THE TEXAN HEARS FROM HOME.
Uncle Billy Coyle, after having, as he thought, catalogued every
living thing that ranged the hills and plains of Wyoming, had run
across an entirely new specimen. It was the human being in love that
bothered Uncle Billy.
“I’ve studied the effects of loco weed on cows and horses,” observed
Uncle Billy to Alma Caldwell, “but the vagaries of human beings, who
have been attacked by the love germ, are past all scientific
consideration. Now you admit that you’re in love with Milton Bertram,
and that ingenuous young Texan has confided in me that he thinks more
of your lightest word than the council of all the encyclopedias I have
in my library. Yet apparently something seems to be holding you as far
apart as it is possible for persons to get.”
“If you’re going to start on that subject again, Uncle Billy, I’m
going to leave you,” said Alma, flicking disconsolately at a fallen
leaf with her quirt. “I came over to tell you how well little Jimmy is
getting along, and how he took his first horseback ride to-day. I
didn’t care to hear about Bertram.”
“Well, you’ll have to hear considerable talk about him, wherever you
go,” observed the naturalist. “When a young fellow nails two such
gunmen as Tom Hoog and Asa Swingley, and practically ends the reign of
assassination and terror in this part of the State, he is bound to
figure in the general conversation.”
The girl did not reply, and Uncle Billy continued gently:
“If you’re thinking about your stepfather, girl, it’s time I told you
something. Nick Caldwell was a good man in many ways, but in some
other ways he let his greed run away with him. He took good care of
you, which I always held so strongly in his favor that I never took
him to task for some of the things he did which I knew was wrong.”
Alma looked at the naturalist with startled eyes.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, if it destroys any ideals you may
have had. It does you credit to think so well of Nicholas Caldwell,
and to pay him back so handsomely in loyalty and love for the material
advantages he gave you. But, after all, you may as well know all sides
of the man’s character. Nicholas was a leader among the cattle
rustlers, as has been charged. That much I know, but I also know that
his rustling operations were carried on merely as a blind to hide
larger operations in the interests of the cattle interests. He and
Swingley were in the inner circle which was dominating those great
interests, but they had a personal falling out. Swingley had vowed
that he would kill Nicholas at the first opportunity, on account of
their personal feud, which had developed suddenly, and which not even
I had suspected. When Swingley led his invaders into this county his
first thought was to kill Nicholas Caldwell. That was why he went to
such lengths to burn the cabin on the Lower Powderhorn.
“All this I found out when this young Texan was brought to my place,
wounded. In his clothing I found letters, which he had evidently taken
from the body of Nicholas, just before you and Jimmy came upon him. I
did not scruple to read those letters, because they concerned my own
kin. As soon as he recovered sufficiently to ask for his clothes and
to stir about a little, the young Texan burned the letters, thinking
no doubt that by so doing he would protect Nicholas Caldwell’s name,
and thereby save you from any heartache.”
“But the go-devil,” said Alma. “I was told that he was responsible for
making the machine that was really the cause of my stepfather’s
death.”
“I happen to know that he was not,” replied Uncle Billy. “It is true
that he made such a machine, or rather completed it, under Swingley’s
orders. But Archie Beam told me that the machine was really the cause
of Bertram’s desertion of Swingley’s invaders. Rather than continue
with an outfit that made war in such a way, Bertram smashed the
go-devil which he had just completed, and then he started alone into
the hills. Beam was present when the machine was smashed, and he tried
to dissuade the young Texan from going to what seemed sure death. The
go-devil was fixed up later, when the invaders’ blacksmith arrived, but
Bertram really caused a great delay in the final attack on the cabin.
“There is another matter which probably you do not know,” went on the
naturalist. “That is the fact that when he captured Swingley and Hoog,
this young Texan got the men who were actually responsible for your
stepfather’s death. Swingley’s guilt, of course was apparent, but you
did not know that, when the others in the command were disposed to let
Nicholas escape, as he was running toward the foothills, it was Tom
Hoog who was called upon to fire the fatal shot. Swingley cursed the
other cowboys for their purposely bad marksmanship and commanded Hoog
to get the fleeing man. Hoog aimed deliberately, and it was that final
shot which brought about Nicholas Caldwell’s death.”
Alma Caldwell rose unsteadily. “Then I owe him everything,” she said.
“What a wrong I have done by taking so much for granted!”
“Well,” rejoined the naturalist, “he’s coming now, so you can tell
him, like a good girl.”
But it was the Texan who did the telling. “Alma,” he said, as the girl
came to meet him, and the naturalist discreetly retired to the
companionship of the stuffed specimens in the cabin, “Alma, I’m going
back to Texas. My uncle has written me that he wants to turn over his
ranches to me, as part owner and manager. I never felt lonesome down
there before, but I’m going to this time, unless you go with me. Can
you leave this country, as the wife of one of the invaders?”
The girl’s eyes smiled into his, as she replied: “I always did like
Texas.”
Then, as his arms went about her, she added: “And Texans!”
[Transcriber’s note: This story appeared in the January 7, 1922
issue of Western Story Magazine.]