up to it gradual, but yuh _will_ have it raw. You poor, dear cowboys,
that live your lonely lives watching over your cattle with your
_faithful dogs_ and the stars for company, you're going to be
_improved_. (You'll sure stand a lot of it, too!) A woman's relief
club back East has felt the burden of your no-accountness and general
orneriness, and has sent one of its leading members out here to reform
yuh. You're going to be hazed into a Cowboys' Mutual Improvement and
Social Society, and quit smoking cigarettes and cussing your hosses
and laying over Rusty's bar when yuh ride into town; and for pleasure
and recreation you're going to read Tennyson's poems, and when yuh get
caught out in a blizzard yuh'll be heeled with Whittier's _Snowbound_,
pocket edition. Emerson and Browning and Shakespeare and Gatty" (Andy
misquoted; he meant Goethe) "and all them stiffs is going to be set
before yuh regular and in your mind constant, purging it of unclean
thoughts, and grammar is going to be learnt yuh as a side-line. Yuh--"
"Mama mine," broke in Weary. "I have thought sometimes, when Andy
broke loose with that imagination uh his, that he'd gone the limit;
but next time he always raises the limit out uh sight. He's like the
Good Book says: he's prone to lie as the sparks fly-upward."
Andy gazed belligerently at the skeptical group. "I brought her out
from town," he said doggedly, "and whilst I own up to having an
imagination, she's stranger than fiction. She'd make the fellow that
wrote "She" lay down with a headache. She's come out here to help us
cowboys live nobler, better lives. She's going to learn yuh Browning,
darn yuh! and Emerson and Gatty. She said so. She's going to fill your
hearts with love for dumb creatures, so when yuh get set afoot out on
the range, or anything like that, yuh won't put in your time cussing
the miles between you and camp; you'll have a pocket edition of 'Much
Ado About Nothing' to read, or the speech Mark Anthony made when he
was running for office. Or supposing yuh left 'em all in camp, yuh'll
study nature. There's sermons in stones, she says. She's going to send
for a pocket library that can easy be took on roundup--"
"Say, I guess that's about enough," interrupted Pink restlessly. "We
all admit you're the biggest liar that ever come West of the
Mississippi, without you laying it on any deeper."
Whereupon Andy rose in wrath and made a suggestive movement with his
fist. "If I was romancing," he declared indignantly, "I'd do a
smoother job; when I do lie, I notice yuh all believe it--till yuh
find out different. And by gracious yuh might do as much when I'm
telling the truth! Go up to the White House and see, darn yuh! If yuh
don't find Miss Verbena Martin up there telling the Little Doctor how
her heart goes out to her dear cowboys and how she's going to get in
touch with 'em and help 'em lead nobler, better lives, you can kick me
all round the yard. And I hope, by gracious, she _does_ improve yuh!
Yuh sure do need it a lot."
The Happy Family discussed the tale freely and without regard for the
feelings of Andy; they even became heated and impolite, and they made
threats. They said that a liar like him ought to be lynched or gagged,
and that he was a disgrace to the outfit. In the end, however, they
decided to go and see, just to prove to Andy that they knew he lied.
And though it was settled that Weary and Pink should be the
investigating committee, by the time they were halfway to the White
House they had the whole Happy Family trailing at their heels. A light
snow had begun to fall since dark, and they hunched their shoulders
against it as they went. Grouped uncomfortably just outside the circle
of light cast through the unshaded window, they gazed silently in upon
Chip and the Little Doctor and J.G. Whitmore, and upon one other; a
strange lady in a black silk shirtwaist and a gold watch suspended
from her neck by a chaste, black silken cord; a strange lady with
symmetrical waves in her hair and gray on her temples, and with
glasses and an eager way of speaking.
She was talking very rapidly and animatedly, and the others were
listening and stealing glances now and then at one another. Once,
while they watched, the Little Doctor looked at Chip and then turned
her face toward the window. She was biting her lips in the way the
Happy Family had learned to recognize as a great desire to laugh. It
all looked suspicious and corroborative of Andy's story, and the Happy
Family shifted their feet uneasily in the loose snow.
They watched, and saw the strange lady clasp her hands together and
lean forward, and where her voice had before come to them with no
words which they could catch distinctly, they heard her say something
quite clearly in her enthusiasm: "Eight real cowboys _here_, almost
within reach! I must see them before I sleep! I must get in touch with
them at once, and show them that I am a true friend. Come, Mrs.
