The Ranchman Part 22

"Lordy, I'm hungry!"

But he decided to rest for a few minutes while he considered the cook-away with the outfit to a distant corner of the range.

He reflected bitterly that the cook was away most of the time, and that a man fared considerably better with the outfit than he did by staying at the home ranch. For one thing, when a man was with the outfit he got "grub," without having to rustle it himself-that was why it was better to be with the outfit.

"A man don't git nothin' to eat at all, scarcely-when he's got to rustle his own grub," mourned Bud. "He's got the appet.i.te, all right, but he don't know how to ra.s.sle the ingredients which goes into good grub. Take them flapjacks, now." (He licked his lips again.) "They're scrumptuous. But that d.a.m.ned hyena which slings grub for the outfit won't tell a man how he makes 'em, which greediness is goin' to git him into a heap of trouble some day-when I git so hungry that I feel a heap reckless!"

Bud watched the dawn broaden. He knew he ought to get up, for this was the day on which Marion Harlan was to visit the Arrow-and Taylor had warned him to be on hand early to bandage the ankle again-Taylor having decided that not enough time had elapsed to effect a cure.

But Bud did not get up until a glowing shaft entering the window warned him that the sun was soon to appear above the horizon. Then he bounded out of the bunk and lurched heavily to an east window.

What he saw when he looked out made him gasp for breath and hang hard to the window-sill, while his eyes bulged and widened with astonishment.

For upon the porch of the ranchhouse-seated in the identical chairs in which they had sat during their previous visit, were Marion Harlan and the negro woman!

Bud stepped back from the window and rubbed his eyes. Then he went to the window again and looked with all his vision. And then a grin covered his face.

For the two women seemed to be asleep. Bud would have sworn they were asleep! For the negress was hunched up in her chair-a big, almost shapeless black ma.s.s-with her chin hidden in the swell of her ample bosom; while the girl was leaning back, her figure slack with the utter relaxation that accompanies deep sleep, her eyes closed and her hat a little awry. Bud was certain _she_ was asleep, for no girl in her waking moments would permit her hat to rest upon her head in that negligent manner.

Bad scratched his head many times while hurriedly getting into his clothing.

"I'm bettin' _they_ didn't wait for flapjacks _this_ morning!" he confided to himself, mentally. "Must like it here a heap," he reflected.

"Well, there's nothin' like gittin' an early start when you're goin'

anywhere!" he grinned.

Stealthily he opened the door of the bunkhouse, watching furtively as he stepped out, lest he be seen; and then when he noted that the women did not move, he darted across the yard, vaulted the corral fence, ran around the corner of the ranchhouse, carefully opened a rear door, and presently stood beside a bed gently shaking its tousled-haired occupant.

"Git up, you sufferin' fool!" he whispered hoa.r.s.ely; "they're here!"

Taylor's eyes snapped open and were fixed on Bud with a resentful glare, which instantly changed to reserved amus.e.m.e.nt when he saw Bud's bulging eyes and general evidence of suppressed excitement.

He yawned sleepily, stretching his arms wide.

"The outfit, eh? Well, tell Bothwell I'll see him--"

"Bothwell, h.e.l.l!" sneered Bud. "It ain't the outfit! It ain't no d.a.m.ned range boss! It's _her_, I tell you! An' if you're figgerin' on gittin'

that ankle bandaged before- That starts you to runnin', eh?" he jeered.

For Taylor was out of bed with one leap. In another he had Bud by the shoulders and had crowded him back against the wall.

"Bud," he said, "I've a notion to manhandle you! Didn't I tell you to have me up early?"

"Git your fingers out of my windpipe," objected Bud. "Early! Sufferin'

shorthorns! Did you want me to git you up last night? It's only four, now-an' they've been here for hours, I reckon-mebbe all night. How's a man to know anything about a woman?"

Taylor was getting into his clothes. Bud watched him, marveling at his deft movements. "You're sure a wolf at hustlin' when _she's_ around!" he offered.

But he got no reply. Taylor was dressed in a miraculously short time, and then he sat down on the edge of the bed and stuck a foot out toward Bud.

