The Texan; a story of the cattle country

II Author Of

“ THE PROMISE,” ” THE GUN-BRAND,” BTC.

NEW YORK AND LONDON Ube *ftiilckcrbocfter press 1918

Copyright, iptS BY

JAMES B. HENDRYX

Contents

A Prologue . . , .

I. — The Train Stops .

II. — Wolf River . . .

Chapter I The Train Stops

“I don’t see why they had to build their old railroad down in the bottom of this river bed.” With deft fingers Alice Marcum caught back a wind-tossed whisp of hair. “It’s like travelling through a trough.”

“Line of the least resistance,” answered her companion as he rested an arm upon the polished brass guard rail of the observation car. “This river bed, running east and west, saved them millions in bridges.”

The girl’s eyes sought the sky-line of the bench that rose on both sides of the mile-wide valley through which the track of the great transcontinental railroad wound like a yellow serpent.

“It’s level up there. Why couldn’t they have built it along the edge?”

The man smiled: “And bridged all those ravines!” he pointed to gaps and notches in the 27 level sky-line where the mouths of creek beds and coulees flashed glimpses of far mountains. “Each one of those ravines would have meant a trestle and trestles run into big money.”

“And so they built the railroad down here in this ditch where people have to sit and swelter and look at their old shiny rails and scraggly green bushes and dirt walls, while up there only a half a mile away the great rolling plains stretch away to the mountains that seem so near you could walk to them in an hour.”

“But, my dear girl, it would not be practical. Railroads are built primarily with an eye to dividends and — ” The girl interrupted him with a gesture of impatience.

“I hate things that are practical — hate even the word. There is nothing in all the world so deadly as practicability. It is ruthless and ugly. It disregards art and beauty and all the higher things that make life worth living. It is a monster whose god is dollars — and who serves that god well. What does any tourist know of the real West — the West that lies beyond those level rims of dirt? How much do you or I know of it? The West to us is a thin row of scrub bushes along a narrow, shallow river, with a few little

The Train Stops white-painted towns sprinkled along, that for all we can see might be in Illinois or Ohio. I’ve been away a whole winter and for all the West I’ve seen I might as well have stayed in Brooklyn.”

“But certainly you enjoyed California!”

“Cahfornia! Yes, as California. But California isn’t the West! California is New York with a few orange groves thrown in. It is a tourist’s paradise. A combination of New York and Palm Beach. The real West lies east of the Rockies, the uncommercialized, unexploited — I suppose you would add, the unpractical West. A New Yorker gets as good an idea of the West when he travels by train to California as a CaHfomian would get of New York were he to arrive by way of the tube and spend the winter in the Fritz-Waldmore. ’ ’

“I rather liked California, what little I saw of it. A business trip does not afford an ideal opportunity for sight seeing.”

“You like Newport and Palm Beach, too.”

The man ignored the interruption.

“But, at least, this trip has combined a good bit of business with a very big bit of pleasiure. It is two years since I have seen you and ”

“And so you’re going to tell me for the twentysixth time in three days that you still love me, and that you want me to marry you, and I’ll have to say ‘no’ again, and explain that I’m not ready to marry anybody.” She regarded him with an air of mock solemnity. ‘ ‘ But really Mr. Winthrop Adams Endicott I think you have improved since you struck out for yourself into the wilds of — where was it, Ohio, or some place.”

“Cincinnati,” answered the man a trifle stiffly.

The girl shuddered. “I had to change cars there once.” Again she eyed him critically. “Yes, two years have made a really noticeable improvement. Do the Cincinnati newspapers always remember to use your whole name or do they dare to refer to Winthrop A. Endicott. If I were a reporter I really believe I’d try it once. If you keep on improving, some day somebody is going to call you Win.”

The man flushed: “Are you never serious?” he asked.

“Never more so than this minute.”

“You say you are not ready to marry. You expect to marry, then, sometime?”

“I don’t expect to. I’m going to.”

“Will you marry me when you are ready?”

The girl laughed, “Yes, if I can’t find the

The Train Stops man I want, I think I shall. But he must be somewhere,” she continued, after a pause during which her eyes centred upon the point where the two gleaming rails vanished into the distance. “He must be impractical, and human, and — and elemental. I’d rather be smashed to pieces in the Grand Canyon, than live for ever on the Erie Canal!”

