During the night Curtis was quite sure he heard a party of men ride up
to the door, but in the morning there remained no signs of them.
They were early on their feet, and Calvin, true to his promise, was
present to help get breakfast. He had shaved some time during the night,
and wore a new shirt with a purple silk handkerchief looped about his
neck, and Jennie found it hard to be as cold and severe with him as she
had resolved upon. He was only a big, handsome boy, after all.
"I'm going to send that half-breed back and take you over to the fort
myself," he said to Curtis.
"No, I can't have that," Curtis sharply replied. "If you care to ride
with us over to the fort I've no objection, but Louie will carry out his
contract with us." The truth was, he did not care to be under any
further obligation to the Streeters.
Breakfast was a hurried and rather silent meal. As they rose, Jennie
said, apologetically: "I fear I can't stop to do up the dishes. It is a
long, hard ride to the fort."
"That's right," replied Calvin, "it's close on thirty-five miles. Never
you mind about the dishes. Hosy will swab 'em out."
As they were mounting, the elder Streeter said, hospitably: "If you
return this way, Mr. Curtis, make my ranch your half-way house." He
bowed to Jennie. "My wife will be here then, miss, and you will not be
obliged to cook your own meals."
"Oh, I didn't mind; I rather enjoyed it," responded Jennie.
Calvin was delayed at the start, and came thundering after with a
shrill, cowboy yell, his horse running close to the ground with ears
viciously laid back. The boy made a fine figure as he swept past them
with the speed of an eagle. His was the perfection of range
horsemanship. He talked, gesticulated, rolled cigarettes, put his coat
on or off as he rode, without apparent thought of his horse or of the
ground he crossed.
He knew nothing but the life of a cattleman, and spoke quite frankly of
his ignorance.
"The old man tried to send me to school once. Packed me off to St. Joe.
I stayed a week. 'See here, old man, don't do that again,' I says. 'I
won't stand for it.' Hell! You might as well tie up a coyote as shut me
in a school-room."
He made a most picturesque guide as he rode ahead of them, always in
view, completing a thousand typical combinations of man and horse and
landscape--now suppling in his saddle to look down and a little backward
at some "sign," now trotting straight towards a dark opening among the
pines, now wheeling swiftly to mount a sudden ascent on the trail.
Everything he did was as graceful and as self-unconscious as the
movements of a panther. He was a living illustration of all the cowboy
stories the girl had read. His horse, his saddle, his peculiar,
slouching seat, the roll of clothing behind his saddle, his spurs, his
long-heeled boots--every detail was as it should be, and Jennie was glad
of him, and of Louis, too.
"Yes, it's all here, Jennie," replied Curtis--"the wild country, the
Indian, the gallant scout, and the tender maiden."
"I'm having a beautiful ride. Since we left the wagon-road it really
seems like the primitive wilderness."
"It is. This little wedge of land is all these brave people have saved
from the flood. They made their last stand here. The reflux from the
coast caught them here, and here they are, waiting extinction."