D'ye want 'em put in the sample room?" snarled the proprietor, outraged
at having to bandy words with the despised Easterner.
"The sample room?" repeated Mr. Bowles, now thoroughly mystified. "Why,
no--why should I?"
At this final evidence of imbecility a mighty spasm of rage came over
the proprietor, and as he struggled to regain his calm Dixie Lee
suddenly clapped a handkerchief to her mouth and made a dash for the
dining-room. The paroxysm passed and with an air of wearied indulgence
the proprietor explained and disappeared.
"All right!" he grumbled. "Guess you know your own business. Thought you
was a travelin' man."
He stepped back through the door marked "Bar" and Mr. Bowles was left to
gasp alone. A traveling man! They took him for a traveling man! It was
quite a shock, and Bowles was still brooding over it by the stove when
the door from the bar was thrust open and a tall cowboy, booted and
spurred and shapped and pistoled, came stalking into the room. His broad
sombrero was shoved far back on his head, showing a tremendous stand of
tumbled hair, and his keen hazel eyes roved about with the steady
intentness of a hunting animal's; but only for the fraction of a second
did he condescend to notice Bowles. He swayed a little as he walked and
the aroma of whisky came with him, but otherwise he seemed perfectly
sober.
"Say!" he called, turning and kicking the bar door open again, "did Dix
come in on that train? She did? Well, here's where I git hell--I was
supposed to go down and meet 'er!"
He came over and stood by the stove, apparently oblivious of the man
before him, and while he waited he cursed himself in a cynical,
impersonal sort of way that made a great impression on Bowles.
"Well, where is she?" he demanded, as the proprietor hurried in behind
him. "I ain't had a wink of sleep, but we'll have to hit the road
anyway."
"Dixie's in getting a cup of coffee," answered the proprietor. "Better
have a seltzer first," he wheedled, taking him by the arm and drawing
him toward the barroom.
"You're dead right there too, old sport!" responded the cowboy heartily.
"My head is as big as a balloon, and them grays will shore drag me over
the dashboard if I don't kill some of this whisky."
He tottered out as he spoke and Mr. Bowles half rose from his chair.
Dixie Lee was in danger; she was in imminent peril of death! He must
warn her--he must help her--he must try to save her life! He was in a
fever of excitement when the dining-room door finally swept open and
Dixie May entered the room; but she was calm, very calm, and something
about her bade him hold his hand. Then the barroom door swung in again
and the cowboy appeared, walking head up with a masterful stride--and a
look in his eyes that Bowles knew all too well.
"Why, hello, Dix!" he cried, hurrying over and striking hands with her.
"Well, well, how're you comin'? What, don't I draw nothin'?"
"No, you don't!" responded Dixie Lee, stepping back as he impudently
offered to kiss her. "Not unless it's a good slap for not meeting me
down at the train! How's Maw and Paw and all the boys? Have you gentled
that colt for me yet?"
And so, with many laughing sallies, they passed out into the cold dawn,
leaving Bowles to sit by the fire and stare. But in her last glance he
had read a challenge, and he did not let it pass.