Judith of Blue Lake Ranch | Page 7

ees so leetle!" José's shaking hand was lowered until it
marked the stature of a twelve-inch pigmy. In all things must the old
fellow gain his emphasis by exaggeration which more often than not
took the form of plain lying. "Never at all unteel one year ago does she

leave us and the rancho. We, us two who love her, señor, learn her to
walk and to ride and to shoot and to talk. You shall hear her say,
'Buenos dias, José, mi amigo!' You shall see her kees the cheek of old
José."
Again his leathery hand was put in requisition, this time to wipe clean
the cheek to be honored. "And one theeng I tell you, señor," he added
confidentially. "Her papa was a wild devil before her. Her mama ees
grow up on the ranch; and when she marry el señor Sanford was like a
wild boy. And mi señorita, she ees the cross be tween a wild devil and
a sweet saint, señor Madre de Dios! I would go down to hell for her to
bring back fire to warm her leetle feet een weenter!"
Lee went thoughtfully on his way to the bunk-house. The cook, an
importation of Bayne Trevors, a big, upstanding fellow with bare arms
covered with flour, was putting on the breakfast to which a dozen
rough-garbed men were sitting down.
"I've got orders for you fellows," said Lee from the doorway. "The boss
of the outfit, the real owner, you know, just blew in. Up at the house.
Says you boys are to stick around to take orders straight from
headquarters. You, Benny," to the cook, "are to have a man's-size
breakfast ready in a jiffy."
Naturally Benny led the clamor with a string of oaths. What in blazes
did the owner of the ranch have to show up for anyway?--he wanted to
know. He accepted the fact as a personal affront. Who was this
owner?--demanded Ward Hannon, the foreman of the lower ranch,
where the alfalfa-fields were.
Bud Lee explained gravely that the newcomer was some sort of relative
of old Luke Sanford, who had recently acquired a controlling interest in
the ranch. Ward Hannon grunted contemptuously. "The Lord deliver
us!" he moaned. "Eastern jasper! One of the know-all-about-it brand,
huh, Bud? I'll bet he combs his hair in the middle and smokes cigareets
out'n a box! The putty-headed loons can't even roll their own smokes."
"Don't believe," hazarded Lee indifferently, "from the looks of our

visitor that--that the owner smokes anything!"
"Listen to that!" grunted Ward Hannon.
"Softy, huh?"
"Well," Bud admitted slowly, "looks sort of like a girl, you know!"
"Wouldn't that choke you?" demanded Carson, the cow foreman, a thin,
awkward little man, gray in the service of "real men." "Taking orders
off'n a fool Easterner's bad enough. But old man or young, Bud?"
"Just a kid," was Lee's further dampening news. And as he
nonchalantly buttered his hotcakes he added carelessly: "Something of
a scrapper, though. Just put two thirty-two calibers into Trevors."
They stared at him incredulously. Then Carson's dry cackle led the
laughter.
"You're the biggest liar, Bud Lee," said the old man good-naturedly, "I
ever focussed my two eyes on. I'll lay an even bet there ain't nobody
showed a-tall up this morning."
"You, Tommy," said Lee to the boy at his side, "shovel your grub down
lively and go hitch Molly and old Pie-face to the buckboard. That's
orders from headquarters," he grinned. "Trevors is to be hauled away
first thing."
Tommy looked curiously at his superior. "On the level, Bud?" he asked
doubtingly.
"On the level, laddie," was the quiet response.
And young Burkitt, wondering, but doubting no longer, hastened with
his breakfast.
The others, looking at Lee's sober face questioningly, fired a broadside
of inquiries at him. But they got no further information.

"I've told you boys all the news," he announced positively. "Lordy!
Isn't that an earful for this time of day? The real boss is on the job:
Trevors is winged; you are to stick around for orders from headquarters.
If you want to know any more'n that, why--just go up to the house and
ask your blamed questions."
Out of the tail of his eye he saw the swift approach of Bayne Trevors.
The general manager's face was black with rage and through that dark
wrath showed a dull red flush of shame. He walked with his two arms
lax at his sides.
"Give me a cup of coffee, Ben," he commanded curtly, slumping into a
chair. "Hurry!"
Benny, looking at him curiously, brought a steaming cup and offered it.
Trevors moved to lift a hand; then sank back a little farther in his chair,
his face twisting in his pain.
"Put some milk in it," he snarled. "Then hold