Bennett! Won't you take me where they are and let me meet my boys? for
they _are_ mine in spirit; my heart goes out to them--"
The Happy Family waited to hear no more, but went straightway back
whence they had come, and their going savored of flight.
"Mama mine! she's coming down to the bunkhouse!" said Weary under his
breath, and glanced back over his shoulder at the White House bulking
large in the night. "Let's go on down to the stable and roost in the
hay a while."
"She'll out-wind us, and be right there waiting when we come back,"
objected Andy, with the wisdom gained from his brief acquaintance with
the lady. "If she's made up her mind to call on us, there's no way
under Heaven to head her off."
They halted by the bunk-house door, undecided whether to go in or to
stay out in the open.
"By golly, she don't improve _me_!" Slim asserted pettishly. "I hate
books like strychnine, and, by golly, she can't make me read 'em,
neither."
"If there's anything I do despise it's po'try," groaned Cal Emmett.
"Emerson and Browning and Shakespeare and _Gatty_," named Andy
gloomily.
Whereat Pink suddenly pushed open the door and went in as goes one who
knows exactly what he is about to do. They followed him distressfully
and silently. Pink went immediately to his bunk and began pulling off
his boots.
"I'm going to bed," he told them. "You fellows can stay up and
entertain her if yuh want to--_I_ won't!"
They caught the idea and disrobed hastily, though the evening was
young. Irish blew out the lamp and dove under the blankets just as
voices came faintly from up the hill, so that when Chip rapped a
warning with his knuckles on the door, there was no sound within save
an artificial snore from the corner where lay Pink. Chip was not in
the habit of knocking before he entered, but he repeated the summons
with emphasis.
"Who's there-e?" drawled sleepily a voice--the voice of Weary.
"Oh, I do believe they've retired!" came, in a perturbed feminine
tone, to the listening ears of the Happy Family.
"Gone to bed?" cried Chip gravely.
"Hours ago," lied Andy fluently. "We're plumb wore out. What's
happened?"
"Oh, don't disturb the poor fellows! They're tired and need their
rest," came the perturbed tone again. After that the voices and the
footsteps went up the hill again, and the Happy Family breathed freer.
Incidentally, Pink stopped snoring and made a cigarette.
Going to bed at seven-thirty or thereabouts was not the custom of the
Happy Family, but they stayed under the covers and smoked and
discussed the situation. They dared not have a light, and the night
was longer than they had ever known a night to be, for it was late
before they slept. It was well that Miss Verbena Martin could not
overhear their talk, which was unchivalrous and unfriendly in the
extreme. The general opinion seemed to be that old maid improvers
would better stay at home where they might possibly be welcome, and
that when the Happy Family wanted improving they would let her know.
Cal Emmett said that he wouldn't mind, if they had only sent a young,
pretty one. Happy Jack prophesied plenty of trouble, and boasted that
she couldn't haul _him_ into no s'ciety. Slim declared again that by
golly, she wouldn't do no improving on _him_, and the others--Weary
and Irish and Pink and Jack Bates and Andy--discussed ways and means
and failed always to agree. When each one hoots derision at all plans
but his own, it is easy guessing what will be the result. In this
particular instance the result was voices raised in argument--voices
that reached Chip, grinning and listening on the porch of the White
House--and tardy slumber overtaking a disgruntled Happy Family on the
brink of violence.
It was not a particularly happy Family that woke to memory and a snowy
Sunday; woke late, because of the disturbing evening. When they spoke
to one another their voices were but growls, and when they trailed
through the snow to their breakfast they went in moody silence.
They had just brightened a bit before Patsy's Sunday breakfast, which
included hot-cakes and maple syrup, when the door was pushed quietly
open and the Little Doctor came in, followed closely by Miss Martin;
an apologetic Little Doctor, who seemed, by her very manner of
entering, to implore them not to blame _her_ for the intrusion. Miss
Martin was not apologetic. She was disconcertingly eager and glad to
meet them, and pathetically anxious to win their favor.