"Shut up, and get the bandage on!" he directed.

Bud dove for a dresser and pulled out a drawer, returning instantly with a roll of white cloth, which he unfolded as he knelt beside the bed. For an instant after kneeling he scratched his head, looking at Taylor's feet in perplexity, and then he looked up at Taylor, his face thoughtfully furrowed.

"Which ankle was it I bandaged before?" he demanded; "I've forgot!"

Taylor groaned. He, too, had forgotten. Since he had talked with Neil Norton about the ankle directly after the fight with Carrington in front of the courthouse he had tried in vain to remember which ankle he had bandaged for Miss Harlan's benefit. Driven to the necessity of making a quick decision, his brain became a mere muddle of desperate conjecture.

Out of the muddle sprang a disgust for Bud for _his_ poor memory.

"You've forgot!" he blurted at Bud. "Why, d.a.m.n it, you ought to know which one it was-you bandaged it!"

"Well," grinned Bud gleefully, "it was _your_ ankle, wasn't it? Strikes me that if I busted one of _my_ ankles I wouldn't forget which one it was! Leastways, if I'd busted it just to hang around a girl!"

Taylor sneered scornfully. "You wouldn't bust an ankle for a girl-you ain't got backbone enough. h.e.l.l!" he exploded; "do something! Take a chance and bandage one of them-I don't care a d.a.m.n which one! If she noticed the other time, I'll tell her that one was cured and I busted the other one!"

"She'd know you was lyin'," grinned Bud. He stood erect, his eyes alight with an inspiration. "Wrap up both of 'em!" he suggested. "If she goes to gittin' curious-which she will, bein' a woman-tell her you busted both of 'em!"

"It won't do," objected Taylor; "I couldn't lie that heavy an' keep a straight face."

Bud began to wrap the left ankle. As he worked, the doubt in his eyes began to fade and was succeeded by conviction. When he finished, he stood up and grinned at Taylor.

"That's the one," he said; "the left. I mind, now, that we talked about it. You go right out to her, limpin', the same as you done before, an'

she'll not say a word about it. You'll see."

Taylor grunted disbelievingly, and hobbled to the front door. He looked back at Bud, who was snickering, made a malicious grimace at him, and softly opened the door.

Miss Harlan had been asleep, but she was not asleep when Taylor opened the door. Indeed, she was never more wide awake in her life. At the sound of the door opening she turned her head and sat stiffly erect, to face Taylor.

Taylor looked apologetically at his ankle, his cheeks tinged with a flush of embarra.s.sment.

"This ankle, ma'am-it ain't quite well yet. You'll excuse me not being gone. But Bud-that's my friend-says it won't be quite right for a few days yet. But I won't be in your way-and I hope you enjoy yourself."

Miss Harlan was enjoying herself. She was enjoying herself despite the shadow of the tragedy that had almost descended upon her. And mirth, routing the bitter, resentful emotions that had dwelt in her heart during the night, twitched mightily at her lips and threatened to curve them into a smile.

For during her last visit to the Arrow she had noted particularly that it had been Taylor's _right_ ankle which had been bandaged, and now he appeared before her with the _left_ swathed in white cloth!

But even had she not known, Taylor's face must have told her of the deception. For there was guilt in his eyes, and doubt, and a sort of breathless speculation, and-she was certain-an intense curiosity to discover whether or not she was aware of the trick.

But she looked straight at him, betraying nothing of the emotions that had seized her.

"Does it pain you _very_ much?" she inquired.

Had not Taylor been so eager to make his case strong, he might have noted the exceedingly light sarcasm of her voice.

"It hurts a heap, ma'am," he declared. "Why, last night--"

"I shouldn't think it would be necessary to lie about an ankle," she said, coldly.

Taylor's face went crimson, and in his astonishment he stepped heavily upon the traitor foot and stood, convicted, before her, looking very much like a reproved schoolboy.

She rose from her chair, and now she turned from Taylor and stood looking out over the big level, while behind her Taylor shifted his feet, scowled and felt decidedly uncomfortable.