The Fighting Shepherdess Part 25

"I'll not have anything to do with it, anyway."

She could have smiled at his continued pretence of reluctance, his fict.i.tious dignity, if it had not saddened her. As she returned the money to the bureau drawer and slowly closed it she was conscious that in her heart she would have been glad and proud if he had not yielded.

CHAPTER XII

THE DUDE WRANGLER

With his tongue in his cheek, literally, and perspiring like a blacksmith, Teeters sat at the table in the kitchen of the Scissor Ranch house, and by the flickering light of a candle in a lard can wrote letters to the heads of the Vanderbilt and Astor families, to the President and those of his Cabinet whose names he could remember.

Briefly, but in a style that was intimate and slightly humorous, Teeters conveyed the information that he was starting a dude ranch, and if they were thinking of taking an outing the coming summer they would be treated right at the "Scissor" or have their money refunded. He guaranteed a first cla.s.s A1 cook, with a signed contract to wash his hands before breakfast, a good saddle horse for each guest, and plenty of bedding.

He did not aim to handle over ten head of dudes to start with, so, if they wanted to play safe, they had better answer upon receipt of his letter, he warned them, signing himself after deliberation:

Yure frend C. TEETERS

"I'll bet me I'll buy me some lamp chimbleys and heave out this palouser. A feller can't half see what he's doin'," he grumbled as he eyed a large blot on the envelope addressed to the President. "The whole place," sourly, "looks like a widdy woman's outfit."

Teeters hammered down the flaps with a vigor that made the unwashed dishes on the table rattle, and grinned as he pictured the astonishment of Major Stephen Douglas Prouty, who was still postmaster, when he read the names of the personages with whom he, Teeters, was in correspondence--after which he looked at the clock and saw that it was only seven.

So he thrust his hands in the pockets of his overalls, and, with his chair tilted against the wall at a comfortable angle, speculated as to his chances of success in the dude business.

The more Teeters had thought of Mormon Joe's a.s.sertion that, outside of stock, the chief a.s.set of the country was its climate and its scenery, the more he had come to believe that Joe's advice to turn the Scissor outfit into a place for eastern tourists was valuable. It had been done elsewhere successfully, and there was no dearth of accommodations on the place, since there was nothing much to the ranch but the buildings, as Toomey had fenced and broken up only enough land to patent the homestead.

Although Teeters was now the ostensible owner, in reality the place belonged to Hughie Disston's father, who had been the heaviest loser in the cattle company. Hughie had written Teeters that if they recovered from the reverse, and others that had come to them, they hoped to re-stock the range that was left to them and he wished to spend at least a portion of the year there. In the meantime, it was for Teeters to do what he could with it.

"Dudes" had seemed to be the answer to his problem.

While making up his mind, he had not acted hastily. He had consulted the spirits, with Mrs. Emmeline Taylor and her ouija board as intermediary.

"Starlight" had thought highly of the undertaking, and Mrs. Taylor, knowing that Miss Maggie's hope chest was full to overflowing, encouraged it. There had been a time when bankers, railroad and other magnates had been in her dreams for her daughter, and a mere rancher like Teeters was unthinkable, but with the pa.s.sing of the years she had modified her ambitions somewhat. So she had said benignly, patting his shoulder:

"The angels will look after you, as they have after me. Don't be afraid, Clarence."

It had occurred to Clarence that the not inconsiderable herd of Herefords Mr. Taylor had left behind him at "Happy Wigwam" might have had as much to do with Mrs. Taylor's feeling of security as the guardianship of the angels, but he answered merely, though somewhat cryptically:

"Even if I lose my money it won't cost me nothin'--I worked for it."

Teeters glanced at the clock, yawned as he saw that the hands pointed to half past seven, and unhooked his heels from the rung of the chair preparatory to retiring.

A horse snorted, and the sound of hoofs on the frozen dooryard brought Teeters to attention. What honest person could be out jamming around this time of night, he wondered.

In preparation for callers he reached for his cartridge belt and holster that hung on a nail and laid them on the table.

The door opened and a stranger entered, blinking. The fringe of icicles hanging from his moustache looked like the contrivance to curtail the activities of cows given to breaking and entering.

"I seen you through the winder," he said apologetically.

"I heard your horse whinner," Teeters replied, politely, rising.

"This banany belt's gittin' colder every winter." The stranger broke off an icicle and laid it on the stove to hear it sizzle.

"I was jest fixin' to turn in," Teeters hinted. "Last night I didn't sleep good. I tossed and thrashed around until half-past eight 'fore I closed my eyes."

"I won't keep you up, then. I come over on business. Bowers's my name.

I'm a-workin' for Miss Prentice. I'm a sheepherder myself by perfession."

Teeters received the announcement with equanimity, so he continued:

"Along about two o'clock this afternoon I got an idea that nigh knocked me over. I bedded my sheep early and took a chance on leavin' them, seein' as it was on her account I wanted to talk to you. You're a friend of her'n, ain't you?"

"To the end of the road," Teeters replied soberly.

Bowers nodded.

"So somebody told me. Are you goin' to town anyways soon?"

"To-morrow."

"Good! Will you take a message to Lingle?"

Teeters a.s.sented.

"Tell him for me that the night of the murder there was a onery breed-lookin' feller that smelt like a piece of Injun-tanned buckskin a settin' in Doc Fussel's drug store. He acted oneasy, as I come to think it over, and he went out jest before the killin'. I never thought of it at the time, but he might have been the feller that done it."

"I'll tell Lingle, but I don't think there's anything in it."

"Why?"

Teeters' eyes narrowed.

"Because I know where the gun come from!"

Bowers looked his astonishment.

"I'd swear to that gun stock on a stack of Bibles," Teeters continued.

"It was swelled from layin' in water, and a blacksmith riveted it. The blacksmith died last summer or by now we'd a had his affidavit."

"Ain't that sick'nin'!" Bowers referred to the exasperating demise of the blacksmith.

"Anyway, Lingle's workin' like a horse on the case, and I think he'll clear it up directly. How's she standin' it?"

"Like a soldier."

"She's got sand."

"She's made of it," laconically, "and I aims to stay by her."