The Ramblin' Kid by Earl Wayland Bowman (great books for teens TXT) 📖

was, was nearly submerged, only the horn and cantle showing above the slimy mass. His head, neck and the top of his withers were yet exposed. He still struggled, wallowing feebly, vainly resisting the downward pull of the sand. Crouching, as if fascinated by the terrible scene, Carolyn June watched as the Ramblin' Kid, waiting his opportunity, at the instant the horse in the sand lifted his head deftly flung the rope over his neck. With a short jerk of the wrist he tightened the noose till it closed snugly about the throat of the broncho. Again turning Captain Jack away from the bank he urged him slowly forward. The rope stiffened. The little stallion bunched himself and desperately strained against the dead weight of Old Blue, multiplied many times by the suction of the sand. The Ramblin' Kid leaned far over the neck of Captain Jack to give the horse the advantage of his own weight and looked back, watching the supreme efforts of the mired broncho as he fought to climb out of the sand. A moment it looked as if the little roan would drag him out. Slowly he seemed to be raising and moving forward. There was a sharp snap. Half-way down its length the lariat parted. At the weak spot the strain was too great. Captain Jack plunged forward to his knees, his nose rooting the earth, and the Ramblin' Kid barely saved himself from pitching over the horse's head.

"That's what I was dreadin'—" he said as he turned and rode back to the edge of the sand.

Carolyn June gazed, wide-eyed, speechless with horror, at the horse in the sand. When the rope broke, Old Blue, with a groan almost human, sank back and quickly settled down until only his head and part of his neck were exposed to view. The Ramblin' Kid looked at the broken rope—the end fastened around the throat of Old Blue had whipped back and was lying far beyond the cowboy's reach. The piece half-hitched to the saddle horn was too short for another throw. Old Blue was doomed. Carolyn June saw him sinking gradually, surely, into the sand. It seemed ages. His eyes appealed with dumb pathos to the group on the bank. They could hear his breath coming in harsh, terrible gasps. The sand seemed to be deliberately torturing him as though it were some hellish thing, alive and of fiendish cunning, that grasped its victim and then paused in his destruction to gloat over his hopeless agony.

The Ramblin' Kid sat Captain Jack and watched.

"Why did God ever want to make that stuff anyhow!" sprang hoarsely from his lips. He was torn between blind unreasoning anger at the quicksand and pity for the struggling horse. Suddenly he jerked the forty-four, always on his saddle, from its holster. As the gun swung back and then forward there was a crashing report and Old Blue's head dropped, with a convulsive shudder, limp on the sand.

Carolyn June screamed and buried her face in her hands.

At the sound of the shot Captain Jack stiffened and stood rigid. The Ramblin' Kid, his face white and drawn, sat and looked dry-eyed at the red stream oozing from the round hole just below the brow-band of the bridle on the head of the horse he had killed.

"I—I—would have wanted somebody to do it to me!" he said softly and rode to the side of the girl huddled on the ground. He dismounted and stood, without speaking, looking down at her shaking form. After a time she looked up, through eyes drenched with tears, into his face. Then as if drawn by an irresistible impulse—one she could not deny—she turned her head and looked at the spot where Old Blue had fought his last battle with the quicksands of the Cimarron. A crimson stain, already darkening, on the white surface; a few square feet of disturbed and broken sand, even now settling into the smooth, innocent-looking tranquillity that hid the death lurking in its depths; a short length of rope, one end drawn beneath the sand, the other lying in a sprawling coil; her hat resting a little distance to one side, were all that remained to tell the story of the grim tragedy of the morning. She shuddered and looked once more into the pain-filled eyes of the Ramblin' Kid.

"We'd better be goin'," he said quietly, "you're wet an' them clothes must be uncomfortable. You can ride Captain Jack!"

She stood up weak and trembling.

"I—I—thought Captain Jack was an outlaw," she said with a faint smile. "He won't let me ride him, will he?"

"He'll let you," the Ramblin' Kid answered dully, "no woman ever has rode him—or any other man only me—but he'll let you!"

As she approached the stallion he raised his head and looked at her with a queer mixture of curiosity and antagonism, curving his neck in a challenging way.

"Jack!" the Ramblin' Kid spoke sharply but kindly to the horse, "be careful! It's all right, Boy—you're goin' to carry double this one time!"

The broncho stood passive while the Ramblin' Kid helped Carolyn June to his back.

"You set behind," he said, "it'll be easier to hold on an' I can handle th' horse better!"

She slipped back of the saddle and he swung up on to the little roan. With one hand Carolyn June grasped the cantle of the saddle, the other she reached up and laid on the arm of the Ramblin' Kid—the touch sent a thrill through her body and the cowboy felt a response that made his heart quiver as they turned and rode toward the Quarter Circle KT.

For a mile neither spoke.

"I—I—am sorry for what—I said this morning," Carolyn June whispered at last haltingly, feeling intuitively that the cruel words—"an ignorant, savage, stupid brute"—were repeating themselves in her companion's mind.

"It's all right," he answered without looking around and in a voice without emotion, "it was th' truth—" with a hopeless laugh. "I'm a damn' fool besides!"

CHAPTER VIII QUICK WITH A VENGEANCE

Old Heck rode in advance of Charley and Bert as the trio returned from repairing the fences wrecked by the flood that had swept over the east bottom-lands of the Quarter Circle KT. All morning he had been silent and morose. Only when necessary had he spoken while he directed the cowboys at their labor, helped them reset posts, or untangle twisted wires and build up again that which the rush of water had torn down. The damage had not been great and by noon the fence was as good as new. As soon as the breaks were mended the moody owner of the Quarter Circle KT mounted his horse and started for the house.

