The Mistress of the Ranch. A novel

Chapter I

Phœbe Ellen bounced off the train and squared her self on the depot platform, one foot in advance of the other. " Well, where is he ?" she demanded. Anny, having remained till a full stop made her de scent from the car less spectacular, had to walk some distance down the planking before coming up with her sister. They appeared of about the same age, but Anny was not so blond, and her eyes were larger and calmer. Her mouth, too, wore a look of habitual repose, while Phœbe Ellen's always seemed quivering under the strain of aggressive speech. They halted side by side near the station building, with their oil-cloth satchels in their hands. "Not a waggin in sight!" continued Phœbe Ellen, stabbing her eyes into the distance on all sides. " Didn't he say he'd meet us to the train ? Wasn't them his words ?

Where's that letter ? Oh, ye needn't hunt it up. I knoio he said he'd meet us to the train. I've seen folks in my time 't didn't know a promise from their own lazi ness, 'n' made shore they was doin' all they ever said they would when they sot aroun' wonderin' why folks wa'n't satisfied. Well " (she deposited her satchel on the platform with an energy which seemed to distrust the ability of gravity alone to perform that function), "here we be, but where's Sam Tinker ?" Her attitude of challenge included everything in sight, even the mountains. They looked serene and passive and altogether manageable, as was fitting and proper, considering the presence in which they found themselves. On the whole, Phœbe Ellen concluded that she had no quar rel with the Bocky Mountains. But Sam Tinker— where was he ?

Anny understood when she was expected to answer her sister's questions. She said nothing now. Her eyes were upon the retreating train, which was coughing its way toilsomely up grade. It disappeared with a final switch of its dragon's tail behind a spur of the foot-hills, and her eyes wandered out to the mountains. "I like 'em," she meditated. "They look like they had big, kind thoughts." But Phœbe Ellen had begun again. " Anything I hate, it's f oolin' with a promise ; 'n' it's 's common 's whiskers. Well ! They ain't no promises in heaven, fer they ain't no men there — that's a comfort. Tinker!" She repeated the word with a forced calm. " Ye might know by the name ye never could tell where to put yer finger on 'im. Tinker ! Shall we set down 'n' wait ? The very name o' that man goes agin me.

It means wait, it spells wait. Half the folks in this 'ere world seems to think all the other half 's got to do 's to set aroun' a-prayin' fer 'em to keep their 'p'intments 'n' smirk 'n' look happy if they show up afore doomsday. Well, if Sam Tinker comes 'n' finds me a -waitin', he'll want to bile the greetin' he gits from me. It won't be tender !" Anny withdrew her eyes from the mountains. "Mebbe suthin' 's happened," she suggested. Her voice contrasted agreeably with the nipping and eager tones of her sister. Phœbe Ellen took up the word in a voice of acute ob jection. "What could 'a' happened ? He said he'd be 'ere, V that orter settle it. He 'ain't no bizness to let nothin' happen. If he seen anything happenin', he orter 'a' flaxed aroun' 'n' hendered it. Let's go 'n' ast the depot-man if he knows."

She seized her satchel once more, and, with a sudden turn, advanced upon the station-master. Her stride was martial, she looked determined to return with her shield or upon it. The man was trundling a truck down the platform, and he vibrated from head to foot in sympathy with the rumbling of the vehicle. Anny moved in that direction, too. She always looked as if dragged in the wake of her sister on one of the minor waves of that strong individuality. " Say, you, there — you depot-man !" called Phœbe El len, flourishing her satchel. The official stopped and faced about, leaning against the slant end of his truck. He had a mottled complexion of chemical pink, which was still further complicated by numerous freckles of va rious degrees of brownness. Several tufts of week-old blond beard were discoverable on unexpected corners of his face.

" Ye mus' be the Thompson gals, I reckon ?" he in quired, with some awkwardness, pushing his hat forward and brushing up his soft yellow hair behind. The girls stared at each other as if trying to decide to what extent the greeting was supernatural. Phœbe Ellen recovered first. She always did. "How 'd you know?" she demanded, with a warlike fling of her head to one side. The depot-man grinned. He was more at his ease than his first sheepishness would have led one to suppose. "Oh, they's little birds aroun' in these parts," he re marked. "'N' they talk, do they ?" snorted Phœbe Ellen. "'N' they live aroun' the depot, do they ? 'N' they wheel trucks 'n' git funny with strangers, do they ?" She gave a scorns ul exhalation and drew her right shoulder up to her ear. " Well, say, now, 'ud ye mind comin' down off 'm the bough fer a minute, Birdie, 'n' tellin' us whether they's sech a man livin' in these 'ere parts 's Sam Tinker ?"

