"THE PANHANDLE--PAST AND PRESENT"
Jackleg was in holiday attire. It was a raw Western settlement, it was
true; but there was more business ambition and public spirit in the
place than in half a dozen Eastern towns of its population.
The schoolhouse was a long, low structure, seating as many people as the
ordinary town hall. It was situated upon a flat bit of prairie on the
outskirts of the town. Rather, the town had grown from the schoolhouse
to the railroad station, on either side of a long, dusty street.
Railroads in the West do not go out of their way to touch immature
settlements. The settlements have to stretch tentacles out to the place
where the railroad company determines to build a station.
This was so at Jackleg, but it gave a long vista of Main Street from the
heart of the town to its outlying suburbs. This street was now gay with
flags and bunting, while there were many arches of colored electric
lights to burn at night.
Almost before the plans for the pageant had been formed, the business
men of Jackleg had subscribed a liberal sum to defray expenses. As the
plans for the entertainment progressed, and it was whispered about what
a really fine thing it was to be, more subscriptions rolled in.
But Captain Dan Rugley had deposited a guarantee with the Committee that
he would pay any debts over the subscriptions received, therefore
Frances and her helpers had gone ahead along rather lavish lines.
The end wall of the school building had been actually removed. The
framework of the wall was rearranged by the carpenters like the
proscenium arch of a stage, and a drop of canvas faced the spectators
where the teacher's desk and platform had been.
Behind the schoolhouse was a vacant lot. This had been surrounded with a
high board fence. The enclosure made the great stage for the spectacle
which the Jackleg people, the ranchers and farmers from around about,
and the visitors from Amarillo and other towns, had come to see.
At the back of this enclosure, or stage, was a big sheet, or screen, on
which moving pictures could be thrown. On a platform built outside, and
over the open end of the building, were two moving picture machines with
operators who had come on from California where some of the pictures had
been made by a very famous film company.
Some of the pictures had been made in Oklahoma, too, where one
public-spirited American citizen has saved a herd of the almost extinct
bison that once roamed our Western plains in such numbers.
At either side of the fenced yard behind the schoolhouse stood the
actors in the spectacle--both human and dumb--with all the
paraphernalia. A director had come on from the film company to stage the
show; but the story as developed was strictly in accordance with Frances
Rugley's "plans and specifications."
"She's a wonder, that little girl," declared the professional. "She'd
make her mark as a scenario writer--no doubt of that. I'd like to get
her for our company; but they say her father is one of the richest men
in the Panhandle."
Pratt Sanderson, to whom he happened to say this, nodded. "And one of
the best," he assured the Californian. "Captain Dan Rugley is a noble
old man, a gentleman of the old school, and one who has seen the West
grow up and develop from the times of its swaddling clothes until now."
"Wonderful country," sighed the director. "Look at its beginnings almost
within the memory of the present generation, and now--why! there's half
a hundred automobiles parked right outside this show to-night!"
Captain Dan Rugley secured a front seat. He was as excited as a boy over
the event. He admitted to Mrs. Bill Edwards that he hadn't been to a
"regular show" a dozen times in his life.
"And I expect this is going to knock the spots out of anything I ever
saw--even the Grand Opera at Chicago, when my wife and I went on our
honeymoon."
The young folks from the Edwards ranch were scattered about the old
Captain. Sue Latrop had assumed her most critical attitude. But Sue had
been wonderfully silent about Frances and her father since the dinner
dance.
That occasion had turned out to be something entirely different from
what the girl from Boston expected. In the first place, her young
hostess was better and more tastefully--though simply--dressed than any
of her guests.
Her adornments had been only a crescent in her hair and a brooch; but
Sue had been forced to admire the beauty and value of these. Beside
Frances, the other girls seemed overdressed. The range girl had dignity
enough to carry off her part perfectly.
Under the soft glow of the candles in the wonderful old candelabra, to
which the Captain referred as "a part of the loot of Senor Morales'
_hacienda_," Frances of the ranges sat as hostess, calmly
beautiful, and governing the course of the dinner without the least
hesitancy or confusion.