"Them women coming or something has got Old Heck's goat," Bert remarked to Charley as they climbed on their horses and followed a moment later.

"Something's got it," Charley answered, "he ain't acted natural all day—do you reckon he's sore because Parker took the widow to town?"

"Darned if I know," Bert said doubtfully, "that might be it."

"Well, he's feverish and disagreeable for some reason or other and that's the way people generally get when they're jealous," Charley observed sagely.

"He hadn't ought to be," Bert argued, "it's Parker's day to keep company with Ophelia, and Old Heck and him agreed to split."

"If he's in love he won't split," Charley retorted with conviction, "I never saw two men take turn about loving the same woman yet. It can't be done!"

"The woman wouldn't object, would she?" Bert queried.

"Probably not," Charley replied, "at least not as long as double doses of affection was coming her way. From what I've heard most of 'em sort of enjoy having as many men make love to 'em as possible, but—" he paused.

"But what?"

"They kick if a man loves several women at once!" was the sophisticated reply. "But as far as that's concerned," he continued, speaking as a man wise in the ways of the world, "men and women ain't much different in that respect. When it comes to loving, both sides are plumb willing to divide up 'a-going' but want it to be clean exclusive when it comes to 'coming!'"

"It's funny, ain't it?" Bert commented.

"No, it ain't funny," Charley declared. "It's just natural—"

"Maybe Parker and Old Heck will have a fight about Ophelia," Bert suggested hopefully. "Which do you suppose would lick?"

"It's hard telling," Charley said thoughtfully. "Old Heck's the heaviest, but Parker's pretty active."

"Well, it sure does seem like wherever women are trouble is, don't it?"
Bert observed meditatively.

"Blamed if it don't," Charley agreed; "there's something about them that's plum agitating!"

Old Heck, riding a short distance ahead of the cowboys, was troubled with similar thoughts. He was trying to analyze his own feelings. Years without association with womankind had made him come to regard them with a measure of indifference and suspicion. He had developed the idea that women existed chiefly for the purpose of disorganizing the morale of the masculine members of the race. He was very sincere in this belief. Yet he was forced, now, to confess that he found something interesting in having a couple of attractive females at the Quarter Circle KT. The situation was not so disagreeable as he had expected. Already he was proud of his kinship to Carolyn June. She was a niece worth while. Ophelia also had proved herself a pleasant surprise. He had pictured her as a strong-minded, assertive, modernized creature who would probably discourse continuously and raspingly about the evils of smoking, profanity, poker, drinking and other natural masculine impulses. Instead, she had proved herself, so far, a perfect lady. Without doubt she was the most sensible widow he had ever met. The thought of Parker's long, intimate ride with her to Eagle Butte made him uncomfortable. It was a darned fool arrangement—that agreement that he and his foreman were to divide time in the entertainment of Ophelia. He could have done it alone just as well as not. Anyway the dual plan was liable to cause confusion. Oh, well, Parker would be out on the beef hunt next week. By rights it ought not start for ten days yet, but—well, it wouldn't hurt to move it up a little. He would do that. Then he remembered the frank admiration the cowboys had shown toward Carolyn June. This suggested complications in that direction.

"Thunderation!" he said aloud, "it's a good thing we fixed it up for just Skinny to make love to her—if we hadn't there'd have been a regular epidemic of bu'sted hearts on this blamed ranch! There wouldn't have been a buckaroo on the place that could have kept from mooning around sentimental—unless it was th' Ramblin' Kid," he added; "that blamed cuss is too independent and indifferent to fall in love with any female!"

At the barn Charley and Bert overtook Old Heck. The three unsaddled and fed their horses and started toward the house for dinner. Sing Pete had seen them coming and immediately pounded the triangle.

"Th' Ramblin' Kid's gone somewhere again," Bert observed as he noticed the Gold Dust maverick alone in the circular corral. "Captain Jack's not with the filly—"

"Yonder th' Ramblin' Kid comes now," Charley said, looking toward the north; "he's been over to the river—what the devil kind of a combination is that?" he exclaimed as he got a better view of the horse coming up the lane. "Him and that girl both are riding Captain Jack."

"Blamed if they ain't," Bert said curiously; "it's a wonder Captain Jack'll let them. But how does that come, anyhow? Where's Skinny? I thought it was his job to ride herd on Carolyn June—"

"It is his job," Old Heck interrupted, "I don't understand—something must have gone wrong," he added excitedly as the stallion with his double burden drew near. "Carolyn June's all wet and she's lost her hat."

Turning his horse toward the house, when he reached the end of the lane and with but a glance at the trio standing at the barn, the Ramblin' Kid rode straight to the back-yard gate. Old Heck and the cowboys hurried across the open space and reached the gate just as Carolyn June rather stiffly dismounted from the little roan. Her hair was disarranged, her riding suit soiled and wet from the sand and water, but her eyes were bright, cheeks flushed, and she showed only a trace of nervousness.

"What's the matter?" Old Heck asked uneasily, "what's happened? Where's
Skinny?"

In a few words, while the Ramblin' Kid sat silently on the back of Captain Jack, Carolyn June told of the ride across the river; the meeting with Pedro and the message he brought that the cattle