Miss Martin talked, and the Happy Family ate hurriedly and with
lowered eyelids. Miss Martin asked questions, and the Happy Family
kicked one another's shins under the table by way of urging someone to
reply; for this reason there was a quite perceptible pause between
question and answer, and the answer was invariably "the soul of
wit"--according to that famous recipe. Miss Martin told them naively
all about her hopes and her plans and herself, and about the distant
woman's club that took so great an interest in their welfare, and the
Happy Family listened dejectedly and tried to be polite. Also, they
did not relish the hot-cakes as usual, and Patsy had half the batter
left when the meal was over, instead of being obliged to mix more, as
was usually the case.
When they had eaten, the Happy Family filed out decorously and went
hastily down to the stables. They did not say much, but they did
glance over their shoulders uneasily once or twice.
"The old girl is sure hot on our trail," Pink remarked when they were
safely through the big gate. "She must uh got us mixed up with some
Wild West show, in her mind. Josephine!"
"Well, by golly, she don't improve _me_," Slim repeated for about the
tenth time.
The horses were all fed and everything tidy for the day, and several
saddles were being hauled down significantly from their pegs, when
Irish delivered himself of a speech, short but to the point. Irish had
been very quiet and had taken no part in the discussion that had waxed
hot all that morning.
"Now, see here," he said in his decided way. "Maybe it didn't strike
you as anything but funny--which it sure is. But yuh want to remember
that the old girl has come a dickens of a long ways to do us some
good. She's been laying awake nights thinking about how we'll get to
calling her something nice: Angel of the Roundup, maybe--you can't
tell, she's that romantic. And right here is where I'm going to give
the old girl the worth of her money. It won't hurt _us_, letting her
talk wild and foolish at us once a week, maybe; and the poor old
thing'll just be tickled to death thinking what a lot uh good she's
doing. She won't stay long, and--well, I go in. If she'll feel better
and more good to the world improving me, she's got my permission. I
guess I can stand it a while."
The Happy Family looked at him queerly, for if there was a black sheep
in the flock, Irish was certainly the man; and to have Irish take the
stand he did was, to say the least, unexpected.
Cal Emmett blurted the real cause of their astonishment. "You'll have
to sign the pledge, first pass," he said. "That's going to be the ante
in _her_ game. How--"
"Well, I don't play nobody's hand, or stake anybody's chips, but my
own," Irish retorted, the blood showing under the tan on his cheeks.
"And we won't das't roll a cigarette, even, by golly!" reminded Slim.
For Miss Martin, whether intentionally or not, had made plain to them
the platform of the new society.
Irish got some deep creases between his eyebrows, and put back his
saddle. "You can do as yuh like," he said, coldly. "I'm going to stay
and go to meeting this afternoon, according to her invite. If it's
going to make that poor old freak feel any better thinking she's a
real missionary--" He turned and walked out of the stable without
finishing the sentence, and the Happy Family stood quite still and
watched him go.
Pink it was who first spoke. "I ain't the boy to let any long-legged
son-of-a-gun like Irish hit a gait I can't follow," he dimpled, and
took the saddle reluctantly off Toots. "If he can stand it, I guess I
can."
Weary loosened his latigo. "If Cadwolloper is going to learn poetry, I
will, too," he grinned. "Mama! it'll be good as a three-ringed circus!
I never thought uh that, before. I couldn't miss it."
"Oh, well, if you fellows take a hand, I'll sure have to be there to
see," Andy decided. "Two o'clock, did she say?"
* * * * *
"I hate to be called a quitter," Pink remarked dispiritedly to the
Happy Family in general; a harassed looking Happy Family, which sat
around and said little, and watched the clock. In an hour they would
be due to attend the second meeting of the M.I.S.S.--and one would
think, from the look of them, that they were about to be hanged. "I
hate to be called a quitter, but right here's where I lay 'em down.
The rest of yuh can go on being improved, if yuh want to--darned if I
will, though. I'm all in."
"I don't recollect hearing anybody say we wanted to," growled Jack
Bates. "Irish, maybe, is still burning with a desire to be nice and
chivalrous; but you can count me out. One dose is about all I can
stand."
"By golly, I wouldn't go and feel that foolish again, not if yuh paid
me for it," Slim declared.
Irish grinned and reached for his hat. "I done my damnettest," he said
cheerfully. "I made the old girl happy once; now, one Irish Mallory is
due to have a little joy coming his way. I'm going to town."
"'Break, break, break, on thy cold, gray crags, oh sea,
And I would that my tongue could utter the thoughts that come over me.'
