The Ramblin' Kid Part 27

When the Clagstone "Six" whirled past the Amus.e.m.e.nt Parlor a few moments later Dorsey and Sabota were standing in the door.

Carolyn June glanced at them.

"Heavens," she said as her eyes rested an instant on the burly, low-browed, Greek proprietor of the place, "what a big brute of a looking fellow that is!"

The two men stared insolently at the occupants of the car and as it pa.s.sed Sabota made some remark, evidently vulgar, that caused Dorsey to burst into another round of coa.r.s.e laughter.

Old Heck was moody during the drive home.

For nearly two years Dorsey had been crowing because of the defeat of Quicksilver by the black racer from the Vermejo. It was becoming more than idle jesting. It looked as if, for some reason, he was trying to torment Old Heck until something serious was started. Old Heck was a good loser but he was growing tired of the persistent nagging. He had not whimpered at the loss of the twenty-five hundred dollars Dorsey won from him on the race. Even the humiliation of seeing his best horse put in second place by the Y-Bar animal had been endured philosophically and without malice because he believed the thing had been run square and the faster horse had won. But Dorsey on every occasion since had, drunk or sober, boasted of Thunderbolt's victory and taken a devilish delight in rubbing it in on the owner of the Quarter Circle KT.

To-day the Vermejo cattleman had been worse than usual, due, no doubt, to the rotten boot-leg whisky the brute-like proprietor of Eagle b.u.t.te's rather disreputable Amus.e.m.e.nt Parlor was supposed secretly to dispense to those who had the price and the "honor" to keep sacred the source of supply.

Old Heck was sore and he was ready to go the limit in backing the Gold Dust maverick. Both he and Skinny had purposely refrained from mentioning the horse the Ramblin' Kid would enter. The fame of the outlaw filly extended throughout all of southwestern Texas and if the Vermejo crowd had learned that the Ramblin' Kid had finally caught her and was intending to put her against Thunderbolt it was doubtful if the black horse would be entered at all in the sweepstakes. Even if he was, Dorsey and his crowd would be shy of the betting.

This was one reason Old Heck had so played the conversation that Dorsey definitely threw down the challenge and which was so coldly accepted.

The Vermejo cow-man would have to come in heavy on the betting or be placed in the role of a bluffer.

By the time they reached the ranch Old Heck's good humor was restored.

He thoroughly enjoyed the supper Skinny and Carolyn June prepared and joked the girl about her coffee-jelly.

"She's learning how to make French toast, now," Skinny said proudly; "it won't be long till she's a darned good cook!"

"Why not?" Carolyn June laughed. "See who I have to teach me!" and Skinny flushed while his heart hammered joyously.

"Well, I reckon anybody could live on fried bread and coffee-jelly in a pinch," Old Heck joked back, "but for my part I'd be a good deal happier to mix a biscuit or two like Ophelia makes once in a while in with it"--giving the widow a worshipful look.

It was Ophelia's turn to register pleasurable confusion.

After supper Old Heck and the widow washed the dishes. When they were finished Ophelia went into the front room. Old Heck took a gla.s.s of water, stepped out of the kitchen door, and diligently scrubbed his teeth. While he was still at it Skinny came out with a dipper in his hand and sheepishly drawing a tooth-brush from his hip pocket faithfully imitated the actions of the other.

"I figure a man's taking a lot of chances if he don't keep his teeth clean and everything," Skinny spluttered as the water splashed down his chin.

"Yes, that's right," Old Heck agreed, "there's germs and so on in them!"

as he flipped the water from his own brush, dried his lips on his shirtsleeve and turned back into the kitchen.

The next morning, Sat.u.r.day, Old Heck came to the breakfast table again in a pensive mood.

"I was thinking about that man Dorsey," Skinny remarked, observing Old Heck's mental depression and attributing it to the meeting the day before in the pool-room at Eagle b.u.t.te. "Do you reckon the filly can really beat that Thunderbolt horse?"

"Of course she can," Old Heck answered. "Th' Ramblin' Kid knows. All I'm afraid is that when Dorsey finds out it's the Gold Dust maverick Thunderbolt has got to go up against he won't bet much on it."

"The boys ought to be in to-day," Skinny said, abruptly switching the subject; "they figured on getting the Battle Ridge cattle gathered and in the big pasture by to-night, didn't they?"

"Yes," Old Heck replied, "that was what was in my mind. Parker will be--" he stopped suddenly, "b.u.t.ting in again" he had started to say but caught himself and finished lamely, "--probably pretty anxious to hurry through as soon as possible and get the beef animals in the upland pasture!"

"How are you going to work things when he gets back?" Skinny asked with, a significant look at Old Heck.