The depot-man still grinned, but he answered with a sort of roseate meekness which was probably his form of apology. " I didn't go to do nothin' to rile ye," he said, first rub bing his nose and then the back of his neck. "It was Sam hisself 't tole me 'bout ye. ' He said he'd be 'ere to the arternoon up train to meet ye." Phœbe Ellen fetched a long breath, as if here at last was a clew. " Oh, he did, did he ?" Then suddenly making the depot-man responsible, "Well, then, why ain't he 'ere ?" He scratched his ear in perplexity. " Give it up !" was his final answer, with an outward fling of his hand. "Mebbe he's dead." Phœbe Ellen stiffened herself. "He'll wish 't he was when I lay eyes on 'im ! Won't I give it to 'im ? Oh no !" The depot-man's smile was so genial that in spite of herself Phœbe Ellen's mouth relaxed.

There were hu morous lines in her face when she was not frowning. He adjusted his truck parallel with the cracks in the platform, as if there were some special virtue in that ar rangement, and took time to meditate. " When Dan Thompson died over there on the Rio Grande, he left his property to his sister Anny. Now, which o' these is Anny, I wonder ?" Aloud he said : "Sam was over yistiddy, V he tole me he'd be 'ere to day afore you was. Suthin' must 'a' happened. He alius keeps 'is word." Phœbe Ellen snorted again. " A Tinker 't keeps 'is word !" She suddenly turned on him with a malicious smile. " Is yer reel name Birdie?" she inquired. She cocked her head and examined him with one eye half closed. The depot-man twisted his heel into a knot-hole and looked confused. But he went on wondering.

"The talker mus' be Anny. The other un 's fatter V purtier, but she don't look so sassy." But aloud he said, with his peculiar pink acquiescence : "I reckon they ain't no use tryin' to keep my name from ye if ye're goin' to make yer home in these parts. They call me Pinky." He withdrew his heel, grew redder as he examined it, then rubbed his neck softly with his left hand. His air of deprecation had no effect on Phœbe Ellen. "Pinky?" she cried. "How purty! I 'spected if 'twan't Birdie it 'ud be Daisy, or Petunia, or suthin'. But Pinky ! How sweet ! Jes' the name fer a feller 't 'ud b'lieve anybody named Tinker could keep 'is word !" Pinky's blood overflowed his features in a purple flood, but presently his freckles emerged into view once more, like a lot of corks bobbing on rough water. '"Tain't my reel name," he explained.

"My reel name 'a Rose — Dick Rose. The fellers 'ere is terrors fer nicknames, 'n' it didn't take 'em a minute to see 't my name 'n' nry color went together, 'n' that fixed me." "Pinky Rose!" murmured Phœbe Ellen, examining him from head to foot and all too obviously connecting the luridness of the name with the luridness of the man. "/don't keer," declared Pinky, with grinning defiance. "/ain't a-goin' to run fer office." "Nor git married ?" inquired Phœbe Ellen. "Well, I b'lieve ye !" Then with a backward jerk of her blond head, " I ain't a-goin' to pick no quar'l with yer name — I'm a gal o' peace 'n' harmony, 'n' I keep my feet off'm my neighbors 's long 's they don't lay aroun' permisc'us fer me to stumble over. So ye stan' up fer Sam Tinker, do ye ? I'm int'rested in him." Her emphasis was ex clusive.

Pinky felt it, and resolved to say nothing more about himself. "Ye know he's goin' to look arter the ranch fer a while." " She is Anny," thought the depot-man. He had no comprehension of Phœbe Ellen's habits of assumption and appropriation. " Yes," he said, aloud, " Sam tole me how yer brother Dan made 'im promise to stay a year 'n' look arter things." " Yes, V this is the way he begins. Oh, / know his kind— small pertaters 'n' few in a hill. Look at the trick he's gone 'n' played on us fust off ! He'll want us to kiss 'im how - d'ye - do, won't he ? Like 's not he'll be 'spectin' a bokay 'n' a chromo fer ever comin' 't all ! It's lyin' — that's what it 'ud be called back East there in Nebrasky !" "Oh, not lyin'," Pinky argued, in meek expostulation. "This ain't a kentry o' liars — the boys stall's by their word, they ain't cowards. 'N' Sam — " " Sam's a little George Washin'ton with tin wings, ain't he ?

