"Yes; an' bad," replied the agent. "But I reckon she don't know it."
Sammy looked at the dust cloud and turned to ask one more question.
"What does this persistent gent look like, an' where's he hang out?" He
nodded at the verbose reply and strode to his horse to ride toward the
approaching herd. He espied Red first, and hailed. "Cars here in two
hours. Where 's Hoppy?"
"Back in th' dust. But what happened to _you_?" demanded Red, with
virile interest. Sammy ignored the challenge and loped along the edge of
the cloud until he found the trail boss. "Them cars 'll be here in two
hours," he reported.
"Take you three days to find it out?" snapped Hopalong.
"Took me three days to get 'em. I just about unraveled that agent. He
swears every time he hears a noise, thinkin' it's me."
"Broke?" demanded Hopalong.
Sammy flushed. "I ain't gambled a cent since I hit town. An' say, them
pens won't hold a tenth of 'em," he replied, looking over the dark blur
that heaved under the dust cloud like a fog-covered, choppy sea.
"I 'm goin' to hold 'em on grass," replied the trail boss. "They ain't
got enough cars on this toy road to move all them cows in less 'n a
week. I ain't goin' to let 'em lose no weight in pens. Wait a minute!
You 're on night herd for stayin' away."
When Sammy rode into camp the following morning he scorned Blinky's
food, much to the open-mouthed amazement of that worthy and Johnny
Nelson. Blinky thought of doctors and death; but Johnny, noticing his
bunkmate's restlessness and the careful grooming of his person, had
grave suspicions. "Good grub in this town?" he asked, saddling to go on
his shift.
Sammy wiped a fleck of dust off his boot and looked up casually.
"Shore. Best is at the Dutchman's at th' far end of th' street."
Johnny mounted, nodded and departed for the herd, where Red was
pleasantly cursing his tardiness. Red would eat Blinky's grub and
gladly. Johnny was cogitating. "There 's a girl in this town, an' he 's
got three days' head start. No wonder them cars just got here!" Red's
sarcastic voice intruded. "Think I eat grass, or my stummick 's made of
rubber?" he snapped. "Think I feed onct a month like a snake?"
"No, Reddie," smiled Johnny, watching the eyebrows lift at the name.
"More like a hawg."
Friday morning, a day ahead of the agent's promise, the cars backed onto
the siding and by noon the last cow of the herd was taking its
first--and last--ride. Sammy slipped away from the outfit at the pens
and approached the restaurant from the rear. He would sit behind the
partition this time and escape his friends.
The soft sand deadened his steps and when he looked in at the door, a
cheery greeting on the tip of his tongue, he stopped and stared
unnoticed by the sobbing girl bent over the table. One hand, outflung in
dejected abandon, hung over the side and Sammy's eyes, glancing at it,
narrowed as he looked. His involuntary, throaty exclamation sent the
bowed head up with a jerk, but the look of hate and fear quickly died
out of her eyes as she recognized him.
"An' all th' world tumbled down in a heap," he smiled. "But it 'll be
all right again, same as it allus was," he assured her. "Will Li'l Miss
tell Sammy all about it so he can put it together again?"
She looked at him through tear-dimmed eyes, the sobs slowly drying to a
spasmodic catching in the rounded throat. She shook her head and the
tears welled up again in answer to his sympathy. He walked softly to
the table and placed a hand on her bowed head. "Li'l Miss will tell
Sammy all about it when she dries her eyes an' gets comfy. Sammy will
make things all right again an' laugh with her. Don't you mind him a
mite--jus' cry hard, an' when all th' tears are used up, then you tell
Sammy what it's all about." She shook her head and would not look up.
He bent down carefully and examined the bruised wrist--and his eyes
glinted with rage; but he did not speak. The minutes passed in silence,
the girl ashamed to show her reddened and tear-stained face; the boy
stubbornly determined to stay and learn the facts. He heard his friends
tramp past, wondering where he was, but he did not move.
Finally she brushed back her hair and looked up at him and the misery in
her eyes made him catch his breath. "Won't you go?" she pleaded.
He shook his head.
"Please!"
"Not till I finds out whose fingers made them marks," he replied. The
look of fear flashed up again, but he checked it with a smile he far
from felt. "Nobody 's goin' to make you cry, an' get away with it," he
told her. "Who was it?"
"I won't tell you. I can't tell you! I don't know!"
"Li'l Miss, look me in th' eyes an' say it again. I thought so. You
mustn't say things that ain't true. Who did that?"
"What do you want to know for?"