"You will observe, gentlemen, the beautiful sentiment, the euphonious
rhythm, the noble--" Weary went down, still declaiming mincingly,
beneath four irate bodies that hurled themselves toward him and upon
him.
"We'll break, break, break every bone in your body if you don't shut
up. You will observe the beautiful sentiment of _that_ a while," cried
Pink viciously. "I've had the euphonious rhythm of my sleep broke up
ever since I set there and listened at her for two hours. Josephine!"
Irish stopped with his hand on the door knob. "I was the jay that
started it," he admitted contritely. "But, honest, I never had a hunch
she was plumb locoed; I thought she was just simply foolish. Come on
to town, boys!"
Such is the power of suggestion that in fifteen minutes the Happy
Family had passed out of sight over the top of the grade; all save
Andy Green, who told them he would be along after a while, and that
they need not wait. He looked at the clock, smoked a meditative
cigarette and went up to the White House, to attend the second meeting
of the Mutual Improvement and Social Society.
When he faced alone Miss Verbena Martin, and explained that the other
members were unavoidably absent because they had a grudge against a
man in Dry Lake and had gone in to lynch him and burn the town, Miss
Martin was shocked into postponing the meeting. Andy said he was glad,
because he wanted to go in and see the fight; undoubtedly, he assured
her, there would be a fight, and probably a few of them would get
killed off. He reminded her that he had told her right in the start
that they were a bad lot, and that she would have hard work reforming
them; and finally, he made her promise that she would not mention to
anyone what he had told her, because it wouldn't be safe for him, or
for her, if they ever got to hear of it. After that Andy also took the
trail to town, and he went at a gallop and smiled as he rode.
Miss Martin reflected shudderingly upon the awful details of the
crime, as hinted at by Andy, and packed her trunk. It might be brave
and noble to stay and work among all those savages, but she doubted
much whether it were after all her duty. She thought of many ways in
which she could do more real good nearer home. She had felt all along
that these cowboys were an untrustworthy lot; she had noticed them
glancing at one another in a secret and treacherous manner, all
through the last meeting, and she was positive they had not given her
that full confidence without which no good can be accomplished. That
fellow they called Happy looked capable of almost any crime; she had
never felt quite safe in his presence.
Miss Martin pictured them howling and dancing around the burning
dwellings of their enemies, shooting every one they could see; Miss
Martin had imagination, of a sort. But while she pictured the horrors
of an Indian massacre she continued to pack her suit-case and to
consult often her watch. When she could do no more it occurred to her
that she would better see if someone could take her to the station.
Fortunately for all concerned, somebody could. One might go further
and say that somebody was quite willing to strain a point, even, in
order to get her there in time for the next train.
* * * * *
The Happy Family was gathered in Rusty Brown's place, watching Irish
do things to a sheep-man from Lonesome Prairie, in a game of pool.
They were just giving vent to a prolonged whoop of derision at the
sheep-man's play, when a rig flashed by the window. Weary stopped with
his mouth wide open and stared; leaned to the window and craned to see
more clearly.
"Mama mine!" he ejaculated incredulously. "I could swear I saw Miss
Verbena in that rig, with her trunk, and headed towards the depot.
Feel my pulse, Cadwolloper, and see if I'm normal."
But Pink was on his way to the back door, and from there climbed like
a cat to the roof of the coal-house, where, as he knew from
experience, one could see the trail to the depot, and the depot
itself.
"It's sure her," he announced. "Chip's driving like hell, and the
smoke uh the train's just coming around the bend from the big field.
Wonder what struck her so sudden?" He turned and looked down into the
grinning face of Andy Green.
"She was real insulted because you fellows played hookey," Andy
explained. "I tried to explain, but it didn't help none. I don't
believe her heart went out to us like she claimed, anyhow."
* * * * *
HAPPY JACK, WILD MAN.
Happy Jack, over on the Shonkin range, saw how far it was to the river
and mopped the heat-crimsoned face of him with a handkerchief not
quite as clean as it might have been. He hoped that the Flying U
wagons would be where he had estimated that they would be; for he was
aweary of riding with a strange outfit, where his little personal
peculiarities failed to meet with that large tolerance accorded by the
Happy Family. He didn't think much of the Shonkin crew; grangers and
pilgrims, he called them disgustedly in his mind. He hoped the Old Man
would not send him on that long trip with them south of the
Highwoods--which is what he was on his way to find out about. What
Happy Jack was hoping for, was to have the Old Man--as represented by
Chip--send one of the boys back with him to bring over what Flying U
cattle had been gathered, together with Happy's bed and string of
horses. Then he would ride with the Happy Family on the familiar range
that was better, in his eyes, than any other range that ever lay
outdoors--and the Shonkin outfit could go to granny. (Happy did not,
however, say "granny").
