The Range Boss by Charles Alden Seltzer (reader novel .TXT) đ
- Author: Charles Alden Seltzer
- Performer: -
Book online «The Range Boss by Charles Alden Seltzer (reader novel .TXT) đ». Author Charles Alden Seltzer
âWhy, I wasnât reckoninâ to hurt him, maâam,â he said. âYou see, he was right in the way, anâ I reckon I was feelinâ a bit wild right at that minute, anâââ His gaze went to Masten, who was scraping mud from his garments with a small flat stone. The riderâs eyes grew wide; more wrinkles appeared around them.
âWhy, Iâve spoiled his white shirt,â he said as though speaking to himself, his voice freighted with awe. And then, as Masten shook a threatening fist at him, he suddenly yielded to the mirth that was consuming him and he bowed his head.
It was Uncle Jepsonâs warning shout that impelled him to raise his head. He saw Masten coming toward him, clawing at the foolish holster at his waist, his eyes flashing murder, his teeth bared in a snarl.
âYou, Patches!â said the rider, his voice coming with a cold, quick snap. And the piebald pony, his muscles and thews alive with energy in an instant, lunged in answer to the quick knee-press, through the mud, straight at Masten.
So it was a grim and formidable figure that Masten looked up at before he could get his weapon out of his holster. The lean face of the rider was close to his own, the riderâs eyes were steady, blue, and so cold that they made Masten forget the chill in the air. And one of the heavy pistols that the rider carried was close to Mastenâs head, its big muzzle gaping forebodingly at him, and the riderâs voice, as he leaned from the saddle, came tense and low. The girl could not hear:
âListen to this gospel, you mud-wallowinâ swine,â he said. âThis is a manâs country, anâ you play a manâs game or you lose out so quick itâll make you dizzy! You been playinâ kid all through this deal. Youâre grumblinâ anâ whininâ ever since I set eyes on you from the edge of the mesa, there. That little girl thinks youâre all wool anâ a yard wide. You come across, cleanâyou hear me! You shape up to manâs size or Iâll hunt you up anâ tear the gizzard out of you! You jam that there cap-shooter back where it belongs or Iâll take it away from you anâ make you eat it! You hear me!â
The pistol went back; Mastenâs face was ashen beneath the mud on it.
âNow grin, you sufferinâ shorthorn!â came the riderâs voice again, low as before. âGrin like youâd just discovered that Iâm your rich uncle come from Frisco with a platter full of gold nuggets which Iâm set on you spendinâ for white shirts. Grin, or Iâll salivate you!â
It was a grin that wreathed Mastenâs lipsâa shallow, forced one. But it sufficed for the rider. He sat erect, his six-shooter disappearing magically, and the smile on his face when he looked at the girl, had genuine mirth in it.
âIâve apologized to Willard, maâam,â he said. âWe ainât goinâ to be cross to each other no more. I reckon you cân forgive me, now, maâam. I sure didnât think of beinâ mean.â
The girl looked doubtfully at Masten, but because of the mud on his face could see no expression.
âWell, Iâm glad of that,â she said, reddening with embarrassment. âI certainly would not like to think that anyone who had been so accommodating as you could be so mean as to deliberately upset anyone in the mud.â She looked downward. âIâm sorry I spoke to you as I did,â she added.
âWhy, Iâm sorry too, maâam,â he said gravely. He urged his pony through the mud and brought it to a halt beside her. âIf youâd shake hands on that, maâam, Iâd be mighty tickled.â
Her hand went out to him. He took it and pressed it warmly, looking at it, marveling at it, for the glove on it could not conceal its shapeliness or its smallness. He dropped it presently, and taking off his hat, bowed to her.
âThank you, maâam,â he said; âIâll be seeinâ you agâin some time. I hope youâll like it here.â
âI am sure I shall.â
He grinned and turned away. Her voice halted him.
âMay I know who has been so kind to us in our trouble?â
He reddened to the roots of his hair, but faced her.
âWhy, I reckon youâll know, maâam. Iâm King Randerson, foreman of the Diamond H, up the crick a ways. That is,â he added, his blush deepening, âI was christened âKing.â But a while ago a dago professor who stayed overnight at the Diamond H tipped the boys off that âKingâ was Rex in Latin lingo. Anâ so itâs been Rex Randerson since then, though mostly they write it âW-r-e-c-k-s.â Thereâs no accountinâ for notions hereabouts, maâam.â
âWell, I should think not!â said the lady, making mental note of the blueness of his eyes. âBut I am sure the boys make a mistake in spelling your name. Judging from your recent actions it should be spelled âR-e-c-k-l-e-s-s.â Anyway, we thank you.â
âThe same to you, maâam. So long.â
He flashed a smile at Aunt Martha; it broadened as he met Uncle Jepsonâs eyes; it turned to a grin of derision as he looked at Masten. And then he was splashing his pony across the river.