“Aren’t you rather unconventional in your tastes ?”

“If I’m not, I’m a total failure! I hate conventionality ! And lines of least resistance ! And practical things! It is the men who are the real sticklers for convention. The same kind of men that follow the lines of least resistance and build their railroads along them — because it is practical !

“I don’t see why you want to marry me!” she burst out resentfully. “I’m not conventional, nor practical. And I’m not a line of least resistance!”

“But I love you. I have always loved you, and ”

The girl interrupted him with a quick little laugh, which held no trace of resentment. “Yes, yes, I know. I believe you do. And I’m glad because really, Winthrop, you’re a dear. There are lots of things about you I admire. Your teeth, and eyes, and the way you wear your clothes. If you weren’t so terribly conventional, so cut and dried, and matter of fact, and safe, I might fall really and truly in love with you. But — Oh, I don’t know! Here I am, twenty-three. And I suppose I’m a little fool and have never grown up. I like to read stories about knights errant, and burglars, and fair ladies, and pirates, and mysterious dark oriental-looking men. And I like to go to places where everybod don’t go — only Dad won’t let me and — Why just think!” she exclaimed in sudden wrath, “I’ve been in California for three months and I’ve ridden over the same trails everybody else has ridden over, and motored over the same roads and climbed the same mountains, and bathed at the same beach, and I’ve met everybody I ever knew in New York, just as I would have met them in Newport or Palm Beach or in Paris or Venice or Naples for that matter!”

“But why go off the beaten track where everything is arranged for your convenience? These people are experienced travellers. They know that by keeping to the conventional routes- ”

“Winthrop Adams Endicott, if you say that

The Train Stops word again I’ll shriek! Or I’ll go in from this platform and not speak to you again — ever! You know very well that there isn’t a traveller among them. They’re just tourists — professional goers. They do the same things, and say the same things, and if they could think, they’d think the same things every place they go. And I don’t want things arranged for my convenience — so there!”

Winthrop Adams Endicott lighted a cigarette, brushed some white dust from his sleeve, and smiled.

“If I were a man and loved a girl so very, very much I wouldn’t jush; sit around and grin. I’d do something!”

“But, my dear Alice, what would you have me do? I’m not a knight errant, nor a burglar, nor a pirate, nor a dark mysterious oriental — I’m just a plain ordinary business man and ”

“Well, I’d do something — even if it was something awful like getting drunk or shooting somebody. Why, if you even had a past you wouldn’t be so hopeless. I could love a man with a past. It would show at least, that he hadn’t followed the line of the least resistance. The world is full of canals — but^ there are only a few canyons. Look! I believe we’re stopping! Oh, I hope it’s a hold-up! What will you do if it is?” The train slowed to a standstill and Winthrop Adams Endicott leaned out and gazed along the line of the coaches.

“There is a little town here. Seems to be some commotion up ahead — quite a crowd. If I can get this blamed gate open we can go up and see what the trouble is.”

“And if you can’t get it open you can climb over and lift me down. I’m just dying to know what’s the matter. And if you dare to say it wouldn’t be conventional I’ll — I’ll jump!”

Chapter II

A UNIFORMED flagman, with his flag and a handful of torpedoes swung from the platform and started up the track.

“What’s the trouble up in front?” asked the girl as Endicott assisted her to the ground.

“Cloud busted back in the mountains, a,n’ washed out the trussle, an’ Second Seventy-six piled up in the river.”

“Oh, a wreck?” she exclaimed. “Will we have time to go up and see it?”

“I’d say it’s a wreck,” grinned the trainman. “An’ you’ve got all the time you want. We’re a-goin’ to pull in on the sidin’ an’ let the wrecker an’ bridge crew at it. But even with ’em a-workin’ from both ends it’ll be tomorrow sometime ’fore they c’n get them box cars drug out an’ a temp'ry trussle throw’d acrost.”

“What town is this?”

