THE BOYS PREPARE A WELCOME
On the back gallery of the long, low ranch house, the boys were waiting
for Teresa to ring the bell for supper. Comfortably they lolled about on
hammocks, chairs, and steps, with their shirts open at the neck and
plentifully powdered with the dust of the corral.
From the doorway, Tim Nolan, the ranch foreman, spoke to them hurriedly.
"See here, boys, I'm right sorry, but I've got to see Benson to-morrow
about those steers. That means that I've got to go as far as Bolo
to-night, and that I sha'n't be back in time to start with the rest of
you to meet the folks. But I'll see you in Bolo day after to-morrow at
noon. The train is due then. Now be on hand, all of you that can. We
want Miss Genevieve and her friends to have a right royal welcome. I
reckon now I'd better be off. So long! Now remember--day after to-morrow
at noon!" he finished, turning away.
"As if we'd be a-forgettin' it," grinned Long John, a tall, lank fellow
sprawled in a hammock, "when the little mistress hain't set her pretty
foot on the place since last August!"
"If only she wa'n't bringin' all them others," groaned the short,
sandy-haired man on the steps. "I'd just like to rope the whole bunch
and send 'em back East again, old lady and all--all but the little
mistress, of course. Boys, what are we a-goin' to do with an old
lady--even though she ain't so awful old--and five tom-fool girls on the
Six Star Ranch?"
"Ees not the Senorita a gurrl, also?" laughed a dark-eyed Mexican from
his perch on the gallery railing. "Eh, Reddy?"
"Sure, Pedro," retorted the sandy-haired man, testily. (Pedro was the
only Mexican cowboy at the ranch, and even he was barely tolerated.)
"But the little mistress ain't no tenderfoot girl. She don't howl at a
rattlesnake nor jump at a prairie dog; and she knows how to ride, and
which end of a gun goes off!"
There was a general laugh, followed by a long silence--the boys did not
usually talk so much together, but to-night a curious restlessness
pervaded them all. Suddenly the tall man in the hammock pulled himself
erect.
"Look a-here, boys, that's jest it," he began in a worried voice. "What
if the little mistress has changed? What if she hain't no use for us and
the ranch any more? I never told ye, but at the first, last August,
'fore she went away, I heard the boss and Mr. Hartley a-talkin'. They
was sayin' she'd got to go East to learn how to live like a lady
should--to know girls, and books, and all that. They said she was
runnin' wild here with only us for playmates, and that they had just got
ter pasture her out where the grass was finer, and the fences nearer
tergether."
"Did they say--that?" gasped half a dozen worried voices.
"They sure did--and more. They said two real ladies was a-goin' ter take
her and make her like themselves--a lady. And, boys, I was
wonderin'--how is a lady goin' ter like us, and the ranch?"
There was a moment's tense silence. The boys were staring, wide-eyed and
appalled, into each other's faces.
From somewhere came a deep sigh.
"Gorry!--she can't, she just can't, after all her book-learnin' and
culturin'," groaned a new voice.
For a time no one spoke; then Reddy cleared his throat.
"Look a-here, there ain't but jest one thing to do. If she don't like
the ranch--and us--we'll jest have to make the ranch--and us--so she
will like 'em."
"How?" demanded a skeptical chorus.
"Slick 'em up--and us," retorted the sandy-haired man, with finality. "I
was raised East, and I know the sort of doin's they hanker after.
To-morrow mornin' we'll begin. I'll show you; you'll see," he finished
in a louder tone, as Teresa's clanging supper bell sent them in a
stampede through the long covered way that led to the dining-room which,
with the cook room, occupied the large, low building thirty feet to the
rear of the ranch house.
* * * * *
When Tim Nolan arrived at the Bolo station a little before noon two days
later, he stared in open-mouthed wonder at the sight that greeted his
eyes. In a wavering, straggling line stood ten stiff, red-faced,
miserable men, dressed in what was, to Tim Nolan, the strangest
assortment of garments he had ever seen.
