HEADED EAST
When Helen Morrell made up her mind to do a thing, she usually did it. A
cataclysm of nature was about all that would thwart her determination.
This being yielded to and never thwarted, even by her father, might have
spoiled a girl of different calibre. But there was a foundation of good
common sense to Helen's nature.
"Snuggy won't kick over the traces much," Prince Morrell had been wont to
say.
"Right you are, Boss," had declared Big Hen Billings. "It's usually safe
to give her her head. She'll bring up somewhar."
But when Helen mentioned her eastern trip to the old foreman he came
"purty nigh goin' up in th' air his own se'f!" as he expressed it.
"What d'yer wanter do anythin' like that air for, Snuggy?" he demanded, in
a horrified tone. "Great jumping Jehosaphat! Ain't this yere valley big
enough fo' you?"
"Sometimes I think it's too big," admitted Helen, laughing.
"Well, by jo! you'll fin' city quarters close't 'nough--an' that's no
josh. Huh! Las' time ever I went to Chicago with a train-load of beeves I
went to see Kellup Flemming what useter work here on this very same livin'
Sunset Ranch. You don't remember him. You was too little, Snuggy."
"I've heard you speak of him, Hen," observed the girl.
"Well, thar was Kellup, as smart a young feller as you'd find in a day's
ride, livin' with his wife an' kids in what he called a _flat_. Be-lieve
me! It was some perpendicular to git into, an' no _flat_.
"When we gits inside and inter what he called his parlor, he looks around
like he was proud of it (By jo! I'd be afraid ter shrug my shoulders in
it, 'twas so small) an' says he: 'What d'ye think of the ranch, Hen?'
"'Ranch,' mind yeh! I was plumb insulted. I says: 'It's all right--what
there is of it--only, what's that crack in the wall for, Kellup?'
"'Sufferin' tadpoles!' yells Kellup--jest like that! 'Sufferin' tadpoles!
That ain't no crack in the wall. That's our private hall.'
"Great jumping Jehosaphat!" exclaimed Hen, roaring with laughter. "Yuh
don't wanter git inter no place like that in New York. Can't breathe in
the house."
"I guess Uncle Starkweather lives in a little better place than that,"
said Helen, after laughing with the old foreman. "His house is on Madison
Avenue."
"Don't care where it is; there natcherly won't be no such room in a city
dwelling as there is here at Sunset Ranch."
"I suppose not," admitted the girl.
"Huh! Won't be room in the yard for a cow," growled Big Hen. "Nor
chickens. Whatter yer goin' to do without a fresh aig, Snuggy?"
"I expect that will be pretty tough, Hen. But I feel like I must go, you
see," said the girl, dropping into the idiom of Sunset Ranch. "Dad wanted
me to."
"The Boss _wanted_ yuh to?" gasped the giant, surprised.
"Yes, Hen."
"He never said nothin' to me about it," declared the foreman of Sunset
Ranch, shaking his bushy head.
"No? Didn't he say anything about my being with women folk, and under
different circumstances?"
"Gosh, yes! But I reckoned on getting Mis' Polk and Mis' Harry Frieze to
take turns coming over yere and livin' with yuh."
"But that isn't all dad wanted," continued the girl, shaking her head.
"Besides, you know both Mrs. Polk and Mrs. Frieze are widows, and will be
looking for husbands. We'd maybe lose some of the best boys we've got, if
they came here," said Helen, her eyes twinkling.
"Great jumping Jehosaphat! I never thought of that," declared the foreman,
suddenly scared. "I never _did_ like that Polk woman's eye. I wouldn't,
mebbe, be safe myse'f; would I?"
"I'm afraid not," Helen gravely agreed. "So, you see, to please dad, I'll
have to go to New York. I don't mean to stay for all time, Hen. But I want
to give it a try-out."
She sounded Dud Stone a good bit about the big city. Dud had to stay
several days at Sunset Ranch because he couldn't ride very well with his
injured foot. And finally, when he did go back to Badger's, they took him
in a buckboard.
To tell the truth, Dud was not altogether glad to go. He was a boyish chap
despite the fact that he was nearly through law school, and a
sixteen-year-old girl like Helen Morrell--especially one of her
character--appealed to him strongly.
He admired the capable way in which she managed things about the
ranch-house. Sing obeyed her as though she were a man. There was a
"rag-head" who had somehow worked his way across the mountains from the
coast, and that Hindoo about worshipped "Missee Sahib." The two or three
Greasers working about the ranch showed their teeth in broad smiles, and
bowed most politely when she appeared. And as for the punchers and
wranglers, they were every one as loyal to Snuggy as they had been to her
father.
