The Ridin' Kid from Powder River Part 68

Forbes felt rather conspicuous in the stiff new overalls, rolled up at the bottom, over Pete's tight high-heeled boots, but n.o.body paid any attention to him as he stumped along beside Pete, on the way to the livery.

Pete chose the horses, and a saddle for Forbes, to whom he gave a few brief pointers anent the art of swinging up and dismounting. They set out and headed for the open. Forbes was at first nervous; but as nothing happened, he forgot his nervousness and gave himself to gazing at the great sun-swept s.p.a.ces until the horses broke into a trot, when he turned his entire attention to the saddle-horn, clinging to it affectionately with his free hand.

Pete pulled up. "Say, amigo, it's ag'inst the rules to choke that there horn to death. Jest let go and clamp your knees. We'll lope 'em a spell."

Forbes was about to protest when Pete's horse, to which he had apparently done nothing, broke into a lope. Forbes's horse followed.

It was a rough experience for the Easterner, but he enjoyed it until Pete pulled up suddenly. Forbes's own animal stopped abruptly, but Forbes, grabbing wildly at the horn, continued, and descended in a graceful curve which left him sitting on the sand and blinking up at the astonished animal.

"Hurt you?" queried Pete.

"I think not-- But it was rather sudden. Now what do I do?"

"Well, when you git rested up, I'd say to fork him ag'in. He's sure tame."

"I--I thought he was rather wild," stammered Forbes, getting to his feet.

"Nope. It was you was wild. I reckon you like to scared him to death.

Nope! Git on him from this side."

"He seems a rather intelligent animal," commented Forbes as he prepared for the worst.

"Well, we kin call him that, seein' there's n.o.body round to hear us.

We'll walk 'em a spell."

Forbes felt relieved. And realizing that he was still alive and uninjured, he relaxed a bit. After they had turned and headed for town, he actually enjoyed himself.

Next day he was so stiff and sore that he could scarcely walk, but his eye was brighter. However, he begged off from their proposed ride the following afternoon. Pete said nothing; but when the next riding afternoon arrived, a week later, Forbes was surprised to see Pete, dressed in his range clothes. Standing near the curb were two horses, saddled and bridled. "Git on your jeans and those ole boots of mine.

I fetched along a extra pair of spurs."

"But, Annersley--"

"I can't ride 'em both."

"It's nice of you--but really, I can't afford it."

"Look here, Doc, what you can't afford is to set in that room a-readin'

all day. And the horse don't cost you a cent. I had a talk with the old-timer that runs the livery, and when he seen I was onto my job, he was plumb tickled to death for me to exercise the horses. One of 'em needs a little educatin'."

"That's all right. But how about my horse?"

"Why, I brought him along to keep the other horse company. I can't handle 'em both. Ain't you goin' to help me out?"

"Well, if you put it that way, I will this time."

"Now you're talkin' sense."

Several weeks later they were again riding out on the desert and enjoying that refreshing and restful companionship which is best expressed in silence, when Pete, who had been gazing into the distance, pulled up his restive horse and sat watching a moving something that suddenly disappeared. Forbes glanced at Pete, who turned and nodded as if acknowledging the other's unspoken question. They rode on.

A half-hour later, as they pulled up at the edge of the arroyo, Forbes was startled by Pete's "h.e.l.lo, neighbor!" to an apparently empty world.

"What's the joke?" queried Forbes.

The joke appeared suddenly around the bend in the arroyo--a big, weather-bitten joke astride of a powerful horse. Forbes uttered an exclamation as the joke whipped out a gun and told them to "Put 'em up!" in a tone which caused Forbes's hands to let go the reins and rise head-high without his having realized that he had made a movement.

Pete was also picking invisible peaches from the air, which further confirmed Forbes's hasty conclusion that they were both doing the right thing.

"_I ain't got a gun on me, Ed._" Pete had spoken slowly and distinctly, and apparently without the least shadow of trepidation.

Forbes, gazing at the grim, bronzed face of the strange horseman, nervously echoed Pete's statement. Before the Easterner could realize what had actually happened, Pete and the strange rider had dismounted and were shaking hands: a transition so astonishing that Forbes forgot to lower his hands and sat with them nervously aloft as though imploring the Rain-G.o.d not to forget his duty to mankind.

Pete and the stranger were talking. Forbes could catch an occasional word, such as "The Spider--El Paso--White-Eye--Hospital--Sonora--Sanborn--Sam Brent--"

Pete turned and grinned. "I reckon you can let go the--your holt, Doc.

