Chip, of the Flying U | Page 2

old shack. You tell Patsy I'll be late to supper--and tell him to brace up and cook something ladies like--cake and stuff. Patsy'll know. I'd give a dollar to get that little runt in the office--"
But Shorty, having heard all that it was important to know, was clattering down the long slope again to the stable. It was supper time, and Shorty was hungry. Also, there was news to tell, and he was curious to see how the boys would take it. He was just turning loose the horse when supper was called. He hurried back up the hill to the mess house, performed hasty ablutions in the tin wash basin on the bench beside the door, scrubbed his face dry on the roller towel, and took his place at the long table within.
"Any mail for me?" Jack Bates looked up from emptying the third spoon of sugar into his coffee.
"Naw--she didn't write this time, Jack." Shorty reached a long arm for the "Mulligan stew."
"How's the dance coming on?" asked Cal Emmett.
"I guess it's a go, all right. They've got them coons engaged to play. The hotel's fixing for a big crowd, if the weather holds like this. Chip, Old Man wants you to catch up the creams, after supper; you've got to meet the train to-morrow."
"Which train?" demanded Chip, looking up. "Is old Dunk coming?"
"The noon train. No, he didn't say nothing about Dunk. He wants a bunch of you fellows to go up and hoe out the White House and slick it up for comp'ny--got to be done t'-night. And Patsy, Old Man says for you t' git a move on and cook something fit to eat; something that ain't plum full uh microbes."
Shorty became suddenly engaged in cooling his coffee, enjoying the varied emotions depicted on the faces of the boys.
"Who's coming?"
"What's up?"
Shorty took two leisurely gulps before he answered:
"Old Man's sister's coming out to stay all summer--and then some, maybe. Be here to-morrow, he said."
"Gee whiz! Is she pretty?" This from Cal Emmett.
"Hope she ain't over fifty." This from Jack Bates.
"Hope she ain't one of them four-eyed school-ma'ams," added Happy Jack --so called to distinguish him from Jack Bates, and also because of his dolorous visage.
"Why can't some one else haul her out?" began Chip. "Cal would like that job--and he's sure welcome to it."
"Cal's too dangerous. He'd have the old girl dead in love before he got her over the first ridge, with them blue eyes and that pretty smile of his'n. It's up to you, Splinter--Old Man said so."
"She'll be dead safe with Chip. HE won't make love to her," retorted Cal.
"Wonder how old she is," repeated Jack Bates, half emptying the syrup pitcher into his plate. Patsy had hot biscuits for supper, and Jack's especial weakness was hot biscuits and maple syrup.
"As to her age," remarked Shorty, "it's a cinch she ain't no spring chicken, seeing she's the Old Man's sister."
"Is she a schoolma'am?" Happy Jack's distaste for schoolma'ams dated from his tempestuous introduction to the A B C's, with their daily accompaniment of a long, thin ruler.
"No, she ain't a schoolma'am. She's a darn sight worse. She's a doctor."
"Aw, come off!" Cal Emmett was plainly incredulous."
"That's right. Old Man said she's just finished taking a course uh medicine--what'd yuh call that?"
"Consumption, maybe--or snakes." Weary smiled blandly across the table.
"She got a diploma, though. Now where do you get off at?"
"Yeah--that sure means she's a doctor," groaned Cal.
"By golly, she needn't try t' pour any dope down ME," cried a short, fat man who took life seriously--a man they called Slim, in fine irony.
"Gosh, I'd like to give her a real warm reception," said Jack Bates, who had a reputation for mischief. "I know them Eastern folks, down t' the ground. They think cow-punchers wear horns. Yes, they do. They think we're holy terrors that eat with our six-guns beside our plates-- and the like of that. They make me plum tired. I'd like to--wish we knew her brand."
"I can tell you that," said Chip, cynically. "There's just two bunches to choose from. There's the Sweet Young Things, that faint away at sight of a six-shooter, and squawk and catch at your arm if they see a garter snake, and blush if you happen to catch their eye suddenly, and cry if you don't take off your hat every time you see them a mile off." Chip held out his cup for Patsy to refill.
"Yeah--I've run up against that brand--and they're sure all right. They suit ME," remarked Cal.
"That don't seem to line up with the doctor's diploma," commented Weary.
"Well, she's the other kind then--and if she is, the Lord have mercy on the Flying U! She'll buy her some spurs and try to rope and cut out and help brand. Maybe she'll