She looked out for every guest's needs and directed the two Mexican boys
and Ming in their service with all the calmness and judgment of a
hostess who was long used to dinner parties. Indeed, Sue Latrop was
forced to admit in her secret soul that she had never seen any hostess
manage better at an entertainment of this kind.
At the upper end of the table, the old Captain fairly beamed his
hospitality and delight. He kept the boys in a gale of laughter, and the
girls seemed all to enjoy themselves, too. Critical Miss Latrop could
throw no wet blanket upon the proceedings; to tell the truth, her sour
face was quite overlooked by the other guests, and about all the
attention she attracted was when Mrs. Bill Edwards asked her if she had
the toothache.
"No, I have no toothache!" snapped Sue. "I don't see why you should
ask."
"Well, my dear," said the lady, soothingly, "something must surely be
the matter. I never saw a person at dinner with so miserable a
countenance. Does something pinch you?"
Yes! it was Sue's vanity pinching her, if the truth were known. Her
diatribes about Frances and the old Captain were not to be easily
forgotten by the girl from Boston. Not so much was she smitten because
of her unkindness; but she felt that she had played the fool!
Her friends from Amarillo must be quietly laughing in secret over what
Sue had said regarding the uncouthness of the Captain and the lack of
breeding of the "Cattle Queen." Sue felt that she had laid herself open
to ridicule, and it did hurt Sue Latrop to think that her young friends
were laughing at her.
As for the dinner, that was a revelation to the girl from Boston. The
service, if a bit odd, was very good. And the silver, cut glass, napery,
and all were as rich as Sue had ever seen.
After the dinner, and the other guests began to arrive, and the band
struck up behind the palms in the inner court of the _hacienda_,
Sue continued to be surprised, though she failed to admit it to her
friends.
It was true the boys came up from the bunk-house without evening dress.
But their black clothes were clean and well brushed, and those who wore
the usual kerchief about their necks sported silk ones and carried their
bullion-loaded sombreros in their hands.
And they could all dance. Sue refused the first few dances and tried to
sit and look on in a superior way; but she presently failed to make good
at this.
When the kindly old ranchman considered her a wall-flower and came and
begged her to "give him a whirl," Sue had to break through her "icy
reserve."
Although they did not dance the more modern dances, she found that
Captain Rugley knew his steps and was as light on his feet as a man half
his age.
"I have given Mr. Rheumatism the time of his life to-night!" declared
the owner of the Bar-T brand. "That's what I told Frances I would do."
And Captain Rugley suffered no ill effects from the dance, as was shown
by his appearance here at the Jackleg schoolhouse to-night, when the
canvas curtain slowly rolled up to reveal first the painted curtain
behind it, on which was a picture of the meeting of Cortez and the Aztec
princes soon after the Conqueror's arrival in Mexico.
The school teacher read the prologue, and the spectators settled down to
listen and to see. His explanation of what was to follow was both
concise and well written, and the whisper went around:
"And she's only a girl! Yes, Miss Rugley wrote it all."
Sue sniffed. The teacher stepped back into the shadow and the painted
curtain rolled up.
There was a gasp of amazement when the audience saw what was revealed
behind the painted sheet. One of the moving picture machines was already
running, and on the great screen was thrown a representation of the
staked plains of the Panhandle as they were in the days before the white
man ever saw them.
Far, far away appeared a band of painted and feather-bedecked Indians,
riding their mustangs, and sweeping down toward the immediate foreground
of the picture with a vividness that was almost startling.
Into that foreground was drifting a herd of buffaloes. They started, the
bulls giving the signal as the enemy approached, and the end of that
section was the scampering of the great, hairy beasts, with the Indians
in full chase, brandishing their spears.
Immediately the scene changed and a train of a different kind broke into
view in the dim perspective. The moving figures grew clearer as the
moments passed. Over a similar part of the staked plain came the
exploring Spaniards, with their cattle and caparisoned horses, their
enslaved Aztecs, their priests bearing the Cross before.
