Hilda awoke with a sob. She sat up in bed, pressing her hands to her
eyes. Slowly, painfully, she recalled the events of the previous night.
She had called him a cheat--a coward! She had said that she never
wished to see his face again! She had driven him from O Bar O. He had
gone out of her life now forever.
Hilda could see the dim light of the approaching dawn already tinting
the wide eastern sky. It was a chill, raw morning. He would walk out
from O Bar O, with his old, battered grip in his hand and that gray
suit that had so edified the ranch hands. Her breast rose and swelled.
The tears of the previous night threatened to overwhelm her again.
Hilda had literally cried practically all of the night, and her hour’s
sleep had come only through sheer exhaustion.
The unhappy girl crept out of bed and knelt by the window, peering out
in the first grey gloom of the Autumn morning, toward the bunkhouse.
She fancied she saw something moving in that direction, but the light
was dim, and she could not be sure.
It was cold and damp as she knelt on the floor. No matter. He would be
cold and chilled, too, and she had driven him from O Bar O!
A light gleamed now in the dusk over at the saddle rooms. A glance
at her watch showed it was not yet six o’clock. He would make an
early start, probably leaving before the men started off on the
round-up--they were to leave for the range at seven that morning.
Without quite realizing what she was doing, Hilda dressed swiftly.
The cold water on her tear-blistered face soothed and cooled it. She
wrapped a cape about herself, put on a knitted tam.
The halls were dark, but she dared not turn on the electric lights,
lest she should awaken Sandy or her father. Feeling her way along the
wall, she found the stairs, and clinging to the bannister went quickly
down. A moment to seek the door knob, and swing the big door open. At
last she was out of the house.
The cold air smote and revived her. It gave her courage and strength.
The darkness was slowly lifting, and all over the sky the silvery waves
of morning were now spreading. Hilda sped like a fawn across the barn
yard, through the corrals and directly to the saddle room, from whence
came the light. The upper part of the door was open, and Hilda pushed
the lower part and stepped inside.
A man in white chaps was bending over a saddle to which he was
attaching a lariat rope. As the lower door slammed shut behind Hilda,
he started like an overtaken thief, and jumped around. Hilda saw his
face. It was Holy Smoke.
All at once Hilda McPherson knew that before her stood the man who had
tried to lariat her in the woods. She stared at him now in a sort of
fascinated horror. A cunning look of surprised delight was creeping
over the man’s face. Hilda put her hand behind her and backed for the
door. At the same time, once again she raised her voice, and sent forth
that loud cry of alarm:
“Hi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-iiiii-i-i-i-i!”
The cry was choked midway. She was held in a strangling hold, the big
hand of the cowpuncher gripped upon her throat.
“There’ll be none of the Hi-yi-ing for you to-day! If you make another
peep, I’ll choke you to death! I’m quittin’ O Bar O for good and all
to-day, but before I go you and me has got an account to settle.”
She fought desperately, with all her splendid young strength,
scratching, kicking, biting, beating with her fists like a wild thing
at bay, and, with the first release as he staggered back, when her
sharp teeth dug into his hands, again she raised her voice; but this
time her cry was stopped by the brutal blow of the man’s fist. She
clutched at the wall behind her. The earth seemed to rock and sway
and for the first time in all her healthy young life, Hilda McPherson
fainted.
She lay on a sheepskin, a man’s coat beneath her head. Chum Lee knelt
beside her, cup in hand. She swallowed with difficulty, for her throat
pained her and she still felt the grip of those terrible fingers.
Hilda moaned and moved her head from side to side. The Chinaman said
cheerfully:
“All lightee now, Miss Hilda. Chum Lee flix ’im fine. Slut ’im. Bang
’im. Slut ’im up till Mr. Cheerio come. Big fight!” Chum Lee’s eyes
gleamed. “All same Holy Smoke bad man. Take ’im gun. Banfi! Sloot Mr.
Cheerio. Velly good, now lide on lail.”
Hilda understood only that Holy Smoke had shot Cheerio.
She clutched the Chinaman’s arm, and forced herself to her feet.
Pushing Chum Lee aside, Hilda made her way from the saddle shed, where
they had laid her.
Outside, the sharp cold air of the Fall morning was like a dash of
bitter water and brought its revivifying effect. Hilda turned in the
direction of the voice she now heard clearly, for sound carries far
in a country like Alberta, and although Hilda could clearly hear the
voices of the men, they were in fact more than a mile from the ranch.
She was obsessed with the idea that Cheerio had been killed and that
her men had taken his murderer into the woods and were hanging him.
Oh! she wanted a hand in that hanging. Everything primitive and wild
in her nature surged now into being, as she made her way blindly down
that incredibly long hill and ran stumblingly through the pasture lands
to where the group of men were about some strange object that was tied
and bound half sitting on a rail. Then Hilda understood, and waves of
unholy joy swept over her in a flood. They were tarring and feathering
Holy Smoke!
Above the deafening roar of the cheering shouting voices, presently
rose the clear call of the one she knew. No fluttering, stammering
tongue now. The voice of a captain, a leader among men:
“One, two, three! In she goes!”