He turned down the head of a coulee which promised to lead him, by the
most direct route--if any route in the Badlands can be called
direct--to the river, across which, and a few miles up on Suction
Creek, he confidently expected to find the Flying U wagons. The coulee
wound aimlessly, with precipitous sides that he could not climb, even
by leading his horse. Happy Jack, under the sweltering heat of
mid-June sunlight, once more mopped his face, now more crimson than
ever, and relapsed into his habitual gloom. Just when he was telling
himself pessimistically that the chances were he would run slap out on
a cut bank where he couldn't get down to the river at all, the coulee
turned again and showed the gray-blue water slithering coolly past,
with the far bank green and sloping invitingly.
The horse hurried forward at a shuffling trot and thrust his hot
muzzle into the delicious coolness. Happy Jack slipped off and, lying
flat on his stomach, up-stream from the horse, drank deep and long,
then stood up, wiped his face and considered the necessity of
crossing. Just at this point the river was not so wide as in others,
and for that reason the current flowed swiftly past. Not too swiftly,
however, if one took certain precautions. Happy Jack measured mentally
the strength of the current and the proper amount of caution which it
would be expedient to use, and began his preparations; for the sun was
sliding down hill toward the western skyline, and he wished very much
to reach the wagons in time for supper, if he could.
Standing in the shade of the coulee wall, he undressed deliberately,
folding each garment methodically as he took it off. When the pile was
complete to socks and boots, he rolled it into a compact bundle and
tied it firmly upon his saddle. Stranger, his horse, was a good
swimmer, and always swam high out of water. He hoped the things would
not get very wet; still, the current was strong, and his
characteristic pessimism suggested that they would be soaked to the
last thread. So, naked as our first ancestor, he urged his horse into
the stream, and when it was too deep for kicking--Stranger was ever
uncertain and not to be trusted too far--he caught him firmly by the
tail and felt the current grip them both. The feel of the water was
glorious after so long a ride in the hot sun, and Happy Jack reveled
in the cool swash of it up his shoulders to the back of his neck, as
Stranger swam out and across to the sloping, green bank on the home
side. When his feet struck bottom, Happy Jack should have waded
also--but the water was so deliciously cool, slapping high up on his
shoulders like that; he still floated luxuriously, towed by
Stranger--until Stranger, his footing secure, glanced back at Happy
sliding behind like a big, red fish, snorted and plunged up and on to
dry land.
Happy Jack struck his feet down to bottom, stumbled and let go his
hold of the tail, and Stranger, feeling the weight loosen suddenly,
gave another plunge and went careering up the bank, snorting back at
Happy Jack. Happy swore, waded out and made threats, but Stranger,
seeing himself pursued by a strange figure whose only resemblance to
his master lay in voice and profanity, fled in terror before him.
Happy Jack, crippling painfully on the stones, fled fruitlessly after,
still shouting threats. Then, as Stranger, galloping wildly,
disappeared over a ridge, he stood and stared stupidly at the place
where the horse had last been seen. For the moment his mind refused to
grasp all the horror of his position; he stepped gingerly over the hot
sand and rocks, sought the shelter of a bit of overhanging bank, and
sat dazedly down upon a rock too warm for comfort. He shifted uneasily
to the sand beside, found that still hotter, and returned to the rock.
He needed to think; to grasp this disaster that had come so suddenly
upon him. He looked moodily across to the southern bank, his chin
sunken between moist palms, the while the water dried upon his person.
To be set afoot, down here in the Badlands, away from the habitations
of men and fifteen miles from the probable location of the Flying U
camp, was not nice. To be set afoot _naked_--it was horrible, and
unbelievable. He thought of tramping, barefooted and bare-legged,
through fifteen miles of sage-covered Badlands to camp, with the sun
beating down on his unprotected back, and groaned in anticipation. Not
even his pessimism had ever pictured a thing so terrible.