Two of the men were in dead black, from head to foot. Four wore stiff,
not over-clean white shirts. Six sported flaming red neckties. One had
unearthed from somewhere a frock coat three sizes too small for him,
which he wore very proudly, however, over a flannel shirt adorned with a
red-and-green silk handkerchief knotted at the throat. Another displayed
a somewhat battered silk hat. But, whatever they wore, each showed a
face upon which hope, despair, pride, shame, and physical misery were
curiously blended.
For an instant Tim Nolan peered at them with unrecognizing eyes; then
he gave a low ejaculation.
"Reddy! Carlos! Jim! Boys!" he gasped. "What in the world is the meaning
of this?"
"Eet ees that we welcome the little Senorita an' her frien's," bowed
Pedro, doffing his sombrero which was the only part of his usual costume
that he had retained.
"But--I don't understand," demurred the foreman; "these rigs of yours!
Reddy, where in time did you corral that coat?"
Reddy shifted from one uneasy foot to the other.
"Pedro's told you--we're here to welcome the little mistress, of course.
We've slicked up. We--we didn't want the shock too sudden--from the
East, you know."
For another moment Tim Nolan stared; then he threw back his head and
laughed--laughed till the faces of the men before him grew red with
something more than discomfort.
At that moment a pretty young girl in khaki and a cowboy hat made her
appearance astride a frisky little mustang. She wore a cartridge belt
about her waist--though there was no revolver in her holster.
"Is Genevieve coming to-day, sure?" she called out joyfully. "I heard
she was, and I've come to meet her."
"There, boys," bantered the ranch foreman, "now here's a young lady who
knows how to welcome the mistress of the Six Star Ranch!" Then, to the
girl: "Sure, Miss Susie, we do expect Genevieve, and we're here to
welcome her, as you see," he finished with a sweep of his broad-brimmed
hat.
It looked, for a moment, as if the wavering, straggling men would break
ranks and run; but a sudden distant whistle, and a sharp command from
Reddy brought them right about face.
"Buck up, boys," he ordered sharply. "I reckon the little mistress ain't
a-goin' ter turn us down! She'll like it. You'll see!"
The train had scarcely come to a stop before Genevieve was off the car
steps.
"Mr. Tim, Mr. Tim--here I am! Oh, how good you look!" she cried, holding
out both her hands. A minute later she turned to introduce the
embarrassed foreman to Mrs. Kennedy and the girls, who, with her father,
were following close at her heels. This task was not half completed,
however, when she spied the red-faced, anxious-eyed men.
As Mr. Tim had done, she stared dumbly for a moment; then, leaving the
rest of the introductions to her father, she ran toward them.
"Why, it's the boys--our boys! Carlos, Long John, Reddy! But what _is_
the matter? How queer you look! Is anybody sick--or--dead?" she
stammered, plainly in doubt what to say.
"Sure, it's for you--we're a-welcomin' you," exploded Long John,
jerking at his collar which was obviously too small for him.
Genevieve's face showed a puzzled frown.
"But these clothes!--why are you like this?--and after all I've promised
the girls about you, too!"
"You mean--you don't like it--this?" demanded Reddy, incredulous hope in
his eyes and voice.
"Of course I don't like it! I've been promising the girls all the way
here that you'd give them a welcome that _was_ a welcome! And now--but
why did you do it, boys?"
Long John drew himself to his full height.
"Why? 'Cause Reddy said to," he answered. "Reddy said we'd better ease
up on the shock it would be to you--here, after all you'd been used to
back East--fine clothes, fine feed, and fine doin's all around, to say
nothin' of books and learnin' in between times; so we--we tried to break
ye in easy. That's all," he finished, a little lamely.
"And then these clothes mean--that?" demanded the girl.
Long John nodded dumbly.
Genevieve gave a ringing laugh, but her eyes grew soft as she extended
her hand to each man in turn.
"What old dears you are--every one of you!" she exclaimed. "Now go home
quick, and get comfortable." She would have said more, but some one
called her and she turned abruptly. Cordelia Wilson, looking half
frightened, half exultant, but wholly excited, was pulling at her
sleeve.
"Genevieve, Genevieve, quick," she was panting; "is that a cowboy--that,
over there--talking to your father?"