“Town! Call it a town if you want to. It’s Wolf River. It’s a shippin’ point fer cattle, but it hain’t no more a town ’n what the crick’s a river. The trussle that washed out crosses the crick just above where it empties into Milk River. I’ve railroaded through here goin’ on three years an’ I never seen no water in it to speak of before, an’ mostly it’s plumb dry.”

The man sauntered slowly up the track as one who performs a merely nominal duty, and the girl turned to follow Endicott. “It would have been easier to walk through the train,” he ventured, as he picked his way over the rough track ballast.

“Still seeking the line of least resistance,” mocked the girl. “We can walk through a train any time. But we can’t breathe air like this, and, see, — ^through that gap — the blue of the distant mountains!”

The man removed his hat and dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. “It’s awfully hot, and I have managed to secrete a considerable portion of the railroad company’s gravel in my shoes.”

“Don’t mind a little thing like that,” retorted the girl sweetly. “I’ve peeled the toes of both of mine. They look like they had scarlet fever.”

Passengers were alighting all along the train and hurrying forward to join those who crowded the scene of the wreck.

“It was a narrow escape for us/’ said Endicott as the two looked down upon the mass of broken cars about which the rapidly falling waters of the stream gurgled and swirled. “Had we not been running an hour late this train would in all probability, have plunged through the trestle.

“Was anybody hurt?” asked the girl. The train conductor nodded toward the heap of debris.

“No’m, the crew jumped. The fireman an’ head brakeman broke a leg apiece, an’ the rest got bunged up a little; but they wasn’t no one hurt.

“I was just tellin’ these folks,” he continued, “that they’ll be a train along on the other side in a couple of hours for to transfer the passengers an’ mail.”

The girl turned to Endicott. “There isn’t much to see here,” she said. “Let’s look around. It’s such a funny little town. I want to buy something at the store. And, there’s a livery stable! Maybe we can hire horses and ride out where we can get a view of the mountains.”

As the two turned toward the little cluster of frame buildings, a tall, horse-faced man clambered onto the pilot of the passenger locomotive and, removing his hat, proceeded to harangue the crowd. As they paused to listen Alice stared in fascination at the enormous Adam’s apple that worked, piston-like above the neckband of the collarless shirt of vivid checks.

“Ladies an’ gents,” he began, with a comprehensive wave of the soft-brimmed hat. “Wolf River welcomes you in our town. An’ while you’re amongst us we aim to show you one an’ all a good time. This here desastorious wreck may turn out to be a blessin’ in disguise. As the Good Book says, it come at a most provincial time. Wolf River, ladies an’ gents, is celebratin’, this afternoon an’ evenin’, a event that marks an’ epykak in our historious career: The openin’ of the Wolf River Citizen’s Bank, a reg’lar bonyfido bank with vaults, cashier, an’ a board of directors consistin’ of her leadinist citizens, with the Honorable Mayor Maloney president, which I introdoose^myself as.

“In concludin’ I repeet that this here is ondoubtfully the luckiest wreck in the lives of any one of you, which it gives you a unpressagented chanct to see with your own eyes a hustlin’ Western town that hadn’t ashamed to stand on her own legs an’ lead the world along the trail to prosperity.

‘‘Wolf River hain’t a braggin’ town, ladies an’ gents, but I defy any one of you to name another town that’s got more adjacent an’ contigitus territory over which to grow onto. We freely admit they’s a few onconsequential improvements which is possessed by some bigger an’ more notorious cities such as sidewalks, sewers, streetgradin’, an’ lights that we hain’t got yet. But Wolf River is a day an’ night town, ladies an’ gents, combinin’ business with pleasure in just the right perportion, which it’s plain to anyone that takes the trouble to investigate our shippin’ corrals, four general stores, one hotel, an’ seven saloons, all of which runs wide open twenty-four hours a day an’ is accommodated with faro, roulette, an’ poker outfits fer the benefit of them that’s so inclined to back their judgment with a little money.

“In concloodin’ I’ll say that owin’ to the openin’ of the bank about which I was tellin’ you of. Wolf River is holdin’ the followin’ programme which it’s free to everyone to enter into or to look on at.

“They’ll be a ropin’ contest, in which some of our most notorious ropers will rope, throw, an’ hog-tie a steer, in the least shortness of time.

