ROBBERY-UNDER-ARMS
_Kate's Narrative_
We have started a visitor's book. It opens with press cuttings of
interviews with Professor Bohns, the famous archaeologist, who came to
examine the paleolithic deposits at South Cave. Next are papers relating
to a summons for assault, brought by the late Mr. Trevor against J.
Smith. There is a letter from a big game hunter, Sir Turner Rounde, who
came up the canyon collecting specimen pelts of _ursus horribilis_, which
Jesse maintains is not a grizzly bear. But the gem of our collection is
a letter of lengthy explanation from an eminent Italian cur, who spent a
whole month at the ranch last winter. Nobody is more hospitable, or more
hungry for popularity than my dear man, but I think that special prayers
should be offered for his visitors. He has a motto now:--"Love me: love
my bear, not my missus."
My jealous hero has told the story of an old admirer, once my
fellow-student, who brought me a dumpy piano for which I had so starved,
told me the news, talked shop, and would make me a prima donna--my
life's ambition. The trap was well baited. Lonely, and terrified by the
dread majesty of winter, I craved for the lights, for the crowds, for my
home, for my people, for my art. And there are little things besides
which mean so much to a woman.
Salvator turned out to be a cur, his mission despicable, and yet no
woman born can ever be without some little tenderness for one whose love
misleads him. And I who sought to read a lesson to poor Jesse, learned
one for myself. I am no longer free, but fettered, and proud of the
chains, Love's chains, worth more to me than that lost world.
And yet I wonder if in Heaven there are blessed but weak little souls
like mine, which grow weary at times of the harps, chafed by their
crowns of glory, bored to tears with bliss, ready to give it all up just
for a nice gossip. That would be human.
Where spring has come like a visitation of angels, where winter's
loneliness is changing to summer's happy solitude, I look into mirror
pools, and see contentment. Oh, how can civilized people realize the
wonder and glamour of this paradise? Up in the black pines it is winter
still, but all our towered, bayed, sculptured, sunny precipice is alive
with flowers and birds, while the slopes at the foot of the wall are
white with the blossom of wild orchards. Here our bench pasture is a
little sky with marigolds for stars. Down in the lower canyon the trees
are in summer leaf. The canaries are nesting, the humming-birds have
just come, the bees are having a wedding, just as Mendelssohn told us,
and Jesse and I are quite ashamed of ourselves, because the widow's
reproachful eyes have found us out. We are not really and truly grown
up.
Why should the poor sour woman be afraid of fairies? But then you see I
was dreadfully afraid of the landlord, until, emerging gaunt and haggard
from his winter sleep, Eph came to inquire for treacle. He had a dish of
golden syrup, bless him, and no baby short of nine feet from tip to tip,
could ever have got himself in such a mess. He still thinks I'm rather
dangerous.
One morning, it must have been the twenty sixth, I think, we had a
caller, destined, I fear, to entry in our visitor's book. Jesse had
ridden off to see how his ponies thrive on the new grass, Mrs. O'Flynn
was redding up after breakfast, and finding myself in the way, I took my
water colors down to Apex Rock, to see if one sketch would hold winter,
spring, summer, as viewed from the center of wonderland.
Now our house being in full view from the apex, and sound traveling
magically in this clear atmosphere, I heard voices. Mrs. O'Flynn had a
visitor, and I was in such a jealous hurry to share the gossip, that my
sketch went over the cliff as I rose to run. A rather handsome man, in
the splendid cow-boy dress, stood by a chestnut gelding, such a horse
aristocrat that I made sure he must sport a coat of arms. Moreover, in a
gingerly and reluctant way, as though under orders, he was kissing Mrs.
O'Flynn. She beamed, bless her silly old heart!
Mrs. O'Flynn looks on her truthfulness as a quality too precious for
every-day use, and so carefully has it been preserved that in her
fifty-fourth year it shows no signs of wear. Hence, on reaching the
house I was not surprised to find that her visitor was a total stranger.
From chivalrous respect for women--the species being rare on the stock
range--cow-boys are shy, usually tongue-tied. In a land where it is
accounted ill-bred to ask a personal question, as, for instance, to
inquire of your guest his name, where he comes from, or whither he is
bound, cow-punchers take a pride in their reticence. They never make
obvious remarks, ask needless questions, or interfere with matters
beyond their concern.
In the cattle country a visitor asked to dismount, makes camp or house
his home, never suggesting by word or glance a doubt that he is welcome
to water, pasturage, food, shelter, and warmth, so long as he needs to
stay. I had not invited this man to dismount.
Judged by these signs--chivalry, reticence, courtesy--Mrs. O'Flynn's
guest was not a cow-boy. His florid manners, exaggerated politeness, and
imitation of our middle-class English speech stamped him bounder, but
not of the British breed. Later, in moments of excitement, he spoke New
York, with a twang of music-hall.
Even in so lonely a place it is curious to remember that such a person
should appeal to me. Still in his common way the man had beauty, carried
his clothes well, moved with grace. So much the artist in me saw and
liked, but I think no woman could have seen those tragic eyes without
being influenced.
"Ah! Mrs. Smith, I believe?" He stood uncovered. "May I venture to ask
if your husband is at home? I think I had the pleasuah of knowing him
years ago down in Texas."