The rail was swung back and forth, and at that “Three,” with a roar
from twenty or thirty throats, it was released from the hands gripping
it at either end and plunged into the muddy water of the shallow
slough. It described a somersault. Head downward went the man they had
tarred and feathered. The rail jerked over, and the head of Holy Smoke
arose out of the water, a grotesque paste of mud and tar covering it
completely. Loud shouts of glee arose from the men. They jeered and
yelled to the struggling wretch in the water.
From the direction of the ranch, came the sound of the loud clanking
breakfast bell of Chum Lee. In high good humour, with appetites whetted
and vengeance satisfied, the men of O Bar O retraced their steps toward
the ranch, prepared for that hearty breakfast which should stiffen them
against the invigorating work of at last rounding up.
Cheerio alone remained by the slough, and Hilda, watching him from the
little clump of bush, witnessed a strange and merciful act on his part;
the sort of thing a man of Cheerio’s type was accustomed to do at the
front, when an enemy, hors de combat, needed final succour. Cheerio
thrust two long logs into the mud of the slough, very much as he had
done when he had rescued the heifer in the woods. Now also he went out
across the logs and cut the ropes that bound the man to the rail. Holy
Smoke grasped after the logs, clung to them desperately, and Cheerio
gave his stiff order to him to get off the place as expeditiously as
possible if he valued his hide.
Having set the man free, Cheerio returned to the bank, stopped to clean
the mud off his boots with a handy stick and then moved to follow after
the men, now at a considerable distance.
Hilda, her blue and red cape flapping back from her as she came from
the little bush toward him, was holding out both her hands, but as
Cheerio stopped short they dropped helplessly at her side. His grave
eyes slowly travelled over the piteous little figure in his path. The
eyes that had been so stern now softened, but Cheerio could not speak
at that moment. Something rose in his throat and held him spellbound,
looking at the girl he loved and whom he had expected never to see
again. Hilda’s eyes were unnaturally wide and dark; her lips were as
tremulous as a flower and quivering like those of a hurt child. The
flag of hostility and hate was down forever. She was pathetic and most
lovely in her humility.
Cheerio murmured something unintelligible and held out his arms to her.
Hilda would have gone indeed directly to that haven; but there was
Sandy racing along the trail on Silver Heels, shouting like an Indian
excited queries and shrilly demanding to know why he had been “left out
of the fun.” Nevertheless, Cheerio had sensed the unconscious motion
of the girl, and a light broke over his face, driving away the last
shadow. His wide, boyish smile beamed down upon her. Speech failed him
not at that blessed moment.
“_Darling!_” said Cheerio, in such a voice that Hilda thought the word
an even more beautiful one than the “Dear” he had once before called
her.
“Hi, Hilday! What’s all the racket about? What they done to Ho? Where
is he? Dad’s goin’ to kill ’em. He’s gone plumb crazy at the house.
Chum Lee come on in an tol’ ’im that he beat you up. Is that true?”
Cheerio answered for her.
“He’s a bad lot, Sandy, and he’s got his deserts.” His eyes were still
on Hilda. It didn’t seem possible that he could withdraw them. Over
her pale cheeks a glow was coming like the dawn, and her shy glance
trembled toward his own.
“My! Dad’s hoppin’ mad. Ses hangin’ ain’t too good for him, the dirty
dog, an I say it too! What’d he do to you? What was you doin’ in the
barn at that hour?”
Hilda shook her head. Her eyes were shining so that even Sandy was
nonplussed.
“You don’t _look_ beaten up,” said her brother, and Hilda laughed and
then unexpectedly her eyes filled with tears and she sobbed.
“Gee! I wish someone’d waked me up. Doggone it, I don’t see why I was
left out. Wish I’d caught him hittin’ my sister! Dad’s nearly crazy.
You better hustle along home, Hilda. You’d think you were the only
person at O Bar O now to hear Dad talk. He’s thinkin’ up every mean
thing he ever said to you and he’s cryin’ like a baby.”
“Poor old Dad!” said Hilda, softly.
A movement on the edge of the slough now attracted the incredulous
eyes of Sandy McPherson. He was shuffling into the clothes left for
him on the bank. Instantly Sandy had reined up beside him. He yelled
insults and epithets down at the shivering wretch on the bank, stuck
his fingers into his mouth and produced a hooting whistle; then Sandy
played at lariating the man, but Ho, with a venomous look, grasped the
rope as it fell in a ring near him, and there was a tug of war for its
possession between man and boy. Sandy let go the rope and concentrated
upon the nine foot long bull whip in his other hand. Yelling to the
man to move along swiftly and to get “to hello” off O Bar O, Hilda’s
brother pursued her assailant.
Meanwhile, Hilda and Cheerio seized the opportunity to continue that
interrupted duologue. He said suddenly, after a rapt moment:
“Hilda, you don’t hate me then, do you, dear?”
In a little voice, Hilda said:
“No.”
“And you d-don’t want me to go away, do you?”
Hilda shook her head, too moved for more speech, but her eyes brimmed
at the mere thought of his going. That was too much for Cheerio, and
regardless of Sandy, he took Hilda’s hand.
