“Christine!” called Madeline.
Then it was as if a little whirlwind of flying feet and entreating
hands and beseeching eyes blew in upon Madeline. Christine was small,
graceful, plump, with very white skin and very dark hair. She had been
Madeline’s favorite maid for years and there was sincere affection
between the two. Whatever had been the blissful ignorance of Ambrose, it
was manifestly certain that Christine knew how she had transgressed.
Her fear and remorse and appeal for forgiveness were poured out in an
incoherent storm. Plain it was that the little French maid had been
overwhelmed. It was only after Madeline had taken the emotional girl in
her arms and had forgiven and soothed her that her part in the elopement
became clear. Christine was in a maze. But gradually, as she talked and
saw that she was forgiven, calmness came in some degree, and with it
a story which amused yet shocked Madeline. The unmistakable, shy,
marveling love, scarcely realized by Christine, gave Madeline relief
and joy. If Christine loved Ambrose there was no harm done. Watching the
girl’s eyes, wonderful with their changes of thought, listening to her
attempts to explain what it was evident she did not understand, Madeline
gathered that if ever a caveman had taken unto himself a wife, if ever
a barbarian had carried off a Sabine woman, then Ambrose Mills had acted
with the violence of such ancient forebears. Just how it all happened
seemed to be beyond Christine.
“He say he love me,” repeated the girl, in a kind of rapt awe. “He ask
me to marry him—he kees me—he hug me—he lift me on ze horse—he ride
with me all night—he marry me.”
And she exhibited a ring on the third finger of her left hand. Madeline
saw that, whatever had been the state of Christine’s feeling for Ambrose
before this marriage, she loved him now. She had been taken forcibly,
but she was won.
After Christine had gone, comforted and betraying her shy eagerness
to get back to Ambrose, Madeline was haunted by the look in the girl’s
eyes, and her words. Assuredly the spell of romance was on this sunny
land. For Madeline there was a nameless charm, a nameless thrill
combating her sense of the violence and unfitness of Ambrose’s wooing.
Something, she knew not what, took arms against her intellectual
arraignment of the cowboy’s method of getting himself a wife. He had
said straight out that he loved the girl—he had asked her to marry
him—he kissed her—he hugged her—he lifted her upon his horse—he rode
away with her through the night—and he married her. In whatever light
Madeline reviewed this thing she always came back to her first natural
impression; it thrilled her, charmed her. It went against all the
precepts of her training; nevertheless, it was somehow splendid and
beautiful. She imagined it stripped another artificial scale from her
over-sophisticated eyes.
Scarcely had she settled again to the task on her desk when Stillwell’s
heavy tread across the porch interrupted her. This time when he entered
he wore a look that bordered upon the hysterical; it was difficult to
tell whether he was trying to suppress grief or glee.
“Miss Majesty, there’s another amazin’ strange thing sprung on me.
Hyars Jim Bell come to see you, an’, when I taxed him, sayin’ you was
tolerable busy, he up an’ says he was hungry an’ he ain’t a-goin’ to eat
any more bread made in a wash-basin! Says he’ll starve first. Says Nels
hed the gang over to big bunk an’ feasted them on bread you taught him
how to make in some new-fangled bucket-machine with a crank. Jim says
thet bread beat any cake he ever eat, an’ he wants you to show him how
to make some. Now, Miss Majesty, as superintendent of this ranch I ought
to know what’s goin’ on. Mebbe Jim is jest a-joshin’ me. Mebbe he’s gone
clean dotty. Mebbe I hev. An’ beggin’ your pardon, I want to know if
there’s any truth in what Jim says Nels says.”
Whereupon it became necessary for Madeline to stifle her mirth and to
inform the sadly perplexed old cattleman that she had received from the
East a patent bread-mixer, and in view of the fact that her household
women had taken fright at the contrivance, she had essayed to operate
it herself. This had turned out to be so simple, so saving of time and
energy and flour, so much more cleanly than the old method of mixing
dough with the hands, and particularly it had resulted in such good
bread, that Madeline had been pleased. Immediately she ordered more
of the bread-mixers. One day she had happened upon Nels making biscuit
dough in his wash-basin, and she had delicately and considerately
introduced to him the idea of her new method. Nels, it appeared, had a
great reputation as a bread-maker, and he was proud of it. Moreover,
he was skeptical of any clap-trap thing with wheels and cranks. He
consented, however, to let her show how the thing worked and to sample
some of the bread. To that end she had him come up to the house, where
she won him over. Stillwell laughed loud and long.
