The Orphan Part 24

Bucknell straightened up and staggered past the sheriff to where The Orphan stood: "You done that, but it's all right, ain't it?" he asked.

"You ain't sore, are you?" His eyes had a crafty look, but the dimness of the room concealed it, and The Orphan did not notice the look.

"It's all right, Bucknell, and I ain't sore," he replied. "I won't be sore if you do what the sheriff wants you to."

"All right, all right," replied Bucknell. "Have a drink on me, boys. It's all right now, ain't it? Have a drink on me."

"No more drinking to-day," quickly said the bartender at a look from Shields. "All the good stuff is used up and the rest ain't fit for dogs, let alone my friends. Wait 'til next time, when I'll have some new."

"That's too d----d bad," replied Bucknell, leering at the crowd. "Have a smoke, then. Come on, have a smoke with me."

"We sh.o.r.e will, Bucknell," responded Shields quickly.

As the cowboy started for the door the sheriff placed a hand on his shoulder: "You behave yourself, Bucknell," he said. "So long."

CHAPTER XVII

THE FEAST

Joyous whoops, loud and heartfelt, brought the women to the door of the sheriff's house in time to see their guests dismount. A perfect babel of words greeted their appearance as the cowboys burst into a running fire of jokes, salutations and comments. Even the ponies seemed to know that something important and unusual was taking place, for they cavorted and bit and squealed to prove that they were in accord with the spirit of their riders and that thirty miles in less than three hours had not subdued them. Bright colors prevailed, for the neck-kerchiefs in most cases were new and yet showed the original folding creases, while new, clean thongs of rawhide and glittering bits of metal flashed back the sunlight. Spurs glittered and the clean looking horses appeared to have had a dip in the Limping Water. Blake had hunted through the carpeted rooms of his ranch-house for decorations, and in the drawer of a table he had found a bunch of ribbons of many kinds and shades. These now fluttered from the pommels of the saddles and in one case a red ribbon was twined about the leg of a vicious pinto, and the pinto was not at all pleased by the decoration.

The sheriff led the way to the house closely followed by Blake, the others coming in the order of their nerve. The Orphan was last, not from lack of courage, but rather because of strategy. He thought that Helen would remain at the door to welcome each arrival and if he was in the van he would be pa.s.sed on to make way for those behind him. Being the last man he hoped to be able to say more to her than a few words of greeting.

As he mounted the steps she was drawn into the room for something and he stepped to one side on the porch, well knowing that she would miss him.

Bud poked his head out the door and started to say something, but The Orphan fiercely whispered for him to be silent and to disappear, which Bud did after grinning exasperatingly.

The man on the porch was growing impatient when he heard the light swish of skirts around the corner of the house. Sauntering carelessly to the corner he looked into the back-yard and saw Helen with a tray in her hands, nearing the back door. She espied him and stopped, flushing suddenly as he leaped lightly to the ground and walked rapidly toward her. Her cheeks became a deeper red when he stopped before her and took the tray, for his eyes were rebellious and would not be subdued, and the first thing she saw was the gold pin which stood out boldly against the dark blue neck-kerchief. She was rarely beautiful in her white dress, and the ribbon which she wore at her throat did not detract in its effect. Later her sister was to wonder if it was a coincidence that the ribbon and his neck-kerchief were so good a match in color.

She welcomed him graciously and he felt a sudden new and strangely exhilarating sensation steal over him as he took the hand she held out, the tray all the while bobbing recklessly in his other hand.

"Why aren't you in the house paying your respects to your hostess?" she chided half in jest and half in earnest.

"The delay will but add to my fervor when I do," he replied, "for I will have had a stimulus then. As long as the hostesses are four and insist on not being together, how can I pay my respects all at once?"

"But there is only one hostess," she laughingly corrected. "I am afraid you are not very good at making excuses. You probably never felt the need to make them before. You see, I, too, am only a guest."

"We two," he corrected daringly.

"I am very glad to see you," she said, leading away from plurals. "You are looking very well and much more contented. And then, this is ever so much nicer than our first meeting, isn't it? No horrid Apaches."

"I've gotten so that I rather like Apaches," he replied. "They are so useful at times. But you mustn't try to tempt me to subordinate that eventful day, not yet. It can't be done, although I've never tried to do it," he hastily a.s.sured her, making a gesture of helplessness. "Sometimes an unexpected incident will change the habits of a lifetime, making the days seem brighter, and yet, somehow, adding a touch of sadness. I have been a stranger to myself since then, restless, absentminded, moody and hungry for I know not what." He paused and then slowly continued, "I must beg to remain loyal to that day of all days when you bathed an outlaw's head and showed your love for fair play and kindness."

"Goodness!" she cried, for one instant meeting his eager eyes. "Why, I thought it was a terrible day! And you really think differently?"

