Jean of the Lazy A | Page 3

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Jean of the Lazy A
By B. M. BOWER

CONTENTS

CHAPTER
I HOW TROUBLE CAME TO THE LAZY A II CONCERNING LITE
AND A FEW FOOTPRINTS III WHAT A MAN'S GOOD NAME IS
WORTH IV JEAN V JEAN RIDES INTO A SMALL ADVENTURE
VI AND THE VILLAIN PURSUED LITE VII ROBERT GRANT
BURNS GETS HELP VIII JEAN SPOILS SOMETHING IX A
MAN-SIZED JOB FOR JEAN X JEAN LEARNS WHAT FEAR IS
LIKE XI LITE'S PUPIL DEMONSTRATES XII TO "DOUBLE" FOR
MURIEL GAY XIII PICTURES AND PLANS AND MYSTERIOUS
FOOTSTEPS XIV PUNCH VERSUS PRESTIGE XV A LEADING
LADY THEY WOULD MAKE OF JEAN XVI FOR ONCE AT
LEAST LITE HAD HIS WAY XVII "WHY DON'T YOU GIVE
THEM SOMETHING REAL?" XVIII A NEW KIND OF PICTURE
XIX IN LOS ANGELES XX CHANCE TAKES A HAND XXI JEAN
BELIEVES THAT SHE TAKES MATTERS INTO HER OWN
HANDS XXII JEAN MEETS ONE CRISIS AND CONFRONTS

ANOTHER XXIII A LITTLE ENLIGHTENMENT XXIV THE
LETTER IN THE CHAPS XXV LITE COMES OUT OF THE
BACKGROUND XXVI HOW HAPPINESS RETURNED TO THE
LAZY A

JEAN OF THE LAZY A

CHAPTER I
HOW TROUBLE CAME TO THE LAZY A
Without going into a deep, psychological discussion of the elements in
men's souls that breed events, we may say with truth that the Lazy A
ranch was as other ranches in the smooth tenor of its life until one day
in June, when the finger of fate wrote bold and black across the face of
it the word that blotted out prosperity, content, warm family ties,--all
those things that go to make life worth while.
Jean, sixteen and a range girl to the last fiber of her being, had gotten
up early that morning and had washed the dishes and swept, and had
shaken the rugs of the little living-room most vigorously. On her knees,
with stiff brush and much soapy water, she had scrubbed the kitchen
floor until the boards dried white as kitchen floors may be. She had
baked a loaf of gingerbread, that came from the oven with a most
delectable odor, and had wrapped it in a clean cloth to cool on the
kitchen table. Her dad and Lite Avery would show cause for the baking
of it when they sat down, fresh washed and ravenous, to their supper
that evening. I mention Jean and her scrubbed kitchen and the
gingerbread by way of proving how the Lazy A went unwarned and
unsuspecting to the very brink of its disaster.
Lite Avery, long and lean and silently content with life, had ridden
away with a package of sandwiches, after a full breakfast and a smile
from the slim girl who cooked it, upon the business of the day; which
happened to be a long ride with one of the Bar Nothing riders, down in
the breaks along the river. Jean's father, big Aleck Douglas, had

saddled and ridden away alone upon business of his own. And
presently, in mid- forenoon, Jean closed the kitchen door upon an
immaculately clean house filled with the warm, fragrant odor of her
baking, and in fresh shirt waist and her best riding-skirt and Stetson,
went whistling away down the path to the stable, and saddled Pard, the
brown colt that Lite had broken to the saddle for her that spring. In ten
minutes or so she went galloping down the coulee and out upon the
trail to town, which was fifteen miles away and held a chum of hers.
So Lazy A coulee was left at peace, with scratching hens busy with the
feeding of half-feathered chicks, and a rooster that crowed from the
corral fence seven times without stopping to take breath. In the big
corral a sorrel mare nosed her colt and nibbled abstractedly at the pile
of hay in one corner, while the colt wabbled aimlessly up and sniffed
curiously and then turned to inspect the rails that felt so queer and hard
when he rubbed his nose against them. The sun