“Wal, wal, wal!” he exclaimed, at length. “Thet’s fine, an’ it’s
powerful funny. Mebbe you don’t see how funny? Wal, Nels has jest been
lordin’ it over the boys about how you showed him, an’ now you’ll hev
to show every last cowboy on the place the same thing. Cowboys are the
jealousest kind of fellers. They’re all crazy about you, anyway. Take
Jim out hyar. Why, thet lazy cowpuncher jest never would make bread.
He’s notorious fer shirkin’ his share of the grub deal. I’ve knowed Jim
to trade off washin’ the pots an’ pans fer a lonely watch on a rainy
night. All he wants is to see you show him the same as Nels is crowin’
over. Then he’ll crow over his bunkie, Frank Slade, an’ then Frank’ll
get lonely to know all about this wonderful bread-machine. Cowboys are
amazin’ strange critters, Miss Majesty. An’ now thet you’ve begun with
them this way, you’ll hev to keep it up. I will say I never seen such a
bunch to work. You’ve sure put heart in them.”
“Indeed, Stillwell, I am glad to hear that,” replied Madeline. “And I
shall be pleased to teach them all. But may I not have them all up here
at once—at least those off duty?”
“Wal, I reckon you can’t onless you want to hev them scrappin’,”
rejoined Stillwell, dryly. “What you’ve got on your hands now, Miss
Majesty, is to let ’em come one by one, an’ make each cowboy think
you’re takin’ more especial pleasure in showin’ him than the feller who
came before him. Then mebbe we can go on with cattle-raisin’.”
Madeline protested, and Stillwell held inexorably to what he said was
wisdom. Several times Madeline had gone against his advice, to her utter
discomfiture and rout. She dared not risk it again, and resigned herself
gracefully and with subdued merriment to her task. Jim Bell was ushered
into the great, light, spotless kitchen, where presently Madeline
appeared to put on an apron and roll up her sleeves. She explained the
use of the several pieces of aluminum that made up the bread-mixer and
fastened the bucket to the table-shelf. Jim’s life might have depended
upon this lesson, judging from his absorbed manner and his desire to
have things explained over and over, especially the turning of the
crank. When Madeline had to take Jim’s hand three times to show him the
simple mechanism and then he did not understand she began to have faint
misgivings as to his absolute sincerity. She guessed that as long as
she touched Jim’s hand he never would understand. Then as she began
to measure out flour and milk and lard and salt and yeast she saw with
despair that Jim was not looking at the ingredients, was not paying the
slightest attention to them. His eyes were covertly upon her.
“Jim, I am not sure about you,” said Madeline, severely. “How can you
learn to make bread if you do not watch me mix it?”
“I am a-watchin’ you,” replied Jim, innocently.
Finally Madeline sent the cowboy on his way rejoicing with the
bread-mixer under his arm. Next morning, true to Stillwell’s prophecy,
Frank Slade, Jim’s bunkmate, presented himself cheerfully to Madeline
and unbosomed himself of a long-deferred and persistent desire to
relieve his overworked comrade of some of the house-keeping in their
bunk.
“Miss Hammond,” said Frank, “Jim’s orful kind wantin’ to do it all
hisself. But he ain’t very bright, an’ I didn’t believe him. You see,
I’m from Missouri, an’ you’ll have to show me.”
For a whole week Madeline held clinics where she expounded the
scientific method of modern bread-making. She got a good deal of
enjoyment out of her lectures. What boys these great hulking fellows
were! She saw through their simple ruses. Some of them were grave as
deacons; others wore expressions important enough to have fitted the
faces of statesmen signing government treaties. These cowboys were
children; they needed to be governed; but in order to govern them they
had to be humored. A more light-hearted, fun-loving crowd of boys could
not have been found. And they were grown men. Stillwell explained that
the exuberance of spirits lay in the difference in their fortunes.
Twenty-seven cowboys, in relays of nine, worked eight hours a day. That
had never been heard of before in the West. Stillwell declared that
cowboys from all points of the compass would head their horses toward
Her Majesty’s Rancho.