The prizes fer this here contest is: First prize, ten dollars, doneated by the directors of the bank fer which ’s openin’ this celebration is held in honour of. Second prize, one pair of pants doneated by the Montana Mercantile Company. Third prize, one quart of bottle in bond whiskey doneated by our pop’lar townsman an’ leadin’ citizen, Mr. Jake Grimshaw, proprietor of The Long Horn Saloon.

“The next contest is a buckin’ contest, in which some of our most notorious riders will ride or get bucked offen some of our most fameous outlaw horses. The prizes fer this here contest is : First, a pair of angory chaps, doneated by the directors of the bank about which I have spoke of before. Second prize, a pair of spurs doneated by the Wolf River Tradin’ Company. Third prize, a coffin that was ordered by Sam Long’s wife from the Valley Outfittin’ Company, when Sam had the apendiceetis of the stummick, an’, fer which Sam refused to pay fer when he got well contrary to expectations.

“Both these here contests is open to ladies an’ gents, both of which is invited to enter. They will also be hoss racin’, fancy an’ trick ridin’, an’ shootin’, fer all of which sootable prizes has be’n pervided, as well as fer the best lookin’ man an’ the homliest lady an’ vicy versy. Any lady or gent attendin’ these here contests will be gave out a ticket good fer one drink at any saloon in town. These drinks is on the directors of the bank of which I have before referred to.

'‘An’, ladies an’ gents, in concloodin’ I’ll say that that hain’t all ! Follerin’ these here contests, after each an’ every lady an’ gent has had time to git their drink they’ll be a supper dished out at the hotel fer which the directors of the bank of which you have already heard mention of has put up fifty cents a plate. This here supper is as free as gratis to all who care to percipitate an’ which will incloode a speech by the Honorable Mayor Maloney, part of which I have already spoke, but will repeat fer the benefit of them that hain’t here.

“Followin’ the supper a dance will be pulled off in Curly Hardee’s dance-hall, the music fer which will be furnished by. some of our most notorious fiddlers incloodin’ Mrs. Slim Maloney, wife of the Honorable Mayor Maloney, who will. lead the grand march, an’ who I consider one of the top pyanoists of Choteau County, if not in the hull United States. It is a personal fact ladies an’

gents, that I’ve heard her set down to a pyano an* play Old Black Joe so natural you’d swear it was Home Sweet Home. An’ when she gits het up to it, I’ll promise she’ll loosen up an’ tear off some of the liveliest music any one of you’s ever shook a leg to.

‘‘An’ now, ladies an’ gents, you can transfer an’ go on when the train pulls in on t ’other side, or you can stay an’ enjoy yourselves amongst us Wolf River folks an’ go on tomorrow when the trussle gits fixed ”

Bang, bang, bang! Bang, bang, bang! A chorus of wild yells, a fusillade of shots, and the thud of horses’ hoofs close at hand drew all eyes toward the group of riders that, spreading fanlike over the flat that lay between the town and the railway, approached at top speed.

“The cowboys is cornin’! Them’s the Circle J,” cried the Mayor. “Things’ll lively up a bit when the T U an’ the I X an’ the Bear Paw Pool boys gits in.” The cowboys were close, now, and the laughing, cheering passengers surged back as the horses swerved at full speed with the stirrups of their riders almost brushing the outermost rank of the crowd. A long thin rope shot out.

a loop settled gently about the shoulders of the Mayor of Wolf River, and a cowhorse stopped so abruptly that a cloud of alkali dust spurted up and settled in a grey powder over the clothing of the assembled passengers.

^‘Come on, Slim, an’ give these folks a^chance to get their second wind while you let a little licker into that system of yours.”

The Mayor grinned: “Tex Benton, hain’t you had no bringin’ up whatever? That was a pretty throw but it’s onrespectable, no mor’n what it’s respectable to call the Mayor of a place by his first name to a public meetin’.”

“I plumb ferget myself , your Honour,” laughed the cowpuncher as he coiled his rope. “Fact is, I learnt to rope mares back in Texas, an’ I ain’t

“Yip-e-i-e!”

“Ropin’ mares!” The cowboys broke into a coyote chorus that drowned the laughter of the crowd.