The moving procession came closer and closer until suddenly the whirring
of the picture machine stopped, a great searchlight was turned upon the
dusky yard between the screen and the open end of the school building,
and with a gasp of amazement the audience saw there the double of the
procession which had just been pictured on the moving picture screen.
The actors in this part of the pageant crowded across the desert, were
stopped by a stampede of Indian ponies, and later made friends of the
wondering savages.
From this point on the history of the Panhandle developed rapidly. The
spectators saw the crossing of the plains by the early pioneers, both in
picture and by actual people, a train of prairie schooners drawn by
oxen, and a sham battle between the pioneers and the Indians.
The buffaloes disappeared from the picture and the wide-horned cattle
took their place. A picture of a famous round-up was shown, and then a
real herd of cattle was driven into the enclosure (they wore the Bar-T
brand) and several cowboys displayed their skill in roping and tying.
The curtain was dropped, there was a swift change, and it arose again on
a hastily-built frontier town--a town of one-story shacks with two-story
false fronts, dance and gambling halls, saloons, a pitiful hotel, and
all the crude and ugly building expressions of a raw civilization.
"My mighty!" gasped Captain Dan Rugley. "That's Amarillo--Amarillo as I
first saw it, twenty-five years ago."
People appeared in the street, and rough enough they were. A band of
cowpunchers rode in, with yells and pistol shots. The rough life of that
early day was displayed in some detail.
And then, after a short intermission, pictures were displayed again of
great droves of cattle on the trail, bound for the shipping points;
following which came pictures of the new wheat fields--that march of the
agricultural regime that is to make the Panhandle one of the wealthiest
sections of our great country.
A great reaper was shown at work; likewise a traction gang-plow and a
motor threshing machine. The progress in agriculture in the Panhandle
during the last half dozen years really excited some of the older
residents.
"Did you ever see the beat of that?" demanded Captain Rugley. "I'm blest
if I wouldn't like to own one of them. See those little dinguses turn up
the ribbons of sod! I don't know but that Frances can encourage me to be
that kind of a farmer, after all! There's something big about riding a
reaper like that one. And that threshing machine, too! Did you see the
straw blowing out of the pipes as though a cyclone was whirling it away?
"By mighty! I wish Lon could have been here to see this, I certainly
do!"
For the last time the curtain was lowered and then rose again. On the
screen was pictured Amarillo as it is to-day.
First a panorama of the town and its outskirts. Then "stills" of its
principal buildings, and its principal citizens.
Then the main streets, full of business life, autos chugging, electric
cars clanging back and forth, all of the bustle of a modern town that is
growing rich and growing rapidly.
The contrast between what the spectators had seen early in the spectacle
and this final scene made them thoughtful. There had been plenty of
applause all through the show; but when "Good-night" was shown upon the
screen, nobody moved, and Pratt raised the shout for:
"Miss Rugley!"
She would not appear before the curtain save with the other members of
the committee. But the cheering was for her and she had to run away to
hide her blushes and her tears of happiness.
"Wake up, Sue, it's over!" exclaimed one of the other girls, shaking the
young lady from Boston.
Sue Latrop came to herself slowly. She had never realized the Spirit of
the West before, nor appreciated what it meant to have battled for and
grown up with a frontier community.
"Is--is that all true?" she whispered to Pratt.
"Is what all true?" he asked, rather blankly.
"That there have been such improvements and changes here in so few
years?"
"You bet!" exclaimed Pratt, with emphasis.
"Well--re'lly--it's quite wonderful," admitted Sue, slowly. "I had no
idea it was like that!"
"So you think better of our 'crude civilization,' do you?" laughed one
of her girl friends.
"Why--why, it is quite surprising," said Sue, again, and still quite
breathless.
"And what do you think of our Frances?" demanded Mrs. Bill Edwards,
proudly. "There's nobody in Boston's Back Bay, even, who could do better
than she?"
And Sue Latrop was--for the time being, at least--completely silenced.