THE “DUDE” MAKES GOOD
Two-Gun Pete sidled over to Hippy.
“Fer a dude, yer some scrapper. I’ll say so. Shake, Pard,” he said,
extending a ham-like paw.
“Yep! Reg’lar bear-cat,” agreed Sierra, and all the cowboys nodded
solemnly.
“Thanks! Did we get any of them?” questioned Hippy, not much above a
whisper, for every word sent shooting pains through his head.
“Two thet we knows of, and mebby some more. The Old Man’s hoss thet
you was ridin’ got his’n, too.”
“Oh, that is too bad. I’m sorry.”
“Thet ain’t nothin’,” interjected Idaho. “What’s a hoss when it
comes to a scrap with a bunch of rustlers? They’re mad now, and
we’ll mebby git another chance at ’em some day soon. Reckon you
won’t care ’bout mixin’ in agin?”
“I reckon you have another guess coming, Idaho,” answered Hippy,
grinning.
Bindloss here interrupted by declaring that the wounded Overlander
must be taken to the ranch-house and put to bed. He said he would
have a buckboard brought down and fetch him. Miss Briggs shook her
head.
“I do not think best to have him moved tonight. If he feels better
in the morning, you may do that,” she said.
“All right. You’re the doctor. I’ll have the boys fix you up
comfortable and stand guard for the rest of the night so you won’t
be bothered by those rustlers.”
“Bindloss, I am sorry about the pony that got shot under me. Of
course I shall pay you for him,” offered Hippy.
“Pay nothing!” roared the rancher. “I owe you money for the
walloping you folks give those coyotes. Here, you rough-necks! Fix
these folks up with whatever they want, then spread out and ride
’round for the rest of the night, and if they get into any more
trouble tonight, I’ll fire the bunch of you and get riders who can
see and shoot.”
“I reckon we kin take care of our folks and do whatever is
necessary,” interjected Sam.
Bindloss agreed, but said his men would be on guard just the same.
Shortly after that the cowboys mounted and rode out into the valley
for their night’s vigil.
A tent was erected over Hippy, and Nora insisted on sitting up to
look after him, but before turning in the Overlanders went into
Hippy’s tent with a cheerful word for their wounded companion.
“Hippy, tell me, did you dream anything when you were asleep out
there after being shot?” whispered Emma.
“Yes. I dreamed that an imponderable quantity appeared suddenly out
of the nowhere and gave me an awful wallop,” retorted Hippy.
“I think you are real mean,” pouted Emma. “Good-night! Don’t forget
to remember what you dream about tonight, for it may be of great
importance to us.”
“Huh!” muttered Hippy.
Soon after that the camp became quiet and every Overlander, except
Nora, was sound asleep. Jim-Sam, however, were just outside holding
a heated argument over the occurrences of the evening. Jim blamed
Sam for shooting into the bushes and thus starting the row that
ended in the wounding of one of their party.
“Why, you miserable galoot, you ain’t got the sense of a flea!”
retorted Sam. “If it hadn’t been fer me, you’d been quarrelin’ with
the angels right this minute. Some folks ain’t got brains enough to
know nothin’.”
“You said it,” agreed Jim. “I’ve knowed that ever since I’ve been
with ye.”
The argument was continued at intervals all the rest of the night,
and until at break of day they saw the cowpunchers ride off down the
valley at a brisk gallop. Jim then built up the fire and began
preparing for breakfast. The odors of the cooking soon awakened the
Overlanders, and one by one they turned out rubbing the sleep out of
their eyes.
Emma Dean’s face, however, was glowing and her eyes were full of
sparkle.
“Oh, girls,” she cried. “I had the most wonderful dream last night.
What do you think? It was a most adorable dream. I dreamed that I
was engaged to the nicest man and—”
“What! Again?” shouted the Overlanders.
“Yes. Why not? He was a cowboy, and I dreamed that he had just shot
a man who made eyes at me. Wasn’t that a perfectly adorable thing
for him to do?”
“Which man to do what?” questioned Stacy.
“For my fiancé to shoot the other fellow, of course. I just loved
him for that.”
“Emma, we will have you in a strait-jacket yet,” retorted Grace
laughingly. “How many does this one make?”
“Two real ones and a spiritual one. You know the one last night
wasn’t a real fiancé—”
“Just an imponderable quantity or quality,” suggested Stacy Brown,
which brought a laugh from the Overlanders, and made Hippy grin
despite the fact that it hurt him to twist his swollen face.
Hippy, while feeling much improved, was sore and weak, and when Joe
Bindloss rode up, as the Overlanders were eating breakfast, he said
he had arranged to have them move their camp up near the
ranch-house, as it would be some time before Lieutenant Wingate
would again be able to ride.
“He can stay at my house and I’ll take all the care of him that he
needs. You folks can make trips out and stay as long as you want to.
What about it?”
The Overlanders agreed, and the rancher said the buckboard would be
down later in the morning to fetch the wounded man. Bindloss sat
down and ate breakfast with his new friends, and they had just
finished the meal when Sam Conifer called to them that the cowboys
were coming back, one of them leading an extra mustang.
Glasses were soon leveled at the approaching dust cloud which Sam
had identified as belonging to the Circle O bunch. As the riders
rode out of the cloud Grace uttered a cry of delight.
“It is Ginger! They have found Ginger! Oh, I’m so glad.”
“Only Ginger! Fiddlesticks!” growled Stacy in disgust. “Somebody
will have to buy me a new pony. I’m not going to walk. You take my
word for that.”
“Ginger!” cried Grace as the punchers rode in, dust-covered,
smiling, happy in being able to do something for one of the Overland
girls.
The little pony trotted to her, showing every evidence of being glad
to be back with his mistress, and Grace petted and fed the
scrubby-looking mustang until Sam took the animal away and tethered
him.