“The drinks is on me!” sputtered the Mayor, when he was able to make himself heard. “Jest you boys high-tail over to the Long Horn an’ I’ll be along d’rectly.” He turned once more to the crowd of passengers.

‘'Come on, gents, an’ have a drink on me. An’ the ladies is welcome, too. Wolf River is broad in her idees. We hain’t got no sexual restrictions, an’ a lady’s got as good a right to front a bar an^ nominate her licker as what a man has.”

Standing beside Endicott upon the edge of the crowd Alice Marcum had enjoyed herself hugely. The Httle wooden town with its high fenced cattle corrals, and its row of one story buildings that faced the alkali flat had interested her from the first, and she had joined with hearty goodwill in the rounds of applause that at frequent intervals had interrupted the speech of the little town’s Mayor. A bom horsewoman, she had watched with breathless admiration the onmsh of the loose-rein riders — the graceful swaying of their bodies, and the flapping of soft hat brims, as their horses approached with a thimder of pounding hoofs. Her eyes had sparkled at the reckless swerving of the horses when it seemed that the next moment the back-surging crowd would be trampled into the ground. She had wondered at the precision with which the Texan’s loop fell; and had joined heartily in the laughter that greeted the ludicrous and red-faced indignation with which a fat woman had crawled from beneath a coach whither she had sought refuge from the onrush of thundering hoofs.

In the mind of the girl, cowboys had always l?een associated with motion picture theatres, where concourses of circus riders in impossible regalia performed impossible feats of horsemanship in the unravelling of impossible plots. She had never thought of them as real — or, if she had, it was as a vanished race, like the Aztec and the buffalo.

But here were real cowboys in the flesh : Openthroated, bronzed men, free and unrestrained as the air they breathed — men whose very appearance called to mind boundless open spaces, purple sage, blue mountains, and herds of bellowing cattle. Here were men bound by no petty and meaningless conventions — men the very sight of whom served to stimulate and intensify the longing to see for herself the land beyond the valley rims — to slip into a saddle and ride, and ride, and ride — to feel the beat of the rain against her face, and the whip of the wind, and the burning rays of the sun, and at night to lie under the winking stars and listen to the howl of the coyotes.

“Disgusting rowdies!” wheezed the fat woman as, dishevelled and perspiring, she waddled toward the steps of her coach; while the Mayor, his Adam’s apple fairly pumping importance, led a sturdy band of thirsters recruited from among the train passengers across the flat toward a building over the door of which was flxed a pair of horns of prodigious spread. Lest some pilgrim of erring judgment should mistake the horns for short ones, or misapprehend the nature of the business conducted within, the white false front of the building proclaimed in letters of black a foot high: Long Horn Saloon. While beneath the legend was depicted a fat, vermilion clad cowboy mounted upon a tarantula-bodied, ass-eared horse of pink,' in the act of hurling a cable-like rope which by some prodigy of dexterity was made to describe three double-bows and a latigo knot before its loop managed to poise in mid-air above the head of a rabbit-sized baby-blue steer whose horns exceeded in length the pair of Texas monstrosities that graced the doorway.

‘‘We’re goin’ to back onto the sidin’ now,” announced the conductor, “where dinner will be served in the dinin’ car as ushool.”

The cowboys had moved along to view the wreck and were grouped about the broken end of the trestle where they lolled in their saddles.

some with a leg thrown carelessly about the horn and others lying back over the cantle, while the horses which a few moments before had dashed across the common at top speed now stood with lowered heads and drooping ears, dreaming cay use dreams.

The engine bell was ringing monotonously and the whistle sounded three short blasts, while the passengers clambered up the steps of the coaches or backed away from the track.

“Let’s walk to the side track, it’s only a little way.”

Alice pointed to where the flagman stood beside the open switch. Endicott nodded acquiescence and as he turned to follow, the girl’s handkerchief dropped from her hand and, before it touched the ground, was caught by a gust of wind that swept beneath the coaches and whirled out onto the flat where it lay, a tiny square of white against the trampled buffalo grass.

