A SECOND-HAND ANGEL
Scouting cautious, and shying wide of settlements except when we had to
buy chuck, I herded my youngsters up the long trail north. We took no
count of the distance, we lost all tab of dates, but camped where game
was plenty, pushed on when the sun was shining, holed up when the wind
was too cold, and mostly lived by hunting. So we rode the winter through
and came to the spring beyond, catching maybe more happiness than was
good to have all at once.
One day, the snow being gone, and the prairie one big garden of spring
flowers reaching away to the skyline, we happened to meet up sudden with
a pony-soldier which he was lying under the shadow of his horse and
playing tunes on a mouth-organ, heaps content with himself. His coat was
red, his harness all glittering fine, his boots were shiny, his spurs
had small cruel rowels. He said his chief was His Imperial Majesty
Edward VII., that his tribe was the North-West Mounted Police, and his
camp was called Medicine Hat, the same being close adjacent. We sounded
him on robbers, but he seemed plumb ignorant, and said there was quite
a few antelope if we cared for hunting.
Telling the youngsters to camp, I went butting along into Medicine Hat
to prospect the same alone. It felt mighty strange to be in a town
again, see the people walking around who belonged there, women and
children especially, but the whisky I sampled felt right natural, and
for all my snuffing and snorting I smelt nothing suspicious in the way
of wolf-trap. So I traded with a lady who kept store for woman's
clothing, such as she used herself, enough to load up my pack-horse. She
certainly selected liberal to judge by the money I paid.
When I got back to camp expecting supper, I found the kids had been
quarrelling, so that they weren't on speaking terms, and I had to
introduce them. Jim was special haughty, but Curly got heaps interested
in the clothes I'd bought, crowing and chuckling over everything. Her
favorite game was playing at being a lady, but now she shied at
committing herself.
"Shucks!" she flirted across to the far side of the fire. "I cayn't
oppress Jim in them things--I'd get so tame and weak he'd sit on my
haid!"
"You're due to get mar'ied," says I, "as sure as sunrise to-morrow."
"So! Jim ain't caught me yet!"
Jim started in to catch her, but she jumped the fire to clear him.
"Now!" she deified him complete; "don't you rush my corral with one of
yo' fool kisses, or I'll shorely bat yo' haid. I ain't laid down my arms
yet!"
So she swaggered with her little brown hand on her gun, the firelight
glowing on her leather clothes and gold bright hair, on the flush of her
sunburnt skin, on milk-white teeth, and laughing, flashing eyes. Jim's
heart was burning, I reckon, for he went down on one knee and reached
out his arms to her. There was only the fire between them.
"Say you love me, Curly?"
"It cayn't be helped, Jim," she whispered, and her face went grave, "but
I shorely love you."
* * * * *
Riding the ranges of the world and grazing in life's pastures, I've got
to be plumb content with things present, which I can grab the same with
my teeth, instead of hungering after that heaven above which seems a lot
uncertain, and apt to prove disappointing. Here I've got horses for
sure, plenty cows, and Monte, one of my old riders, for my partner. Bear
Hole is the name of our new ranche, with the bull pines of the coconino
forest all around us, the hoary old volcanoes towering above, and the
lava-beds fencing our home pasture. Back of the cabin is the spring
where Curly used to splash me when she washed, the cave where she sang
to me beside our camp fire. The bubble spring, the wind in the pines,
the chatter of the birds, and the meadow flowers remind me of her
always. She has put away her spurs and gun never to ride any more with
free men on God's grass, because, poor soul! she's only a lady now and
gone respectable.
Last summer--it sure makes me sweat to think of that scary business--I
went to Ireland. First came civilisation--which I'd never seen it
before--cities all cluttered up with so various noises and smells that I
got lost complete. When you stop to study the trail you get killed by a
tramcar. Then there was the ocean, a sure great sight and exciting to
the stomach--mine got plumb dissolute, pitching and bucking around like
a mean horse, so that I was heaps glad to dismount at Liverpool. That
Old Country is plenty strange, too, for a plain man to consider, for I
seen women drunk and children starving, and had to bat a white man's
head for shining a nigger's shoes. It beats me how such a tribe can ride
herd on a bunch of empires as easy as I drive cows, but if I proceed to
unfold all I don't know, I'll be apt to get plumb talkative.
When I came up against Balshannon Castle, I found it a sure enough
palace, which was no place for me, so I pawed around outside inquiring.
Her ladyship was to home, and I found her setting in a fold-up chair on
the terrace. It made me feel uplifted to see her there nursing a small
baby, crooning fool talk to the same, which she patted and smacked and
nuzzled all at once.
"Wall," says she, as I came looming up accidental, "ef it ain't ole
Chalkeye! Didn't I tell you awdehs to come long ago? Now don't you talk,
or you'll spoil my kid's morals, 'cause he ain't broke to hawss-thieves.
Yes, you may set on that stool."
"Curly," says I, feeling scared, "is that yo' kid?"
"Sort of. I traded for him. He's a second-hand angel. Now jest ain't he
cute?"
He was a sure cunning little person, and thought me great medicine to
play with.
"Whar is his lawdship?" says I.
"Jim's down to the pasture, breaking a fool colt, and Chalkeye--oh, you
ole felon, how I enjoy to see yo' homely face! I got good news. Father's
alive, yes, in New York. He writes to say he's got a job at a theatre,
giving shows of roping and shooting. He's the Cowboy Champion, and"--her
voice dropped to a whisper--"planning enormous robberies. He'll steal
New York, I reckon."
"Curly," says I, "spose I give you good news. May I hold that kid just
to try?"
"Now you tame yo'self, and don't get ra'ring up too proud. Then maybe
you shall--to-morrow. Tell me yo' news."
I handed her the documents, which the governor of Arizona had made for
me himself. Curly was pardoned, the charge against Jim was withdrawn,
and I was to come up for trial when called upon. I shall not be called
upon so long as I stay good.
I saw the tears in Curly's eyes as she read, and her lips went twisty as
if she were due to cry.
"Shorely," she said, "this comes of tellin' our prayers to God. So Jim
and me is free to go back to Holy Crawss?"
"You're free."
"Old friend," she whispered, "you must be first to tell Jim. Leave me
awhile."
I walked away into the house as if to look for Jim, then crept back
behind a curtain watching her. She looked away to the west, and I knew
she was longing for the desert. Then she kissed her baby on the nose,
and once again, as in the old days, I heard her singing:--
"Whar y'u from, little stranger--little boy?
Y'u was riding a cloud on that star-strewn plain,
But y'u fell from the skies like a drop of rain,
To this wo'ld of sorrow and long, long pain--
Will y'u care fo' yo' motheh, lillie boy?"
Far off I could hear the footfall of a horse.
"When y'u grows, little varmint, lillie boy,
Y'u'll be ridin' a hawss at yo' fatheh's side,
With you' gun and yo' spurs and yo' haidstrong pride:
Will y'u think of yo' home when the world rolls wide--
Will y'u wish fo' yo' motheh, lillie boy?"
The horse was coming nearer up the drive.
"When y'u love in yo' manhood, little boy,
When y'u dream of a girl who is angel fair,
When the stars are her eyes, and the winds her hair,
When the sun is her smile, and yo' heaven's there,
Will y'u care fo' yo' motheh, lillie boy?"
The horseman, brought up half-rearing, stepped from the saddle, then
threw his rein in the old range way, and Balshannon hurried to his
wife.
* * * * *
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY'S
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