“Then I’ll stay,” he said, softly.
Hand in hand, they were moving homeward, walking in an entranced
silence, the glow of the early morning drawing them under its golden
spell; but before Sandy had joined them, all that they had yearned to
say and hear was spoken.
“Hilda! I love you!”
“Oh, do you? Then--then--that Nanna--”
“Nanna is seventy-four. My old nurse, Hilda. When I returned
from--Germany--I was a prisoner there nine months, Hilda--Nanna was
the only one at home who knew me. You see--you see--it was better that
they shouldn’t know me. M-m-my brother was in my place. And you see,
Hilda, I c-came out here, and N-Nanna planned to f-follow me. She is
seventy-four.”
“Seventy-four! Oh, I thought--I thought--that picture in the locket----”
“That was Sybil--now my brother’s wife.”
Wonderful things were happening to Hilda. She wanted to laugh; she
wanted to cry, and the pink cheek wavered from him, and then came to
rest against his rough sleeve. Cheerio never even glanced back to see
if Sandy were at hand. He placed his arm completely and competently
around Hilda’s waist. Their lips were very close. This time it was
Hilda who whispered the words, and Cheerio bent so close to hear them
that his lips came upon her own.
“Oh, I loved you all the time!” said Hilda McPherson.
At this juncture, they stopped walking, for one may not kiss as
satisfactorily while moving along.
When Hilda regained her power of speech, she said:
“I’m never going to say another unkind thing to you.”
“You can say anything you want, sweetheart,” said Cheerio. “Whatever
you say will sound just right to me--dearest old girl.”
It occurred to Hilda that he possessed a most wonderful and extensive
vocabulary. She had never heard such terms before, and when she had
read them Hilda had felt embarrassed, and in her rough way had thought:
“Oh, slush!”
But somehow the words had an almost lyrical sound when uttered by the
infatuated Cheerio.
They were brought back to life by the yipping, jeering Sandy.
“Gee! I believe you two’s struck on each other!”
He reined up beside them and examined the telltale faces with all a
boy’s cunning and disgusted amusement.
“Say, are you goin’ to git married?”
“You better believe we are!” laughed Cheerio, falling easily into the
slang of the country.
“Holy Salmon! Well, there’s no accountin’ for tastes,” said Hilda’s
young brother, with disparagement. Then resignedly: “But, I betchu
Dad’ll be tickled. He’ll have a life partner for chess. Gee! Here’s
where I escape!”
He kicked his heels into his horse’s flanks and with the grace and
agility of a circus rider, with neither saddle nor bridle merely a
halter--Sandy was off. He turned bodily around in his seat on the
running horse’s back to yell back at them as he rode, hand to mouth:
“Aw, cut out the spoons! I’m going to hustle home and break the news to
fa-ather! Let ’er go, bronc! Let ’er fly! Let ’er fly!”
They smiled after the vanishing boy, smiled into each other’s faces and
smiled at the sunshine and the gilded hills, now shining in the full
light of the marvellous Alberta sun. After a moment, shyly, despite the
fact that she was held closely to him:
“What’s your real name?”
“Edward Eaton Charlesmore of Macclesfield and Coventry.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“N-no, I’m not, darling. That’s my real name.”
Hilda smiled delightedly.
“But what do they call you?”
He laughed, squeezed her tightly, kissed her and then kissed her again.
“Cheerio!” he said.
“But that’s not a real name!”
“It’s good enough for me. You gave me it, you know.”
“And--and are you really a duke or something like that?”
Again he laughed.
“You bet I am.”
Her face fell. She regretted his high estate. Cheerio put his lips
against her small pink ear, and he kissed it before he whispered what
he said was a great secret:
“Hilda, I’ll tell you who I am: Cheerio, Duke of the O Bar O, and
you’re the darling Duchess!”
“That’s Jake!” said Hilda.
THE END
Transcriber’s Note:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Table of Contents
added by the transcriber.
Known changes have been made as follows:
Page 18
the horney one changed to
the horny one
Page 41
many a gymkhanna, rodeo changed to
many a gymkhana, rodeo
Page 88
there’s a gymkhanna over changed to
there’s a gymkhana over
Page 100
At the sight of Cheerio. Hilda changed to
At the sight of Cheerio, Hilda
Page 115
You know Hilda. Gee! changed to
You know Hilda. Gee!”
Page 118
of first rider. but changed to
of first rider, but
Page 139
rasing her head changed to
raising her head
Page 185
the gymkhanna at Grand Valley changed to
the gymkhana at Grand Valley
Page 210
Cheerio, an employe of changed to
Cheerio, an employee of
Page 214
the depised locket changed to
the despised locket
Page 215
a quizz concerning changed to
a quiz concerning
Page 223
humourously or pacifically changed to
humorously or pacifically
Page 227
“Miss Hilda” began changed to
“Miss Hilda,” began
Page 234
this aint’ no changed to
this ain’t no
Page 271
afraid to be alone” changed to
afraid to be alone.”
Page 295
Now I understnd changed to
Now I understand
Page 296
if you please. changed to
if you please.”
Page 317
you know. changed to
you know.”