Lor', is this heaven ? Sis, does this look like heaven ?" She swept her masterful glance along the dreary alkali park and back to the unwholesome excres cence of half a dozen huts which constituted Eden City. " It ain't heaven, 's I knows on," replied Anny, with the pretty, serious drawl which was her distinctive form of speech. "But they may be honest men 'ere, fer all that. I'm glad Sam Tinker's honest," she added to Pinky. "Brother Dan was mos'ly a good jedge o' folks." "Sam '11 treat ye square," said Pinky. "He will !" put in Phœbe Ellen, with emphasis. "I'll keep my eyes on 'im. I never yit seen a man 't I'd trust 's fur 's I could throw 'im by his coat-tails. If he 'spects to git ahead o' me, he'll have to git up airly in the morn in', I kin tell 'im that. I kin run that ranch myself, on a pinch.

I looked arter the place back East there in Nebrasky, V I kin do it 'ere, arter I git used to the errygation 'n' sech." She turned on the depot-man with abrupt question ing. "How fur 's the ranch from 'ere, anyhow?" she asked. "Seven mile." " I made shore I 'membered. That ain't bad. When we git lonesome we can come over 'n' have a visit with ye." Pinky accepted this mark of favor with open delight. " That's right ! Come over — come over often. It ain't heaven 'ere, 's ye said yerself, if it is called Eden City. Still, it might be wuss. W'y, if this 'ere kentry had plenty o' water 'n' good people, it 'ud be a reg'lar para dise !" "So 'ud hell," was Phœbe Ellen's laconic retort. She intended nothing fuuny or irreverent, merely a statement of fact ; but her speech so doubled Pinky up with laugh ter that she was obliged to laugh, too.

She always looked less thin-lipped and more likable when she laughed. "Ye might come over to the ranch 'n' visit us, arter we git settled," she said, after he had sobered down. " We'd be glad to see ye — wouldn't we, sis ?" The pretty sister smiled acquiescence. "Queer how they don't call each other by their fust names," reflected Pinky. "I ain't heerd 'em do it yit." Aloud he said, " Oh, I'll come over, shore. Pete Haw kins — he lives there in the fust cabin to the left — he takes my place when I want a off-day. He's got the post office, 'n' runs a s'loon 'n' dry goods V groceries. I've seen 'im peekiu' out fifty times or more sence ye come — he's powerful bashful. That's why he wa'n't 'ere when the train come in, though they was sev'ral kegs fer 'im. He knowed ye was comin', 'n' ye couldn't 'a' dragged 'im over with ropes.

He says 't a man 't kin stan' up V face a gal 's a genyus. He alius laffs at me 'cause I do it so easy. He calls me a doode." Phœbe Ellen looked him over from the tips of his cowboy boots to the crown of his cowboy hat, fixed her eyes upon each separately, then deliberately traced the surging blood from his cheeks to his temples, from his temples behind his ears, and thence, as it seemed to him, half-way down his back ; then, woman-like, at the moment when he expected annihilation, she spared him. " Wot d'rection ort that Tinker o' your'n to come from, anyhow ?" she inquired. " Somehow I've took a turble hatred o' that man !" Pinky pointed with a thin, freckled hand. "Ye see that foot-hill spur joggin' out there jest above the ruff o' the s'loon ? Well, the road comes down the farther side o' that.

Goin' over, ye have to climb up V down all the way, but down mos'ly ; then all to wunst ye turn a sharp corner, 'n' there ye be in a green valley lower down 'n this, with mountains all aroun' 'n' a river in it. That's the Rio Grande." He gave the name a drawling English pronunciation. " It's jest a lit tle river there, but it's orfle clear 'n' purty. 'N' the ranch is one o' the best in the State. Everybody says so." " I'll be glad to live in a green kentry," spoke up Anny. "I useter git dretful sick o' Nebrasky." " I'm glad it's dif'rent from Eden City," declared Phœbe Ellen. " This is wuss 'n Nebrasky." "No," said Anny, softly. "They ain't no mountains there." "Some un 's comin' down the foot-hill road," said Pinky, suddenly. "Jes' by the low end o' the mesa— see ?" He was shading his eyes with one hand and pointing with the other.