"Very much so," he a.s.sured her as she withdrew her hand from his. "You see, it was such a new and delightful experience to save a stage coach and then find that it was a hospital with a wonderful doctor. I accused that Apache of being stingy with his lead, for he might just as well have given me a few more wounds to have dressed."

"Yes," she laughingly retorted, "it was almost as new an experience as starting on a long and supposedly peaceful journey and suddenly finding oneself in the middle of a desert surrounded by dead Indians and doctoring an Indian killer who was at war with one's brother. And that after a terrible shaking up lasting for over an hour. Truly it is a day to be remembered. Now, don't you think you should hurry in and greet my sister-in-law?"

"Yes, certainly," he quickly responded. "But before I lose the opportunity I must ask you if you will care if I ride over and see you occasionally, because it is terribly lonely on that ranch."

"You know that we shall always be glad to see you whenever you can call,"

she replied, smiling up at him. "We are all very deep in your debt and brother and all of us think a great deal of you. Are you satisfied on the Star C, and do you like your work and your companions?"

"Thank you," he cried happily, "I will ride over and see you once in a while. But as for my work, it is delightful! The Star C is fine and my companions--well, they just simply can't be beat! they are the finest, whitest set of men that ever gathered under one roof."

"That's very nice, I am glad that you find things so congenial," she replied in sincerity. "James was sure that you would, for Mr. Blake is an old friend of his."

"I'm very anxious about this pin," he said, putting his hand on it. "May I keep it for a while longer?" he asked with a note of appeal in his voice.

"Why, yes," she replied, "if you wish to. But only as long as you do not displease me, and you will not do that, will you? James has such deep confidence in you that I know you will not disappoint him. You will justify him in his own mind and in the minds of his acquaintances and prove that he has not erred in judgment, won't you?"

"If I am the sum total of your brother's trouble, he will have a path of roses to wander through all the rest of his life," he responded earnestly.

"And I'm really afraid that you will never again wear this pin as a possession of yours. Of course you can borrow it occasionally," and he smiled whimsically, "but as far as displeasing you is concerned, it is mine forever. It will really and truly be mine on that condition, won't it? My very own if I do not forfeit it?"

"If you wish it so," she replied quickly, her face radiant with smiles.

"And you will work hard and you will never shoot a man, no matter what the provocation may be, unless it is absolutely necessary to do it for the saving of your own life or that of a friend or an innocent man. Promise me that!" she commanded imperatively, pleased at being able to dictate to him. "Men like you never break a promise," she added impulsively.

"I promise never to shoot a man, woman, child or--or anybody," he laughingly replied, "unless it is necessary to save life. And I'll work real hard and save my money. And on Sundays, rain or shine, I'll ride in and report to my new foreman." Then a bit of his old humor came to him: "For I just about need this pin--knots are so clumsy, you know."

She glanced at the knot which held the pin and laughed merrily, leading the way into the house.

As they entered Humble was extolling the virtues of his dog, to the broad grins of his companions, who constantly added amendments and made corrections _sotto voce._

"Why, here they are!" cried the sheriff in such a tone as to suffuse Helen's face with blushes. The Orphan coolly shook hands with him.

"Yes, here we are, Sheriff, every one of us," he replied. "We couldn't be expected to stay away when Mrs. Shields put herself to so much trouble, and we're all happy and proud to be so honored. How do you do, Mrs.

Shields," he continued as he took her hand. "It is awful kind of you to go to such trouble for a lot of lonely, hungry fellows like us."

"Goodness sakes!" she cried, delighted at his words and pleased at the way he had parried her husband's teasing thrust. "Why, it was no trouble at all--you are all my boys now, you know."

"Thank you, Mrs. Shields," he replied slowly. "We will do our very best to prove ourselves worthy of being called your boys."

The sheriff regarded The Orphan with a look of approbation and turned to his sister Helen.

"He ain't n.o.body's fool, eh, Sis?" he whispered. "I'm wondering how you ever made up your mind to share him with us!"

"Oh, please don't!" she begged in confusion. "Please don't tease me now!"

"All right, Sis," he replied in a whisper, pinching her ear. "I'll save it all up for some other time, some time when he ain't around to turn it off, eh? But I don't blame him a bit for exploring the yard first--you're the prettiest girl this side of sun-up," he said, beaming with love and pride. "How's that for a change, eh? Worth a kiss?"

She kissed him hurriedly and then left the room to attend to her duties in the kitchen, and he sauntered over to where The Orphan was talking with Mrs. Shields, his hand rubbing his lips and a mischievous twinkle in his kind eyes.

"Did you notice the new flower-bed right by the side of the house as you ran past it a while ago?" he asked, flashing a keen warning to his wife.

The Orphan searched his memory for the flower-bed and not finding it, turned and smiled, not willing to admit that his attention had been too fully taken up with a fairer flower than ever grew in earth.