Bat Wing Bowles

"What's the matter?" inquired another. "Feet hurt 'im?"

"No," said Bar Seven sadly; "it was his haid!"

Brigham looked up from his cup of coffee and said nothing. Then, seeing many furtive eyes upon him, he laughed shortly, and filled his cup again.

"Yore eyes look kinder bad, Seven," he said. "Must've kinder strained 'em last night."

"Nope," answered Bar Seven, upon whom the allusion was not lost; and with this delicate passage at arms the subject of big stories was dropped. Henry Lee came down, there was a call for horses, and in the turmoil of roping and mounting the matter was forgotten. Brigham had scored a victory and he was satisfied, while the stray men were biding their time. So the marvels of the Hippodrome were held in reserve, and the round-up supplied the excitement.

As the riding of bronks progressed, the accidents that go with such work increased. Almost every morning saw its loose horse racing across the flats, and the number of receptive candidates for the job of day-herding was swelled by the battle-scarred victims. Then fate stepped in, the scene was changed, and Bowles found himself a man again.

"Bowles," said Henry Lee, as he lingered by the fire, "can you drive a team?"

Visions of a flunky's job driving the bed-wagon rose instantly in his mind; but Bowles had been trained to truth-telling and he admitted that he could.

"Ever drive a wild team?" continued Lee, with a touch of severity.

"Well – no," answered Bowles. "I've driven spirited horses, such as we have in the East, but – "

"Think you could drive the grays to Chula Vista and back?"

"Oh, the grays!" cried Bowles, a sudden smile wreathing his countenance as he thought of that spirited pair. "Why, yes; I'm sure I could!"

"Oh," commented Henry Lee, as if he had his doubts; but after a quick glance at the self-sufficient youth he seemed to make up his mind. "Well," he said, "I'll get Hardy to hook 'em up – Mrs. Lee wants you to take her to town."

"Certainly," responded Bowles, turning suddenly sober. "I'll be very careful indeed."

"Yes," said the cattleman; "and if you can't drive, I want you to say so now."

"I've driven in the horse shows, Mr. Lee," answered Bowles. "You can judge for yourself."

"Oh, you have, have you?" And the keen gray eyes of Henry Lee seemed to add: "Then what are you doing out here?" But all he said was: "Very well."

Half an hour later, with his gloved hands well out to the front, and the whip in his right for emergencies, Bowles went racing southward behind the grays; while Mrs. Lee, her face muffled against the wind, was wondering at his skill. As a cowboy, Mr. Bowles had been a laughing-stock, but now he displayed all the courage and control of a Western stage-driver, with some of the style of a coachman thrown in.

"How well you drive, Mr. Bowles!" she ventured, after the grays had had their first dash. "I was afraid I shouldn't be able to go to town until after the round-up – Mr. Atkins is so busy, you know."

Bowles bowed and smiled grimly. It had been Hardy Atkins' boast that he alone was capable of handling the grays, and as he was harnessing them up that gentleman had seen fit to criticize the arrangements, only to be rebuked by Henry Lee.

"You know Mr. Lee depends so much on Hardy," continued Mrs. Lee, "and he needs him so on the circle that I disliked very much to ask for him – but something you said the other night about stage-coaching made me think that perhaps you could drive. Of course, any of the boys could drive, but – well, for some reason or other, I can never get them to talk to me; and to ride forty miles with a man who is too embarrassed to talk, and who hates you because he can't chew tobacco – that isn't so pleasant – now, is it?"

"Why, no, I presume not," agreed Bowles. "You know, I'm recently from the East, and perhaps that's why I notice it, but these Western men seem very difficult to get acquainted with. Of course I'm a greenhorn and all that, and I suppose they haven't much respect for me as a cowboy, but it's such a peculiar thing – no one will speak to me directly. Even when they make fun of me, they keep it among themselves. Brigham Clark is the only one who gives me any degree of friendship – and, that reminds me, I must get him some tobacco in town."

"Yes, I know what you mean," said Mrs. Lee. "I guess I do! Think of living out here for thirty years, Mr. Bowles, and having them still hold aloof. With Dixie, now, it is different. She was born here, and in a way she speaks their language. I have done my best, to be sure, to keep her diction pure – and Henry even has given up all his old, careless ways of speaking in order to do his part; but, somehow, she has learned the vernacular from these cowboys, and in spite of all I can say she will persist in using it. It was only yesterday that I overheard her say to Hardy: 'Yes, I can ride ary hawse in the pen!' And she says 'You-all' like a regular Texan. Of course, that is Southern too – and I have known some very cultivated Texans – but, oh, it makes me feel so bad that my daughter should fall into these careless ways! I have been in Arizona nearly thirty years now, and it has meant the loss of a great deal to me in many ways; but there was one thing I would not give up, Mr. Bowles – I would not give up my educated speech!"