" Is it that Tinker o' your'n ?" asked Phœbe Ellen. She seemed determined to hold him responsible for the transgressor. " They ain't no one else in these parts 't drives a buckboard with one gray hoss 'n' a mustang. Yes, it's Sam." '• Well, I'm ready ser 'im," said Phœbe Ellen, shutting her lips tight.

Chapter II

While waiting for the delinquent to come up, Phœbe Ellen's eyes wandered over the shabby, tent-roofed cabins, the brush palings, the sordid yards with their accumula tions of tin cans and beer bottles — the whole human effort which affronted Nature and which Nature was too feeble to resent. A burro set up its braying just beyond the track. A melancholy hen close by Pete Hawkins's saloon was mourning over an egg she had just dropped in the dirt. The yellowish gray of the park was blotched here and there with the leprous inflorescence of alkali ; the only bit of color to be seen was an occasional bunch of cardinal cactus, as red as if the ground had been stabbed and the blood had oozed out and coagulated. Man should have left the place alone ; for in subduing it he had ad mitted the devil as a partner.

But on all sides the mountains rose, showing that beyond the "city" limits God still reigned. Pinky went on meditating. " I've seen Sam Tinker in some mighty ticklish places in my time, but never in a row with a woomarn. If a feller was to jump on 'im fer a fist-fight — well, that feller wouldn't jump much afore he'd be laid out ; if it was pistols, I'd bet dollars to chew in'-gum on the sun a-shinin' through the other feller fust ; but a woomarn— what kin he do ? 'LI he turn tail 'n' run ? The idee o' Sam runnin' ! But wot else is tey fer a man to do ? He can't fight— he can't stan' V take it. Think o' Sam Tinker runnin' away from anything with two legs ! 'N' the heiress— look at 'er. That's wot my ole mother useter call facin' a frownin' world." Phœbe Ellen had deposited her satchel once more upon the platform, and had taken her stand in front of it in an attitude of battle.

She stood very straight, her arms folded tightly across her breast, her back hollowed in, one foot in advance of the other. There were hard wrinkles from the corners of her nose to her mouth, and her lips looked very thin. Anny stood considerably in the rear, fully aware of the gravity of the situation, but conscious of the futility of interference. She was frowning, too, but with anxiety. Her eyes looked helpless, and now and then there was a deprecative tremor about her lips. The wagon drew nearer down the winding road. The dust rose in a hazy yellow cloud, hiding the horses and vehicle at times, then floating away into filaments and wreaths, and disappearing in final faint sun-glimmers. A little beyond Pete Hawkins's saloon the driver became visible — a huge creature in a gray sombrero, bending the shoulders of Hercules carelessly over the loose-held reins.

He wore overalls and a brown mining-jacket with copper rivets at the corners of the pockets. Now he straightened his shoulders and lifted his head in an attitude of attention, examining the occupants of the platform with in terest. Pinky sent him a lusty greeting. " Hello, Chris'mas ! Fin'ly got 'ere, have ye ? Train's come 'n' gone half a hour ago !" Before answering, the man took time to bend back the brim of his hat into an impromptu halo, and his counte nance, thus relieved of shadow, took the sunlight in a generous gleam. It was a full, strong face, inspiring re spect by the manly completeness of its physical outline as well as by the evidence of soul behind it. There was strength of will in the projecting chin, and gentleness in the upward curve of the mouth at the corners. He had a complexion of ruddy brown, through which his eyes gleamed kindly.

His level brows looked as if they seldom frowned, and never without good reason. His mouth had broadened in response to Pinky's greeting, displaying a set of perfect teeth beneath a heavy brown mustache. " Hello, yerself !" came back the answer, in a voice which had a healthy depth of lung behind it. And presently Sam Tinker was backing his wagon against the planking in a position for the women to mount easily from the rear. Then he flung the reins over the dashboard, straddled the two seats at two slow strides, and with a third came down upon the platform with a force which shook that structure to its base. " Well, hello !" he called out, in ponderous welcome to the two women. But he was confronted by silence — and Phœbe Ellen with her arms akimbo. " Well !" was her greeting, shrilly pitched, while she drew herself in at the waist and leaned forward as if peck ing at him with a long, sharp bill.

