Oh, You Tex! | Page 8

a decent reputation, and energy enough to carry a
man to success along conventional lines. In those days the frontier
West demanded first that a man be game, and second that he be one to
tie to. He might be good or bad, but whichever he was, he, must be
efficient to make any mark in the turbulent country of the border. Was
there a hint of slackness in the jaw of this good-looking boy? Wadley
was not sure, but he intended to find out.
"You'll start Saturday. I'll meet you at Tascosa two weeks from to-day.
Understand?" The cattleman knocked the ashes from his pipe and rose.
The interview was at an end.
Young Ridley nodded. "I'll be there, sir--with the six thousand dollars
safe as if they were in a vault."
"H'm! I see you carry a six-shooter. Can you shoot?" Wadley flung at
him abruptly.
Arthur Ridley had always fancied himself as a shot. He had belonged to
a gun-club at home, and since coming to the Southwest he had
practiced a good deal with the revolver.
"Pretty well, sir."

"Would you--if it was up to you?"
The youngster looked into the steel-gray eyes roofed by the heavy
thatch of brow. "I think so. I never have had to yet. In the East--"
Wadley waved the East back to where it belonged. "Yes, I know. But
we're talkin' about Texas. Still, I reckon you ought not to have any
trouble on this trip. Don't let anybody know why you are at the fort.
Don't gamble or drink. Get the money from Major Ponsford and melt
away inconspicuous into the brush. Hit the trail hard. A day and a night
ought to bring you to Tascosa."
The cattleman was leading the way with long strides into an open space
back of the house. A pile of empty cans, symbol of the arid lands, lay
beside the path. He picked up one and put it on a post. Then he stepped
off fifteen paces.
"Ventilate it," he ordered.
The boy drew his revolver, took a long, steady aim, and fired. The
bullet whistled past across the prairie. His second shot scored a clean
hit. With pardonable pride he turned to the cattleman.
"Set up another can," commanded Wadley.
From the pile of empties the young man picked another and put it on
the post. Wadley, known in Texas as a two-gun man, flashed into sight
a pair of revolvers almost quicker than the eye could follow. Both shots
came instantly and together. The cattleman had fired from the hips.
Before the can had reached the ground the weapons barked again.
Ridley ran forward and picked up the can. It was torn and twisted with
jagged holes, but the evidence was written there that all four bullets had
pierced the tin. The Easterner could hardly believe his eyes. Such
shooting was almost beyond human skill.
The owner of the A T O thrust into place his two forty-fives.

"If you're goin' to wear six-shooters, learn to use 'em, son. If you don't,
some bad-man is liable to bump you off for practice."
As the two men stepped around the corner of the house a girl came
down the steps of the porch. She was dressed in summer white, but she
herself was spring. Slim and lissome, the dew of childhood was still on
her lips, and the mist of it in her eyes. But when she slanted her long
lashes toward Arthur Ridley, it was not the child that peeped shyly and
eagerly out from beneath them. Her heart was answering the world-old
call of youth to youth.
"I'm going downtown, Dad," she announced.
Ridley stepped forward and lifted his hat. "May I walk with you, Miss
Ramona?"
"Stop at the post-office and see if the buckboard driver is in with the
mail, 'Mona," her father said.
The boy and the girl made a couple to catch and hold the eye.
They went down the street together chattering gayly. One of the things
young Ridley knew how to do well was to make himself agreeable to
girls. He could talk nonsense charmingly and could hold his own in the
jolly give-and-take of repartee. His good looks were a help. So too was
the little touch of affectionate deference he used. He had the gift of
being bold without being too bold.
It was a beautiful morning and life sang in the blood of Ramona. It
seemed to her companion that the warm sun caressed the little curls at
her temples as she moved down the street light as a deer. Little jets of
laughter bubbled from her round, birdlike throat. In her freshly starched
white dress, with its broad waistband of red and purple ribbon, the girl
was sweet and lovely and