“We found him grazin’ ’bout fifteen mile down the valley,” explained
Pete.
“What about the men who stole him?” demanded Bindloss.
“We didn’t find ’em,” said Pete. “Thar was three dead mustangs out
thar, though, but saddles and bridles had been taken off, leavin’
nothin’ to identify the outfit by.”
“See any blood?” questioned Sam Conifer.
“Wal, I reckon as thar was some,” answered Pete, with a grin. “This
is the bunch thet got yer mustangs, folks. No doubt ’bout thet.
Boss, what do ye reckon on our doin’ next?”
“Help these folks move up to the ranch-house.”
“Thank you, but we can attend to that. We have our mules and one
pony with which to operate,” spoke up Tom Gray. “If you will arrange
to get Lieutenant Wingate up, as you have suggested, we shall be all
set.”
Nevada was sent to the ranch to fetch the buckboard and returned
with it in about an hour. In the meantime the cowpunchers were
interested witnesses to the breaking of camp, in which all the
Overlanders except Hippy participated, and in a short time packs
were rolled and Jim-Sam were lashing them to the mules and to
Ginger.
“I reckon these heah folks ain’t no tenderfeet,” observed Sierra, as
the cowboys rode away.
“Have ye jest found thet out?” drawled Two-gun Pete. “If they kin
all fit like the Dude kin, the rustlers better hike fer the
mountains an’ stay thar.”
Nora, riding with Hippy, swung a hand to the men as the buckboard
passed them on the way to the Circle O ranch, and by the time the
rest of the party reached there Hippy was taking what ease he could
get on a cot on the front porch of the ranch-house.
The Overland Riders pitched their camp on a little rise of ground a
short distance to the rear of the ranch buildings, and the
cowpunchers observed this further operation with interest.
“Good job,” approved Idaho.
“Thank you,” smiled Grace. “We hope you boys will come around
whenever you can. You all have been mighty kind to us and we
appreciate it.”
“Where did you folks larn to do things like you do?” asked Nevada.
“Mostly from our western experiences. Of course we learned a few
things in the war.”
“The war? Was you thar?” laughed Sierra.
“Yes. I drove an ambulance. The other young women were in the
service as hospital workers, and the like. My husband, Tom Gray, was
a Captain of Engineers, and Lieutenant Wingate was a flier—a
fighting pilot,” Grace informed them.
“Gee whiz! Ain’t thet the limit?” wondered Idaho.
“The next question is, what are we going to do for horses? Do any of
you boys know where we can buy or rent some?”
“Mebby the Old Man might sell ye what ye need,” suggested Sallie,
who was in charge of the corral for Bindloss. “I’ll arsk him.”
Grace thanked him, but said Tom Gray would take the matter up with
the rancher. Later in the morning Tom informed her that he had
already done so, and that arrangements had been made to rent such
ponies as they needed. Bindloss, he said, did not want to take money
from them, but that the Overlander had insisted on his doing so. The
arrangement, Tom said, was that they were to pay a rental of two
dollars a week for each pony, and in the event of any of the animals
being lost or injured, the Overland Riders were to settle for the
ponies at the rate of twenty-five dollars a head.
This was satisfactory to all hands, and on the following day they
were to select their mounts.
That noon they took their luncheon with the rancher and his men in
the bunk-house, by special invitation. After dinner Nora sang a
song, Emma Dean recited a pathetic little selection to which she
gave the title of “The Cowboy’s Love,” but which, instead of being
about a cowboy, was the story of a child lost on the desert, and
adopted by a mother wolf that had lost its own offspring.
The Overlanders were of the opinion that Emma made up the story, but
at any rate it made a hit and moved some of the cowpunchers to
tears, for cowpunchers, like sailors, are sentimental under their
rough exteriors. Emma’s eyes were twinkling mischievously when she
finished and observed the effect of her story.
The cowmen wiped their eyes, then gave her a cowboy yell. Stacy
Brown rose and bowed low in acknowledgment, which brought a loud
guffaw. The dance that had been so rudely interrupted on a previous
occasion was then resumed, and thirty minutes later the gathering
broke up, every cowboy face wearing a broad grin. The Overlanders
surely had brought sunshine to the Circle O ranch.
As all hands strolled out into the open, Emma walking at the side of
Two-gun Pete, gazing up soulfully into his embarrassed face, Elfreda
Briggs pointed to a cloud of dust far down the valley, a cloud that
was rolling rapidly towards them.
“That looks like a young tornado,” observed Stacy.
“I reckon thet’s it, and on a hoss, too,” said Idaho.
“On a horse?” wondered Emma.
“Yes. You’ll see when it gits heah. Wait!” chuckled Idaho.
The Overland party now watched the cloud with new interest, and the
cowboys laughed as they observed the puzzled expression on the faces
of their guests.
“It is someone on a horse. You can’t fool me,” cried Emma.
“Yes, and it is a girl, too,” added Elfreda.
The rider came on like an incipient whirlwind, her mustang on a run.
She shot by the spectators and went on for some distance, then,
circling out into the valley, came dashing up to them and flung
herself from the saddle.
The newcomer gazed from one to another of the Overland Riders, while
the cowpunchers chuckled to themselves. They knew the girl and
looked for something interesting to follow. It did.
“I’m Judy! Who be you?” she demanded.
“We are the Overland Riders,” answered Stacy Brown pompously.
Judy eyed the fat boy frowningly, then once more ran her gaze over
the rest of the party.
“My gosh! You are a sweet bunch of dudes, ain’t you? Here you, Idaho
Jones, take my cayuse,” she demanded, tossing the bridle-rein to the
grinning cowboy.
Judy Hornby, in introducing herself to the newcomers in the Coso
Valley, had done so in characteristic fashion.