" So ye've come, have ye ?" She straightened herself with a jerk and stood stiffly, glaring up at him. He was so big that he had the advantage over her even in a combat of words ; for length, breadth, and thickness have tongues of their own and speak even before they are spoken to. The smile slowly faded from his face, and he looked down at her with grave examination, as if still un certain of the spirit of her greeting. But the battlesome attitude, the shrill voice, the twisted mouth, the hysteri cal defiance of a woman in a rage, left him no long occasion for doubt. He pushed his hat a little farther back —the, movement displayed a tangle of moist brown hair close-packed against a low forehead — and, settling the weight of his body easily upon one leg, extended his ex amination from her face to her dress and thence to her feet.

The carelessness of his movement and pose brought the fire into Phœbe Ellen's eye. She began with apostrophic scorn : " So this 'ere's wot it means to take the live-stock o' a ranch 'thout seem' 'em, even when it's a dead brother 't recommends 'em !" Her furious glance left the cowboy in no doubt as to whom she referred to as live-stock. "This 'ere's the kind o' cattle I'm 'spected to pervide paster 'n' fodder fer, 'cordin' to my dead brother's wishes, 'n' git nothin' in return but the right to stan' aroun', wearin' my legs short with waitin', while they're kickin' up their heels somers with joy on the range ! This 'ere's wot it means to take hired men on charity, askin' nothin' in return but to be treated white fer it ! This 'ere's the way the hired ban's lays out to come it over me from the start, imposin' on me 'count o' my weakness fer my dead brother, 'n' settin' theirselves up above me, showin' me they mean to run things to suit theirselves !

This is the sort—" " Ye're Miss Anny, I reckon ?" he asked, still eying her with the placid curiosity which marked him as her superior, and which made her blood boil. Here Anny herself seemed on the point of interposing, but Phœbe Ellen got in her word first. She had no in tention of denying her identity, but she meant to es tablish herself once for all as her sister's equal in au thority. " Well, if I ain't, ye kin take it fer granted I know 'er idees. Wot d'ye mean, anyhow, by not gittin' 'ere till hours arter ye said ye would? 'Ain't ye got no sense o' promises ? Reckon I'm a picter in a frame to be sot down 'ere on the platform till ye happen to come 'long 'n' cart me off permisc'ous ? Don't ye know wot a lady 's like, to leave 'er sprawlin' V straddlin' aroun' in public like this ? If this 'ere's a spec'men o' yer ways 'n' doin's, if this 'ere's the line ye 'pose to fight it out on, I want to tell ye right now we'll have to part comp'ny, V the sooner the quicker — see ?

None o' my money goes to s'port that kind o' shif'lessness— 'n' ye kin jes' bear that in mind." Sam Tinker waited till she finished, gave her a final comprehensive glance, then turned to Pinky. "That her trunk ?" he asked, in an emotionless tone, pointing with a huge index finger to a receptacle iu pressed zinc a little way up the platform. Pinky nodded. There was something unusual in the cowboy's face, but the nature of the expression was doubt ful. Even Phœbe Ellen began to feel it and to shift un easily from one foot to the other. " I'll git a plank, V we'll roll it into the back o' the buckboard together," said Pinky. " It's turble heavy." But Sam answered, composedly, " No, ye needn't mind. I reckon I kin manage it." Phœbe Ellen, who knew precisely how heavy that trunk was, inwardly chuckled as the giant marched up to it and tested its weight by pulling at one end.

"He'll have to call on Pinky 'n' mebbe both o' us gals," she thought, with glee. " That '11 make 'im drop 'is tail-feathers, I reckon !" But her amazement grew to the splitting-point as he solemnly spit on his hands, rubbed them together, then, spreading his legs Colossus-wise, seized the trunk by the middle, lifted it with a quivering of the muscles of the hips such as one sees in a horse straining uphill, and, settling it comfortably on one shoulder, marched down the platform, and deposited it endwise in the rear of the wagon. " Is he the devil ?" asked Phœbe Ellen, more of her self than of Anny, but loud enough for the latter to hear. " It took me V you 'n' the hired man to load that into the waggin to home, V then we had to end it over V over up a pair o' planks." She advanced a little closer to the giant, his supernatural strength, whether as man or devil, compelling her respect.