This here is a friend of mine."

Forbes sighed thankfully. He was introduced to the friend, whom Pete called Ed, but whose name had been suddenly changed to Bill. "We used to ride together," explained Pete.

Forbes tactfully withdrew, realizing that whatever they had to talk about was more or less confidential.

Presently Pete approached Forbes and asked him if he had any money with him. Forbes had five dollars and some small change. "I'm borrowin'

this till to-morrow," said Pete, as he dug into his own pocket, and without counting the sum total, gave it to the stranger.

Brevoort stuffed the money in his pocket and swung to his horse. "You better ride in with us a ways," suggested Pete. "The young fella don't know anything about you--and he won't talk if I pa.s.s the word to him.

Then I kin go on ahead and fetch back some grub and some more dineros."

Forbes found the stranger rather interesting as they rode back toward Tucson; for he spoke of Mexico and affairs below the line--amazing things to speak of in such an offhand manner--in an impersonal and interesting way.

Within two miles of the town they drew up. "Bill, here," explained Pete, "is short of grub. Now, if you don't mind keepin' him company, why, I'll fan it in and git some. I'll be back right soon."

"Not at all! Go ahead!" Forbes wanted to hear more of first-hand experiences south of the line. Forbes, who knew something of Pete's history, shrewdly suspected that the stranger called "Bill" had a good reason to ride wide of Tucson--although the Easterner did not quite understand why Pete should ride into town alone. But that was merely incidental.

It was not until Pete had returned and the stranger had departed, taking his way east across the desert, that Pete offered an explanation--a rather guarded explanation, Forbes realized--of the recent happenings. "Bill's keepin' out on the desert for his health,"

said Pete. "And, if anybody should ask us, I reckon we ain't seen him."

"I think I understand," said Forbes.

And Forbes, recalling the event many months later, after Pete had left Tucson, thought none the less of Pete for having helped an old friend out of difficulties. Forbes was himself more than grateful to Pete--for with the riding three times a week and Pete's robust companionship, he had regained his health to an extent far beyond his hopes.

Pete rejected sixteen of the seventeen plans he had made that winter for his future, often guided by what he read in the occasional letters from Doris, wherein he found some rather practical suggestions--for he wrote frankly of his intent to better himself, but wisely refrained from saying anything that might be interpreted as more than friendship.

Pete had not planned to go to El Paso quite as soon as he did; and it was because of an unanswered letter that he went. He had written early in March and it was now May--and no reply.

If he had waited a few days longer, it is possible that he would not have gone at all, for pa.s.sing him as he journeyed toward Texas was a letter from Doris Gray in which she intimated that she thought their correspondence had better cease, and for the reason--which she did not intimate--that she was a bit afraid that Pete would come to El Paso, and stay in El Paso until she had either refused to see him--it was significant that she thought of refusing to see him, for he was actually worth looking at--or until he had asked her a question to which there was but one answer, and that was "no." Just why Doris should have taken it for granted that he would ask her that question is a matter which she never explained, even to herself. Pete had never made love to her in the accepted sense of the term. He had done much better than that, although he was entirely unconscious of it. But that psychological moment--whatever that may mean--in the affairs of Doris and Pete was rapidly approaching,--a moment more often antic.i.p.ated by the female of the species than by the male.

Just what kept Pete from immediately rushing to the hospital and proclaiming his presence is another question that never can be answered. Pete wanted to do just that thing--but he did not. Instead, he took a modest room at a modest hotel, bought himself some presentable clothing, dropped in to see Hodges of the Stockmen's Security, and spent several days walking about the streets mentally preparing himself to explain just why he _had_ come to El Paso, finally arriving at the conclusion that he had come to see little Ruth. Doris had said that Ruth had missed him. Well, he had a right to drop in and see the kid. And he reckoned it was n.o.body's business if he did.

He had avoided going near the General Hospital in his strolls about town, viewing that building from a safe distance and imagining all sorts of things. Perhaps Miss Gray had left. Perhaps she was ill. Or she might have married! Still, she would have told him, he thought.

Doris never knew what a struggle it cost Pete--to say nothing of hard cash--to purchase that bottle of perfume. But he did it, marching into a drug-store and asking for a bottle of "the best they had," and paying for it without a quiver. Back in his room he emptied about half of the bottle on his handkerchief, wedged the handkerchief into his pocket, and marched to the street, determination in his eye, and the fumes of half a vial of Frangipanni floating in his wake.