She ended with some emotion, and Bowles glanced at her curiously, but he made no carping comments. When a lady has sacrificed so much to preserve the language of her fathers, it would be a poor return indeed to give her aught but praise – and yet he could sense it dimly that she had paid a fearful price. Personally, he was beginning to admire the direct speech of Dixie May, even to the extent of dropping some of his more obvious Eastern variants; but to the mother he hid the leanings of his heart.

"Your accent is certainly very pure," he said. "Really, I have never heard more perfect English – except, perhaps, from some highly educated foreigner. Our tendency to lapse into the vernacular lays us all open to criticism, of course. But don't you find, Mrs. Lee, that your Eastern speech is a bar, in a way, to the closest relations with your neighbors? I know with me it has been that way, and I am already trying to adopt the Western idiom as far as possible. Why, really, when I first came, they ridiculed me so for saying 'Beg pardon' that I doubt if I shall ever use the expression again. And I am having such a struggle to say 'calves' – not 'cahves,' you know, but 'calves'! It is all right to say 'brahnding cahves' back in New York, but out here it is so frightfully conspicuous! And besides – "

"Oh, now, Mr. Bowles," protested Mrs. Lee, laying a restraining hand on his arm, "I hope you will not shatter all my hopes by falling into this dreadful vernacular. If you only knew how much I enjoy your manner of speaking, if you knew what memories of New York and the old life your words bring up, you would hesitate, I am sure, to cast aside your heritage. Really, if Henry would have let me, I should have invited you up to the house the very evening you came; but you – well, you had some disagreement with him at the start, and it's rather prejudiced him against you. And, besides, he has his ideas of discipline, you know, and against making exceptions of one man over another; and so – well, I did hope you would be able to drive, because now I want to have a good long talk.

"I'm not proud, or 'stuck up,' as they say out here, Mr. Bowles," she went on, as if eager to begin her holiday; "and really I do everything in my power to be friendly, but the class of people who come here – these poor, ignorant nesters, and rough, hard-swearing cowboys – they seem actually to resent my manner of speaking. Of course, I was a school-teacher for a few years – before I married Henry – and I suppose that has made a difference; but I do get so lonely sometimes, with Dixie out riding around somewhere and Henry off on the round-up – and yet I just can't bring myself to speak this awful, vulgar Texas-talk. Now Dixie, she rides around anywhere, speaks to all the women, says 'Howdy' to all the men, and, I declare, when I hear her talking with these cowboys I wonder if she's my own daughter! They have such common ways of expressing themselves, although I must say they are always polite enough – but what I really object to is their familiar attitude toward Dixie. No matter what their class or station, they always seem to take it for granted that they are perfectly eligible, and that she is sure to marry one of them, and that even the commonest has a kind of gambler's chance to win her hand."

She paused, overcome apparently by memories of past courtships, and Bowles shuffled his feet uneasily.

"Of course," he said at length, "your daughter is very attractive – "

"Oh, do you think so?" exclaimed Mrs. Lee, making no concealment of her pleasure in the fact. "I thought, from the way you spoke to her – when I introduced you, you know – "

"Oh, that was just my manner!" interrupted Bowles hastily. "A little embarrassed, perhaps."

"But I thought," persisted Mrs. Lee, "I thought from the way you both acted that you had met before. In New York, perhaps – you know, she has been there all winter – or some time before that evening. You know, Dixie is generally so free with the new cowboys, but she spoke up at you so sharply, and you – "

"Ah – excuse me," interposed Bowles, "perhaps I would better explain. I did meet your daughter, very informally to be sure, on the morning of my arrival at Chula Vista. It was that which caused my embarrassment – always painful when people fail to recognize you, you know – and especially with a lady. Er – what do all these prairie-dogs live on, Mrs. Lee? We have passed so many of them, but I don't see – "

"Mr. Bowles," said Mrs. Lee, placing her hand once more upon his arm and looking at him with an anxious mother's eyes, "I want you to meet my daughter again. She was in New York all winter, you know, and perhaps you have some friends in common. Anyway, I wish we could see more of you – it would be such a pleasure to me, and Dixie – "

She let her eyes express her longing for the improvement of Dixie's diction – a certain approval, too, of Bowles – but he did not respond at once. Fighting within his breast was a mad, fatuous desire to stand in the presence of his beloved, to hear the music of her voice and behold the swiftness and grace of her comings and goings; but almost as an echo in his ears he could hear the mocking formalism of her answers, and feel the scorn in her eyes as she sneered at him for pursuing her. His face became graver as he thought, and then, with the ready wit of his kind, he framed up a tactful excuse.