"Blamed if I know--" Old Heck said uncertainly, stopping before he finished the sentence. He understood what Skinny meant and just that had been worrying him. He had reached the point where he could not endure the thought of going back to the old arrangement of day and day about with Parker in the enjoyment of the widow's society. Yet if Parker, on his return, insisted on dividing Ophelia's time with him in conformity with their original agreement, Old Heck knew he would have to yield. He thought for a moment he would get the widow away from Skinny and Carolyn June after breakfast and make a full confession of the whole thing, ask her to marry him, and have it done with. But he had not yet been able to get at the bottom of Ophelia's suffragette activities. What if she married him and then suddenly broke loose as a speech-maker or something for woman's rights? It wouldn't pay to take the risk. "It sure does keep a man guessing!" he murmured under his breath, the sweat starting to bead his forehead from the mental effort to solve the problem before him.

Carolyn June and Ophelia exchanged sly winks as they guessed the thing that was in Old Heck's mind.

Skinny, himself, was a bit worried as the time drew near for the return of the cowboys. He hoped Carolyn June wouldn't spring another dance or similar opportunity for indiscriminate love-making.

Nor had Carolyn June forgotten that to-day was Sat.u.r.day and Parker and the cowboys were expected back from the first half of the beef round-up.

The week had been pleasant enough but she had missed the Ramblin' Kid and the Gold Dust maverick more than she cared to confess. She wondered if the outlaw filly would remember her.

Sat.u.r.day was a day of considerable tension for all at the Quarter Circle KT. Night came and Parker and the cowboys had not returned. Nor did they come on Sunday. Evidently the beef round-up had gone more slowly than was expected.

It was late Monday afternoon when the grub-wagon grumbled and creaked its way up the lane and stopped near the back-yard gate. Sing Pete climbed clumsily down from the high seat. Old Heck and Skinny unhitched Old Tom and Baldy while the Chinese cook chattered information about Parker, the cowboys and the round-up. He had left the North Springs early that morning. Two nights before the herd had run--it was a stampede--some sheep had been where the cattle were bedded. Maybe that was it. Chuck and Bert were on night guard and could not hold them. The steers mixed badly with the rangers. Nearly two days it took to gather them again. That was why they were late. Now everything was all right The cattle were being driven to the big pasture. Pedro would be along soon with the saddle cavallard. By dark maybe the others would be at the ranch.

It was midnight before Parker and the cowboys came in.

When Carolyn June stepped out on the porch Tuesday morning she glanced toward the circular corral, which for more than a week had been empty.

Her heart gave a leap of delight.

Captain Jack was standing at the bars of the corral and behind him the early sunlight glinted on the chestnut sides of the Gold Dust maverick.

CHAPTER XIV

THE GRAND PARADE

Eagle b.u.t.te was a jam of humanity. It was Tuesday noon. At one o'clock the Grand Parade would circle the mile track at the "Grounds"--a hundred level acres enclosed by a high board fence lying at the west edge of Eagle b.u.t.te, between the Cimarron River and the road that led out to the Vermejo--swing down the main street of the town, return again to the enclosed area, flow once more past the grandstand, salute the judges of the coming events, and the Fifth Annual Independence Rodeo of Eagle b.u.t.te would be officially opened.

Special excursion rates had brought thousands from all parts of western Texas, New Mexico and Colorado. Hundreds of tourists, sight-seeing the West, had so arranged their itineraries that they might be present at the big exhibition of riding, roping, racing, bull-d.o.g.g.i.ng and other cow-country arts,--arts rapidly becoming mere memories of a day too quickly pa.s.sing.

Moving-picture machine operators were seeking advantageous locations for their outfits; pedestrians dodged, indiscriminately, high-powered automobiles and plunging bronchos; the old and the new were slapped together in an incongruous jumble in the streets of Eagle b.u.t.te.

The best range men and women of the West were gathered in the western Texas town.

New Mexico, Arizona, Idaho, Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, Oregon, Texas herself, were represented by their most famous riders, ropers, bull-doggers, cow-experts, and noted outlaw horses.

There were many masqueraders.

Imitation cow-people, they were, made up in fancy wild-west costumes, long-haired chaps, mammoth black sombreros, gaudy neck-cloths, silver-spangled saddles, spurs and bridles--typical moving-picture cowboys, cowgirls and rough riders. But there were, as well, hundreds of real range people. People whose business it is to work every day at the "stunts" they were, for the next five days, to play at for the pleasure of proving their skill and winning the applause of the mult.i.tude of spectators packed each day in the grandstand behind the judges' box at the Eagle b.u.t.te Rodeo.

Every outfit in western Texas sent its most clever riders.

Indians and Mexicans, in picturesque attire, sprinkled the milling ma.s.s of humanity with a dash of rainbow color.

Dance-halls were running, fare layouts were operating, roulette wheels were spinning. For the time, with the consent of the sheriff and other reformed authorities, Eagle b.u.t.te tried hard to be as Eagle b.u.t.te was twenty--thirty--years ago.

The entire Quarter Circle KT crowd left the ranch early Tuesday morning'. Parker had surprised Old Heck, and filled his mind with misgivings, by calling him to one side after breakfast and stammering: