A BOY AND A GIRL
When Rathburn had put up his horse, after giving him a light feed of
grain in the barn, he followed the boy to the rear of the house where
he found water, soap, and a towel on a bench, above which hung a small
mirror.
The boy left him there, and he soon washed and combed his hair. The
girl opened the rear door for him and he walked through the little
kitchen into a small front room where a table was set for him.
"Sure, ma'am, I didn't figure on causing you so much trouble," he said
with a smile. "I didn't expect anything but a snack, an' here you've
gone an' fixed a regular dinner--this time of day, too."
"My experience with men in this country has taught me that when
they're hungry, they're hungry," replied the girl. "And it wasn't much
trouble. Those beans were in the oven and already warm. I just had to
make the coffee. I was expecting my brother."
"I didn't see any men around the place," he said, beginning to eat.
"If I had I'd have made myself known to them before coming to the
house. Where is he--out with the cattle?"
He saw her gaze was troubled. "I don't know just where he is--to-day,"
she confessed. "He goes away and sometimes doesn't come back for a day
or two." She stood in the doorway.
Rathburn noted her trim, slim figure and her wealth of chestnut hair.
She was pretty and capable. He surmised that her parents were dead,
although he could not ascribe the reason for this deduction. Evidently
the boy was a younger brother. He wondered if the older brother would
return before he finished eating.
"How far is it to Dry Lake?" he asked casually.
"Oh--why, didn't you come from there?" She seemed surprised.
"No. I came from over to eastward."
"But it's miles and miles to any place east of here, isn't it?" she
asked, puzzled. "You must have had a long ride."
A ghost of a frown played on his brows. Then he laughed. "Yes, miss,
I've been ridin' some," he confessed. "I didn't know how far it was to
anywhere or I mightn't have come in this direction."
She looked at him wonderingly, and again he thought he saw a troubled
look in her eyes.
"You're going to Dry Lake?" she asked.
"Yes," he said shortly, and a grim note crept into his voice. "It's
west of here, ain't it?"
"About fifteen or eighteen miles," she answered. "The trail leads
there from the lower end of this valley--the same trail you came on, I
guess. Are you a cow-puncher?"
"Don't I look like one, miss?"
"Yes, you do and--you don't." She was confused by the quality of his
smile. But his eyes seemed to glow at her kindly, with a cheerful,
amused light--altogether honest and friendly. She lowered her gaze and
flushed despite herself.
"My vocation, miss--you're too young an' pretty to be called ma'am, if
you'll excuse me for saying so--is a peculiar one. I've punched cows,
yes; I've prospected an' worked a bit in the mines. I've scared the
wolf from the 'Welcome' mat by standing off the boys at green-topped
tables, an' once I--I--worked on a sort of farm." He appeared
apologetic as he confessed this last. "I guess I wasn't cut out for a
farm hand, miss."
She laughed at this. "Are you going to work in Dry Lake?" she asked,
sobering.
"Well, now, that is a question," he returned, draining his cup of the
last of the coffee.
"I'll get you some more," she said quickly, taking his cup. "Dry Lake
isn't a very big place, you know."
"Just how big _is_ Dry Lake?" he asked when she returned from the
kitchen with more coffee for him.
"Only a hundred or two. But the men from miles and miles go there
because--because there are places there where they can stand the wolf
off at the green-topped tables and--drink." The troubled look was in
her eyes again. "Sometimes the wolf catches up with them before they
get home," she added, smiling faintly.
"It's not a safe system," he said thoughtfully.
"But you might get work in Dry Lake," she said hopefully. "You--you
look capable. The cattlemen from back in the hills go there and
they're nearly always looking for men, I've heard. You might meet some
of them and get a job."
He beamed upon her. "I've always heard that a woman gave a man
encouragement an' ambition, if she was a good one," he mused. "You've
almost got me thinking I'd better go straight to work."
"Why--didn't--wasn't that your intention?" she asked wonderingly.
His face clouded. "It ain't always so easy for me to do what I want to
do, miss," he said. "I--you see----" He broke off his speech with a
frown. "This is a queer country, miss," he said earnestly.
"Oh, I know," she said eagerly. "I'll bet you're an--an officer!"
Then he laughed. It was the spontaneous laugh of youth, vibrant,
compelling, mirth-inspiring.
"Say, miss, if there's one thing I ain't tackled yet, it's being an
officer," he chuckled as he finished his repast.
She smiled vaguely, studying him under her long, dark lashes. The boy
came into the room, holding his hands behind him, and stood with his
sturdy legs braced apart, staring at Rathburn.
"There he is now!" Rathburn exclaimed. "Did you try to wash the
freckles off?" he queried with a wink.
"I know who _you_ are!" said the boy. There was admiration and awe in
his wide eyes.
Rathburn looked at him closely, his brows wrinkling.
"Yes, I do," said the boy, nodding. "Did he tell you who he is, sis?"
he asked, looking at the girl.
"Now, Frankie, we don't care who the man is," she reproved. "He was
hungry and he's welcome. What's the matter with you?"
"I guess you'd be surprised if you knew as much as I do," the boy
boasted. "I guess you'd be surprised all right. I do."
"I've been surprised more than once at things you knew," the girl said
with a laugh.
"Yes, but I guess you'd be surprised all right if you knew who _he_
is," cried the boy, pointing at Rathburn.
"Come, now, young fellow, don't be getting all het up here," said
Rathburn slowly, drawing tobacco and papers from his shirt pocket.
"What do you find to do with yourself around here?"
But the youngster was not to be diverted from his topic. "I was
lookin' at your horse," he said, his eyes shining. "That's how I know
for sure an' certain who you are."
Rathburn gazed at the boy sternly as he touched a match to his
brown-paper cigarette. "My horse is all right, ain't he?"
"Sure he is," said the boy eagerly. "I bet he can go some, too. He'd
have to go for you to have him, wouldn't he? You're The Coyote!"
Rathburn continued to smile with an amused tolerance. But the girl
gave a start; her hands flew to her breast, and she stared at the man
with wide-open eyes.
"Frankie! What are you saying?" she exclaimed.
The boy triumphantly brought his hands from behind his back. He held
out a poster.
"His horse has got CC2 for a brand, just like it says in this bill Ed
brought from town!" he cried. "He's The Coyote, all right. But I won't
tell," he added quickly, looking at Rathburn.
The man avoided the girl's eyes. The boy laid the poster on the table
where she could read it again, word for word.
"Tall--light in complexion--gray or blue eyes--good teeth--horse
branded CC2--dangerous----"
And this man was tall and blond, with gray eyes. Five hundred dollars
reward!
"I won't tell anybody you've been here," the boy continued. "We won't
tell, will we, sis?" He looked at the girl imploringly.
"My brother Ed says what you want you take," said the boy, gazing at
the man in admiration. "An' he says you don't rob anybody that can't
afford it! He says the banks are insured an' you've been a friend to
more'n one that's just gettin' a start in the cattle. I won't tell
anybody you've been here, an' I won't let sis tell anybody, either!"
Rathburn was smiling wistfully. "Always tell the truth, sonny," he
said in a low voice. "Don't forget that. I wouldn't want you to lie
for me. Any man that would want you to lie for him wouldn't be a man
a-tall, son. See?"
"But old Brown, the judge, or the sheriff might come along an' want to
know if you'd been here!" said the boy in breathless excitement.
"Then tell 'em the truth," said Rathburn smilingly. "Tell 'em a man
with a horse branded CC2 was here an' kidded you about your freckles,
had something to eat, an' rode away. Don't lie, sonny, no matter what
happens."
The girl took a step toward the table. "You--_are_--The Coyote?" she
asked in a whisper.
"My name is Rathburn, miss," he replied cheerfully. "In some ways I'm
a lot like the man described in that reward notice. An' I'm riding a
dun-colored horse branded CC2. I don't like that monicker, Coyote, or
I might 'fess up to it."
"Then--if you're him--you're an outlaw!" she stammered.
Rathburn's dreamy look shifted to the boy who was staring at him.
"You'll grow up to be quite a man, son," he said in a fatherly tone.
"Those freckles mean a tough skin. A weak sort of skin tans quick an'
the toughest just sunburns. You're halfway between. That's all right
for freckles; but it don't go in life. It's best to be on one side or
the other, an' the right side's the best for most folks."
He rose and went for his hat. Then he extracted a roll of bills from a
hip pocket and laid a five-dollar note on the table.
"That meal was worth it," he said to the girl with a smile.
She shook her head. "I--I couldn't take it," she said.
"That's clean money, miss. I earned it circumventin' three of the most
ornery card sharps in Arizona."
She continued to shake her head. "You do not understand," she
murmured. "It--it wouldn't make any difference. We couldn't take money
from a stranger who came to us--hungry. It wouldn't make any
difference who you were."
"Aw, we need it, sis!" blurted out the boy. "The Coyote's all right.
He wouldn't lie to us."
Rathburn laughed and, stepping to the boy, ran his fingers in his
hair. "I guess I've made a friend," he said in a wistful voice. Then
he picked up the bill on the table and stuffed it into the boy's
pocket. His eyes encountered the poster again and they clouded. He
turned away from it.
"Miss, you'll let me thank you--sure."
She nodded, retreating a few paces.
"Then I'll be going," he said, stepping to the door.
"To--to Dry Lake?" she found the voice to ask.
"Yes. To Dry Lake."
He left the house and in a few minutes reappeared from the direction
of the barn, riding his dun-colored horse. He did not stop, but
galloped down the valley, waving a hand in farewell which the boy
answered.
The day was nearly spent. The sun was low in the west, sliding down
like a ball of gold toward the rim of the blue mountains. A stiff
breeze had sprung up, driving the heat before it. At the lower end of
the valley Rathburn found the trail he had left when he detoured to
the ranch. He turned westward upon it, put spurs to his horse, and
sped toward town.
It was just as well that the girl could not see the look which came to
his face as he rode into the sunset.