"Oh, thank you," he said. "It's very kind of you, I'm sure – and there is nothing I should enjoy more – but under the circumstances I am afraid I shall have to decline. You know of course that, whatever my life may have been in the past, at present I am nothing but a hired hand – and a very poor hand at that, I am afraid. And since Mr. Lee has asked you not to make exceptions among the men, I should be very sorry indeed to go against his wishes."

"Oh, that is not the rule, Mr. Bowles," protested Mrs. Lee. "We make exceptions to it all the time, and I am sure Henry would be glad to have you come. Some evening after supper, you know. I want so much to have Dixie meet people of refinement and education, and while for the moment you may be working as a common cowboy, of course we know – "

"You know very little, as a matter of fact," interposed Bowles; "and I am sorry that circumstances make it impossible for me to discuss my antecedents. But has it not occurred to you, Mrs. Lee, that, considering the attitude of the cowboys in the past, it might – well, my motives might be misunderstood – if I should call."

"Why, surely, Mr. Bowles," began Mrs. Lee, her eyes big with wonder, "you are not – er – afraid of what the cowboys – "

"Oh, no, no!" protested Bowles, blushing to the tips of his sunburned ears. "Certainly not! I did not mean the cowboys."

"Well, what then?" demanded Mrs. Lee, in perplexity.

Mr. Bowles hesitated a moment, looking straight ahead to where Chula Vista rose between the horses' ears.

"You will excuse me, Mrs. Lee, I'm sure," he said, speaking very low. "But when I spoke of my motives being misunderstood, I did not have reference to the cowboys. I was – er – thinking of your daughter."

"My daughter!" echoed Mrs. Lee, suddenly sitting up very straight in her seat. Then, as the significance of his remarks became evident, she gazed across at him reproachfully.

"Why, Mr. Bowles!" she said; and then there was a long, pensive silence, broken only by the thud of flying feet, the rattle and rumble of wheels, and the yikr-r-r of startled prairie-dogs.

CHAPTER XIII

A LETTER FROM THE POSTMISTRESS

The morning after Bowles' return from his trip to Chula Vista – during which he had made the startling proposition about being misunderstood by Dixie Lee – the entire Bat Wing outfit packed up its plunder and pulled out for the big round-up. First the cowboys, with a fifteen-mile ride ahead of them before they began to gather, went stringing across the plains at a high trot; then the remuda, stretching out in a mighty fan of horses, came fogging along behind them, to be ready for a change at the cutting-grounds; and last the chuck-wagon and the bed-wagon – one full of Dutch ovens and provisions, the other piled high with well-lashed beds – went hammering through chuck holes and dipping into dry washes in a desperate attempt to reach the rendezvous in time for dinner.

A gangling youth in overalls, and with a pair of cheap "can-opener" spurs on his shoes, acted the part of assistant to the horse-wrangler; and an open-faced individual with a great taste for plug tobacco and the song called "Casey Jones" drove the bed-wagon for Gloomy Gus; but Bowles rode out with the cowboys. By a piece of good luck, he had backed Wa-ha-lote into a corner that morning, and so menaced him with his rope that the good-natured monarch had finally stood and surrendered for a handful of sugar. So Mr. Bowles rode out in style, without any ostensible glances toward the big house, where Dixie May was reviewing her admirers from the gallery. By this time, of course, Mrs. Lee would have informed her daughter of the Eastern stray's presumption – of his daring to suggest that, in case he called, she, Dixie, might misunderstand his motives and think he was laying siege to her heart – and of course Dixie May would be indignant!

But, if she was, she carried it off well, for Bowles never got a look from her. Of course, in a bunch of thirty cowboys, even on such a fancy mount as high-headed Wa-ha-lote, one man does not stand out conspicuously from the rest – that is, not unless his horse is pitching. Hardy Atkins was on an outlaw sorrel called El Paso del Norte, and he made up the center of the picture. Del Norte was a wonder at the buck-jump, especially if some one spurred him in the shoulders, which Hardy did, and the departure of our hero was a little dimmed by his dust. Still Bowles was pleased, even if he was leaving the home of his beloved for two weeks, for something told him that he had at last won distinction in the ruck of suitors – the only man who had not let it go for granted that he was in love with Dixie Lee. Of course, he was – desperately so – but an instinct deep down in his breast warned him to conceal it from all the world. And especially from Dixie, the capricious; otherwise, she might win him by a glance and a smile, and then disprize him forever.