Genevieve turned with a wondering frown. The next moment she burst into
a merry laugh.
"Oh, Cordelia, Cordelia, you will be the death of me, yet! No, that
isn't a cowboy. It's Susie Billings. She lives on a ranch near here."
"A girl--dressed like that--and carrying a revolver! Just a common
'Susie!'" gasped Cordelia.
"Yes--just a common 'Susie,'" twinkled Genevieve.
"But I thought she was a--a cowboy," quavered Cordelia. "You _said_
they'd be here in--in all their war paint!"
From behind them sounded a muffled snort and a low-voiced:
"Boys, she thinks that's a cowboy! Come on--say we show 'em! Eh?"
Genevieve laughed softly at what Cordelia had said, and at the
disappointment in her voice.
"Cowboys? Well, they _are_ here," she acknowledged with twitching lips,
"and in their war paint, too--of a kind! They're right here--Why,
they're _gone_," she broke off. "Never mind," she laughed, as she
caught sight of a silk hat and a black coat hurrying toward a group of
saddled ponies. "I reckon you'll see all the cowboys you want to before
you go back East again. Now come up and meet Susie--and she hasn't,
really, any revolver there, Cordelia, in spite of that cartridge belt
and holster. She's always rigging up that way. She likes it!"
Susie proved to be "a girl just like us," as Cordelia amazedly expressed
it to Alma Lane. She was certainly a very pleasant one, they all
decided. But even Susie could not keep their eyes from wandering to the
unfamiliar scene around them.
It was a bare little station set in the midst of a bare little prairie
town, and quite unlike anything the Easterners had ever seen before.
Broad, dusty streets led seemingly nowhere. Low, straggling houses
stretched out lazy lengths of untidiness, except where a group of
taller, more pretentious buildings indicated the stores, a hotel or two,
several boarding houses, and numerous saloons and dance halls.
From the station doorway, a blanketed Indian looked out with stolid,
unsmiling face. Leaning against a post a dreamy-eyed Mexican in tight
trousers, red sash, and tall peaked hat, smoked a cigarette. Halfway
down the platform a tired-looking man in heavy cowhide boots and rough
clothes, watched beside a huge canvas-topped wagon beyond which could
be seen the switching tails of six great oxen.
"There's Fred's 'boat,'" remarked Bertha, laughingly, to Cordelia.
"Where? What?" Cordelia had been trying to look in all directions at
once.
"That prairie schooner down there."
"Now that looks like the pictures," asserted Cordelia. "I wonder if the
cowboys will."
"I declare, the whole thing is worse than a three-ring circus," declared
Tilly, aggrievedly, to Genevieve. "I simply can't see everything!"
"All aboard for the ranch," called Mr. Hartley, leading the way around
to the other side of the station; and like a flock of prairie chickens,
as Genevieve put it, they all trooped after him.
"Why, what funny horses!" cried Tilly, as Mr. Hartley stopped before a
large, old-fashioned three-seated carriage drawn up to the platform.
At Genevieve's chuckling laugh, Tilly threw a sharper glance toward the
two gray creatures attached to the carriage.
"Why, they aren't horses at all--yes, they are--no, they aren't,
either!"
"I always heard young ladies were a bit changeable," grinned Tim Nolan,
mischievously; "but do they always change their minds as often as that,
Miss?"
"Yes, they do--when the occasion demands it," retorted Tilly, with a
merry glance; and Tim Nolan laughed appreciatively.
"Well, they aren't horses," smiled Mr. Hartley, as he gave his hand to
help Mrs. Kennedy into the carriage. "They happen to be mules. Now, Miss
Tilly, if you'll come in here with Mrs. Kennedy, we'll put two other
young ladies and myself in the other two seats, and leave Genevieve to
do the honors in one of the ranch wagons with the rest of you. The
baggage, the boys are already putting in the other wagon, I see," he
added, looking back to where two men were busy with a pile of trunks and
bags. "They'll come along after us. Mr. Tim is on his horse, of course.
We'll let him show us the way. Now stow yourselves comfortably," he
admonished his guests. "You know we have an eighteen-mile ride ahead of
us!"