"He'll be back by noon."
"Thank you, madam. Fact is, we were very much surprised to see your
chimney smoke. We thought this exquisite place was quite unoccupied.
Indeed!"
"Who's 'we'?"
"Oh, we're the outfit riding for General Schmidt. We've come in search
of the spring feed. We were informed that Ponder's place was unoccupied,
open to all. Am I mistaken in supposing that this is Ponder's place?"
"It is."
"Er--may I venture to ask if your husband holds squatter's rights, or
has the homestead and preemption?"
"You may ask my husband."
"Thank you, madam. Our foreman instructed me to say that if the place
proved to be occupied, I was to ask terms for pasturage. We've only two
hundred head."
"Mr. Smith will consider the matter."
"We're camped in a little cave at the south end of the bench, deuced
comfortable."
Of course I know I'm a fool, and expect to be treated as such. But this
man claimed to have camped at the South Cave without passing this house,
which was impossible.
"Camped at South Cave?" said I. "In that event I need not detain you.
Mr. Smith no doubt will call on you after dinner. Good morning, sir."
But this was not to his mind, and I gathered vaguely that my husband was
not really wanted at the Bar Y camp. I even suspected that this visitor
would rather deal with me than see my husband. It required more than a
hint to secure his departure.
Jesse returned at noon. He had set off singing, but at dinner he was so
thoughtful that he never even noticed my casserole, a dish he was
expected to enjoy, and when he tried afterward to light an empty pipe, I
saw that there was something wrong. He received the story of our caller
with the noises of one displeased. "That visitor, Kate," he summed up,
"would make a first-class stranger. Knew me, you say, in Texas?"
Hearing from her kitchen Mrs. O'Flynn's sharp grunt of dissent, I closed
the door.
"You've left the key-hole open," said Jesse, rising from the table, "come
for a walk."
"Now, Kate dear," Jesse sat down beside me on the Apex Rock, "this morn
you got your first lesson in robbers. How would you like a visit to old
Cap Taylor at Hundred Mile?"
My voice may have quivered just a little. "Danger?" I asked.
"I dunno as there's actual danger, but if I jest _knowed_ you was safe,
I'd be free to act prompt."
"Tell me everything, Jesse."
"Up at the north end of the bench, there's maybe two hundred head of
strange cattle. One pedigree short-horn bull is worth all of twenty-five
hundred dollars, and there's a Hereford stud I'd take off my hat to
anywheres. There's Aberdeens or Angus--I get them poll breeds mixed--and
a bunch of Jerseys grazing apart, purty as deer. Anyways, that herd's
worth maybe two hundred thousand dollars, every hoof of 'em stolen, and
if you raked all them millionaire ranches in California I doubt you'd
get that value."
"How do you know they're stolen?"
"No stock owner needs that amount of stud cattle. We don't raise such in
the north, so they've been drifted in here from the States. They're
gaunt with famine and driving, and it beats me to think how many more's
been left dead crossing the Black Pine country. The Bar Y brands has
been faked. The parties herding 'em waits till I'm away, and tries to
make a deal with you for pasturage. The gent with the sad eyes is sent
dressed up to fool a woman."
"But how could even robbers collect such a wonderful herd?"
"Kate, in them western states there's just about four hundred cow
thieves working together, which you'll see them advertised in the papers
robbing coaches, trains, pay for mining-camps, or now and again some
bank. Still that's just vacations, and the main business is lifting
cattle.
"Ye see, Kate, they'd collect an occasional stud, such as these here
imported thoroughbreds, too good to lose, too well-known to sell, too
hot to hold. They'd keep 'em in some hid-up pasture. But sometimes the
people prods the sheriffs to get a move on, or Uncle Sam sends pony
soldiers to play hell with the sovereign rights of them holy western
states. Then the robbers is apt to scatter down in store clothes, for a
drunk at 'Frisco. This time I seen in the papers that Uncle Sam is
rounding up his robbers, so naturally the pick of their stealings
requires hiding. They'd drive north for the British possessions, but on
the plains there's too much mounted police, whereas this British
Columbia has one district constable to a district the size of the old
country. Yes, they'd come to this province, and this here ranch of ours
is a sort of North Pole to the stock range. Since old man Ponder quit
out, and I squatted, only the neighbors know that the ranch is claimed.
"Now, Kate," his great strong arm closed round me like a vise. "The hull
country knows you're clear grit, so there's no shame in leaving. For my
sake, dear--"
"Do you think I'd leave you in danger?"
He sighed. "I knew it. I cayn't help it, and, Kate, it's the truth, I'd
rather see you dead than scared. There's Madam Grizzly, and Senora
Cougar, there's Lady Elk, and even Mrs. Polecat, brave as lions. I'd
hate to have my mate the only one to run like a scalded cat."
"The program, Jesse?"
"Do you remember, Kate, how we lost five dollars finding out that Dale
and me is signalers?"
"And Captain Taylor gave us the signals to raise the district: one fire
for feasts, two for help, three for war!"
"That's it, little woman. By dusk I'll be on top of the cliffs, and make
my fires back from the rim-rock, where them robbers won't see the
glare."