Endicott started to retrieve it, but before he had taken a half-dozen steps there was a swift poimding of hoofs and two horses shot out from the group of cowboys and dashed at full speed, their riders low in the saddle and each with his gaze fixed on the tiny bit of white fabric. Nose and nose the horses ran, their hoofs raising a cloud of white alkali dust in their wake. Suddenly, just as they reached the handkerchief, the girl who watched with breathless interest gasped. The saddles were empty! From the madly racing horses her glance flew to the cloud of dust which concealed the spot where a moment before had lain that little patch of white. Her fingers clenched as she steeled herself to the sight of the two limp, twisted forms that the lifting dust cloud must reveal. Scarcely daring to wink she fixed her eyes upon the ground — but the dust cloud had drifted away and there were no limp, twisted forms. Even the little square of white was gone. In bewilderment she heard cries of approval and loud shouts of applause from the passengers. Once more her ears caught the sound of pounding hoofs, and circling toward her in a wide curve were the two riders, erect and firm in their saddles, as a gaimtleted hand held high a fluttering scrap of white.

The horses brought up directly before her, a Stetson was swept from a thick shock of curly black hair, the gauntleted hand extended the recalcitrant handkerchief, and she found herself blushing furiously for no reason at all beneath the direct gaze of a pair of very black eyes that looked out from a face tanned to the colour of old mahogany.

“Oh, thank you! It was splendid — the horsemanship. “ She stammered. “I’ve seen it in the movies, but I didn’t know it was actually done in real life.’’

“Yes, mom, it is. It’s owin’ to the horse yeh’ve got, an’ yer cinch. Yeh’ll see a heap better ’n that this afternoon right on this here flat. An’ would yeh be lay in’ over fer the dance tonight, mom?’’

The abrupt question was even more disconcerting than the compelling directness of his gaze. For an instant, the girl hesitated as her eyes swept from the cowpuncher’s face to the brilliant scarf loosely knotted about his throat, the blue flannel shirt, the bright yellow angora chaps against which the ivory butt of a revolver showed a splotch of white, and the boots jammed into the broad wooden stirrups, to their high heels from which protruded a pair of enormously rowelled spurs inlaid with silver. By her side Endicott moved impatiently and cleared his throat.

She answered without hesitation. “Yes, I think I shall.”

'‘I’d admire fer a dance with yeh, then,” persisted the cowpuncher.

“Why — certainly. That is, if I really decide to stay.”

“We’ll try fer to show yeh a good time, mom. They’ll be some right lively fiddlin’, an’ she don’t bust up till daylight.”

With a smile the girl glanced toward the other rider who sat with an air of tolerant amusement. She recognized him as the man called Tex — the one who had so deftly dropped his loop over the shoulders of the Mayor, and noted that, in comparison with the other, he presented rather a sorry appearance. The heels of his boots were slightly run over. His spurs were of dingy steel and his leather chaps, laced up the sides with rawhide thongs looked as though they had seen much service. The scarf at his throat, however, was as vivid as his companion’s and something in the fiash of the grey eyes that looked into hers from beneath the broad brim of the Stetson caused an inexplicable feeling of discomfort. Their gaze held a suspicion of veiled mockery, and the clean cut lips twisted at their comers into the semblance of a C5mical, smiling sneer.

“I want to thank you, too,” she smiled, ‘‘it wasn’t your fault your friend ”

“Jack Purdy’s my name, mom,” interrupted the other, importantly.

“ — that Mr. Purdy beat you, I am sure. And are you always as accurate as when you lassoed the honourable Mayor of Wolf River?”

“I always get what I go after — sometimes,” answered the man meeting her gaze with a flash of the baffling grey eyes. A subtle something, in look or words, seemed a challenge. Instinctively she realized that despite his rough exterior here was a man infinitely less crude than the other. An ordinary cowpuncher, to all appearance, and yet — something in the flash of the eyes, the downward curve of the comers of the lips aroused the girl’s interest. He was speaking again:

“I’ll dance with you, too — if you stay. But I won’t mortgage none of your time in advance.” The man’s glance shifted deliberately from the girl to Endicott and back to the girl again. Then, without waiting for her to reply, he whirled his horse and swung off at top speed to join the other cowpunchers who were racing in the wake of the Mayor.