"Oh, jus' because."
"What will you do?"
"Oh, I 'll sorta talk to him. All I want to know is his name."
"I won't tell you; you 'll fight with him."
He turned his sombrero over and looked gravely into its crown. "Well,"
he admitted, "he _might_ not like me talkin' 'bout it. Of course, you
can't never tell."
"But he did n't mean to hurt me. He 's only rough and boisterous; and
he wasn't himself," she pleaded, looking down.
"Uh-huh," grunted Sammy, cogitating. "So 'm I. _I 'm_ awful rough an'
boisterous, _I_ am; only I don't hurt wimmin. What's his name?"
"I'll not tell you!"
"Well, all right; but if he ever comes in here again an' gets rough an'
boisterous he 'll lose a hull lot of future. I 'll naturally blow most
of his head off, which is frequent fatal. What's that? Oh, he's a bad
man, is he? Uh-huh; so 'm I. Well, I 'm goin' to run along now an' see
th' boss. If you won't tell, you won't. I 'll be back soon," and he
sauntered to the street and headed for Pete's saloon, where the agent
had said Mr. Clarke was wont to pass his fretful hours.
As he turned the corner he bumped into Hopalong and Johnny, who grabbed
at him, and missed. He backed off and rested on his toes, gingery and
alert. "Keep yore dusty han's off'n me," he said, quietly. "I 'm goin'
down to palaver with a gent what I don't like."
Hopalong's shrewd glance looked him over. "What did this gent do?" he
asked, and he would not be evaded.
"Oh, he insulted a nice li'l girl, an' I 'm in a hurry."
"G'way!" exclaimed Johnny. "That straight?"
"Too d--n straight," snapped Sammy. "He went an' bruised her wrists an'
made her cry."
"Lead th' way, Kid," rejoined Johnny, readjusting his belt. "Mebby he
's got some friends," he suggested, hopefully.
"Yes," smiled Hopalong, "mebby he has. An' anyhow, Sammy; you _know_
yo're plumb careless with that gun. You might miss him. Lead th' way."
As they started toward Pete's Johnny nudged his bunkmate in the ribs:
"Say; she ain't got no sisters, has she?" he whispered.
One hour later Sammy, his face slightly scratched, lounged into the
kitchen and tossed his sombrero on a chair, grinning cheerfully at the
flushed, saucy face that looked out from under a mass of rebellious,
brown hair. "Well, I saw th' boss, an' I come back to make everythin'
well again," he asserted, laughing softly. "That rough an' boisterous
Mr. Clarke has sloped. He won't come back no more."
"Why, _Sammy_!" she cried, aghast. "What _have_ you done?"
"Well, for one thing, I 've got you callin' me Sammy," he chuckled,
trying to sneak a hand over hers. "I told th' boss I 'm goin' to get a
job up here, so I 'll know Mr. Clarke won't come back. But you know, he
only thought he was bad. I shore had to take his ol' gun away from him
so he would n't go an' shoot hisself, an' when las' seen he was feelin'
for his cayuse, intendin' to leave these parts. That's what I _done_,"
he nodded, brightly. "Now comes what I 'm goin' to do. Oh, Li'l Miss,"
he whispered, eagerly. "I 'm jus' all mixed up an' millin'. My own feet
plumb get in my way. So I jus' gotta stick aroun' an' change yore name,
what you don't like. Uh-huh; that's jus' what I gotta do," he smiled.
She tossed her head and the tip-tilt nose went up indignantly. "Indeed
you 'll do nothing of the kind, Sammy Porter!" she retorted. "I'll
choose my own name when the time comes, and it will not be Porter!"
He arose slowly and looked around. Picking up the pencil that lay on
the shelf he lounged over to the partition and printed his name three
times in large letters. "All right, Li'l Miss," he agreed. "I 'll jus'
leave a list where you can see it while you 're selectin'. I 'm now
goin' out to get that job we spoke about. You have th' name all picked
out when I get back," he suggested, waving his hand at the wall. "An'
did anybody ever tell you it was plumb risky to stick yore li'l nose up
thataway?"
"Sammy Porter!" she stormed, stamping in vexation near the crying point.
"You get right out of here! I 'll _never_ speak to you again!"
"You won't get a chance to talk much if you don't sorta bring that
snubby nose down a li'l lower. I 'm plumb weak at times." He laughed
joyously and edged to the door. "Don't forget that list. I 'm goin'
after that job. So-long, Li'l Miss."
"Sammy!"
"Oh, all right; I'll go after it later on," he laughed, returning.