She intended to say something in approval, but before she had time to open her mouth he turned on her and said, with an utter lack of emotion of any kind : " Well, I reckon it's time to wish ye a good-arternoon, Miss Thompson. Pinky '11 pint out the way to the ranch fer ye. I'll ride over in the mornin' myself fer my things. Good-arternoon !" Then he turned his back and strode away. Phœbe Ellen's eyes widened on the retreating figure. She began a series of inarticulate exclamations. " Well ! Say ! Lookee 'ere !— " Her jaw dropped. Her face had a stunned, relaxed look. " He — he — where's he goin' to ?" she finally demanded with a half-gasp, turning to Pinky. Pinky was grinning with enjoyment, either at her dis comfiture or at Sam's way out of his difficulties. " Looks like he was goin' over to Pete Hawkins's, don't it ?" he answered.

" But I d'know. It may be Wilcox's — Wilcox 's a friend o' his, 'n' he hangs out in the nex' shanty. No, it's Pete's — -see ?" " I'll pay 'im out fer that," Phœbe Ellen muttered. " I never was treated so afore — never !" She looked quite pale. " Wot d' ye reckon he's goin' to do over there ?" she inquired. "Take a observashnn fust thing, I shouldn't wonder." " A observashun ?" " Through the bottom o' a whiskey-glass. Sam's a thirsty soul !" « But— he'll come back ?" " I didn't git the idee he would. He didn't look it." "He said suthin' 'bout ridin' over arter his things in the mornin', didn't he ?" She evidently distrusted her own memory of what had transpired. " That's wot he said," Pinky confirmed her. " But he's got to come back now — he's my hired man — he's got to come back ! I— I'll discharge 'im V git 'nother if he don't come back.

I'll set 'im a-packin' if he don't comeback! I'll—" " 'Pears like he'd gone V discharged hisself," remarked Pinky, in his half-deprecatory way. He was no longer grinning, but seemed wholly intent on the fair stranger's troubles. " I took it that was his way o' settin' hisself a-packin'. Anyways, that's my idee." "But wot's the matter ? Wot's he mad at ? Can't a gal tell a hired man when he's gone V done wrong ? This is a purty kentry !" " Well, 'tain't our way out 'ere to swoller much 't don't taste good, 'n' that's a fact. 'N' Sam kin do as he likes— he's got a ranch o' his own down in Las Animas. He's jes' nachelly left ye to look out fer yerselves. He won't be walked over by nobody." "But yell at 'im — call 'im back !" cried Phœbe Ellen, just as the giant was entering the saloon. " Ho, Sam !" shouted Pinky, with ready obedience.

The huge figure turned with deliberation. " Come back a minute, will ye ?" The giant considered. Then, as if he had made up his mind after weighing all the pros and cons, he retraced his steps with ponderous slowness. "Well, 'ere I be," he remarked, pausing a little way from the platform. "She wanted a pow-wow," said Pinky, jerking his thumb in Phœbe Ellen's direction. Sam turned his large face full upon her. It was a face capable of only one expression at a time, and that of some big, incomplex emotion. Just now his look told of noth ing except a desire to know what she wanted. His resentment — if he had any — lay below a simple, serious in quiry as to what was expected of him. Phœbe Ellen met his composure with inward trepida tion. There was something compelling in his unresentful simplicity — it gave him an advantage which would have been impossible to the boisterous anger she had expected.

In calling him back she was prepared to meet him with concessions ; a loss of personal dignity counted but little with her in the cause of her interests, and she had seen in a flash that her interests — by which she really meant Anny's — depended upon retaining this man in her service. But the look of him as he stood there, huge, unmanage able, indifferently inquiring, overcame her with a sudden rage. She had never before felt herself in the presence of a master, and this cowboy's attitude of cool superiority galled her like deliberate insult. She flung aside consequences in the impulse towards satisfaction which with her meant fight. "Well!" she cried, bridling like a mettlesome horse and hiding an involuntary quavering in her tone by a forced use of breath. "So ye reckoned ye was goin' to run off 'n' leave me, did ye ?"