The Easterner realized that among all the girls he knew back home, either
of her age or older, there was none so capable as Helen Morrell. And there
were few any prettier.
"You're going right to relatives when you reach New York; are you, Miss
Morrell?" asked Dud, just before he climbed into the buckboard to return
to his friend's ranch.
"Oh, yes. I shall go to Aunt Eunice," said the girl, decidedly.
"No need of my warning you against bunco men and card sharpers," chuckled
Dud, "for your folks will look out for you. But remember: You'll be just
as much a tenderfoot there as I am here."
"I shall take care," she returned, laughing.
"And--and I hope I may see you in New York," said Dud, hesitatingly.
"Why, I hope we shall run across each other," replied Helen, calmly. She
was not sure that it would be the right thing to invite this young man to
call upon her at the Starkweathers'.
"I'd better ask Aunt Eunice about that first," she decided, to herself.
So she shook hands heartily with Dud Stone and let him ride away, never
appearing to notice his rather wistful look. She was to see the time,
however, when she would be very glad of a friend like Dud Stone in the
great city.
Helen made her preparations for her trip to New York without any advice
from another woman. To tell the truth she had little but riding habits
which were fit to wear, save the house frocks which she wore around the
ranch.
When she had gone to school in Denver, her father had sent a sum of money
to the principal and that lady had seen that Helen was dressed tastefully
and well. But all these garments she had outgrown.
To tell the truth, Helen had spent little of her time in studying the
pictures in fashion magazines. In fact, there were no such books about
Sunset Ranch.
The girl realized that the rough and ready frocks she possessed were not
in style. There was but one store in Elberon, the nearest town, where
ready-to-wear garments were sold. She went there and purchased the best
they had; but they left much to be desired.
She got a brown dress to travel in, and a shirtwaist or two; but beyond
that she dared not go. Helen was wise enough to realize that, after she
arrived at her Uncle Starkweather's, it would be time enough to purchase
proper raiment.
She "dressed up" in the new frock for the boys to admire, the evening
before she left. Every man who could be spared from the range--even as far
as Creeping Ford--came in to the "party." They all admired Helen and were
sorry to see her go away. Yet they gave her their best wishes.
Big Hen Billings rode part of the way to Elberon with her in the morning.
She was going to send the strawberry roan back hitched behind the supply
wagon. Her riding dress she would change in the station agent's parlor for
the new dress which was in the tray of her small trunk.
"Keep yer eyes peeled, Snuggy," advised the old foreman, with gravity,
"when ye come up against that New York town. 'Tain't like Elberon--no,
sir! 'Tain't even like Helena.
"Them folks in New York is rubbing up against each other so close, that it
makes 'em moughty sharp--yessir! Jumping Jehosaphat! I knowed a feller
that went there onct and he lost ten dollars and his watch before he'd
been off the train an hour. They can do ye that quick!"
"I believe that fellow must have been _you_, Hen," declared Helen,
laughing.
The foreman looked shamefaced. "Wal, it were," he admitted. "But they
never got nothin' more out o' me. It was the hottest kind o' summer
weather--an' lemme tell yuh, it can be some hot in that man's town.
"Wal, I had a sheepskin coat with me. I put it on, and I buttoned it from
my throat-latch down to my boot-tops. They'd had to pry a dollar out o' my
pocket with a crowbar, and I wouldn't have had a drink with the mayor of
the city if he'd invited me. No, sirree, sir!"
Helen laughed again. "Don't you fear for me, Hen. I shall be in the best
of hands, and shall have plenty of friends around me. I'll never feel
lonely in New York, I am sure."
"I hope not. But, Snuggy, you know what to do if anything goes wrong. Just
telegraph me. If you want me to come on, say the word----"
"Why, Hen! How ridiculous you talk," she cried. "I'll be with relatives."
"Ya-as. I know," said the giant, shaking his head. "But relatives ain't
like them that's knowed and loved yuh all yuh life. Don't forgit us out
yere, Snuggy--and if ye want anything----" His heart was evidently too
full for further utterance. He jerked his pony's head around, waved his
hand to the girl who likewise was all but in tears, and dashed back over
the trail toward Sunset Ranch.
Helen pulled the Rose pony's head around and jogged on, headed east.