They watched him as he rode up the slope on the opposite side; they held their breath as pony and rider climbed the steeper slope to the mesa. They saw him halt when he reached the mesa, saw him wave his hat to them. But they did not see him halt the pony after he had ridden a little way, and kiss the palm of the hand that had held hers.
It fell to Uncle Jepson to hitch the blacks to the buckboardâin a frigid silence Masten had found his trunk, opened it and drawn out some very necessary dry clothing; then marching behind a thick clump of alder, he proceeded to make the change. After this he climbed down to the river and washed the mud from visible portions of his body. Then he returned to the buckboard, to find the others waiting for him. In a strained silence he climbed up to the seat beside Ruth, took up the reins, and sent the blacks forward.
It was ten miles to the Flying W ranchhouse, and during the ride the silence was broken only once. That was when, at about the fifth mile, Ruth placed a hand on Mastenâs arm and smiled at him.
âI really think Mr. Randerson was sorry that he upset you in the mud, Willard,â she said gently. âI donât think he did it to be mean. And it was so manly of him to apologize to you.â She laughed, thinking that time had already removed the sting. âAnd you really did look funny, Willard, with the mud all over you. IâI could have laughed, myself, if I hadnât felt so indignant.â
âIâll thank you to not refer to it again, Ruth,â he said crossly.
She flushed and looked straight ahead of her at the unfolding vistas that their passage revealed: at the undulating plains, green with bunch-grass that the rain of the night before had washed and reinvigorated; into gullies where weeds grew thick; peering into arroyosâvisible memories of washouts and cloudbursts; glimpsing barrancas as they flashed by; wondering at the depth of draws through which the trail led; shivering at the cactiâa brilliant green after the rainâfor somehow they seemed to symbolize the spirit of the countryâthey looked so grim, hardy, and mysterious with their ugly thorns that seemed to threaten and mock. She shrank, too, when the buckboard passed the skeleton of a steer, its bleached bones ghastly in the sunlight, but she smiled when she saw a sea of soap-weed with yellow blossoms already unfolding, and she looked long at a mile-wide section of mesquite, dark and inviting in the distance. She saw a rattler cross the trail in front of the buckboard and draw its loathsome length into a coil at the base of some crabbed yucca, and thereafter she made grimaces at each of the ugly plants they passed. It was new to her, and wonderful. Everything, weird or ugly, possessed a strange fascination for her, and when they lurched over the crest of a hill and she saw, looming somberly in the distance in front of her, a great cottonwood grove, with some mountains behind it, their peaks gleaming in the shimmering sunlight, thrusting above some fleecy white clouds against a background of deep-blue sky, her eyes glistened and she sat very erect, thrilled. It was in such a country that she had longed to live all the days of her life.
Somehow, it gave her a different viewpoint. The man who had accommodated them back at the river seemed to fit very well here. The spirit of the young, unfettered country was in his eyes, in his serene manner; he was as hardy and rugged as this land from which he had sprung.
When the buckboard came to a halt in the Flying W ranchhouse yard, Ruth Harknessâ first emotion was one of a great happiness that the Harknesses had always been thrifty and neat, and also that Uncle William had persisted in these habits. She had greatly feared, for during the last day of her ride on the train she had passed many ranchhouses and she had been appalled and depressed by the dilapidated appearance of their exteriors, and by the general atmosphere of disorder and shiftlessness that seemed to surround them. So many of them had reminded her of the dwelling places of careless farmers on her own familiar countryside, and she had assured herself that if the Flying W were anything like those others she would immediately try to find a buyer, much as she wished to stay.
But the first glance at the Flying W convinced her that her fears had been groundless. The ranchhouse was a big two-story structure built of heavy timber, with porches in front and rear, and wide cornices, all painted white and set on a solid foundation of stone. It looked spacious and comfortable. The other buildingsâstables, bunkhouse, messhouse, blacksmith shop, and several othersâdid not discredit the ranchhouse. They all were in good repair. She had already noted that the fences were well kept; she had seen chickens and pigs, flowers and a small garden; and behind the stable, in an enclosure of barbed wire, she had observed some cowsâmilkers, she was certain.
The ranchhouse was well sheltered by timber. The great cottonwood grove that she had seen from the plains was close to the house on the south; it extended east and west for perhaps half a mile, and a grove of firs rose to the north, back of the pasture fence. The general character of the land surrounding the house was a sort of rolling level. The foothills belonging to the mountains that she had seen while approaching the ranchhouse were behind the cottonwood grove. She had seen, too, that the river they had crossed at the ford which Wes Vickers had called âCalamityâ was not more than a mile from the house, and therefore she concluded that it doubled widely. Later, she learned from Vickers that her conclusion was correct, and that the river was called âRabbit Ear.â Why it was called that she was never able to discover.
When the buckboard came to a halt, two men who had been seated in
Comments (0)