Prairie Flowers | Page 9

drinks
comin', accordin' to the matches. Pour me out a couple of more an' then
you've got to take our little friend here an' beat it before the fireworks
start. I ain't drunk now, but I'm goin' to be! An' when I am--there's a
little song we used to sing way down on the Rio Grande, it runs
somethin' like this." Raising his voice the cowboy roared forth the
words of his song:
"I'm a howler from the prairie of the West. If you want to die with
terror, look at me. I'm chain-lightning--if I ain't, may I be blessed. I'm
the snorter of the boundless prairie.
"He's a killer and a hater! He's the great annihilator! He's the terror of
the boundless prairie!
"I'm the snoozer from the upper trail! I'm the reveller in murder and in
gore! I can bust more Pullman coaches on the rail Than anyone who's
worked the job before.
"He's a snorter and a snoozer. He's the great trunk line abuser. He's the
man who put the sleeper on the rail.
"I'm a double-jawed hyena from the East. I'm the blazing, bloody
blizzard from the States. I'm the celebrated slugger; I'm the Beast. I can
snatch a man bald-headed while he waits.

"He's a double-jawed hyena! He's the villain of the scena! He can
snatch a man bald-headed while he waits."
He finished with a whoop, and picking up the glass, drained it at a gulp.
"Beat it, now, Ike, ol' Stork!" he cried, "an' take a bottle of bug-juice,
an' our slumberin' friend, with you. So long, ol' timer! I'm a wolf, an'
it's my night to howl! Slip up to the hotel an' tell the cook to shoot me
down a half-dozen buzzard's eggs fried in grizzly juice, a couple of
rattlesnake sandwiches, a platter of live centipedes, an' a prickly-pear
salad. I'm hungry, an' I'm on my prowl!"
CHAPTER III
THE STAGE ARRIVES
The Timber City stage creaked and rattled as the horses toiled up the
long slope of the Dog Creek divide. The driver dozed on his seat, his
eyes protected from the glare of the hot June sun by the wide brim of
his hat, opened mechanically at intervals to glance along the white,
dusty trail. Inside, Winthrop Adams Endicott smiled as he noted the
eager enthusiasm with which his young wife scanned the panorama of
mountains and plain that stretched endlessly away to disappear in a
jumble of shimmering heat waves.
"Oh, Win! Don't you just love it? The big black mountains with their
girdles of green timber, the miles, and miles, and miles of absolute
emptiness, the smell of the sage--yes, and the very rattle of this bumpy
old stage!"
Endicott laughed: "I believe you do love it----"
"Love it! Of course I love it! And so do you love it! And you were just
as crazy about coming as I was--only you wouldn't admit it. It's just as
Tex said that day way up on top of Antelope Butte. He was speaking of
you and he said: 'He'll go back East and the refinement will cover him
up again--and that's a damned shame. But he won't be just the same,
because the prejudice is gone. He's chewed the meat of the cow country
and found it good.' I've always remembered that, and it's true--you are

not just the same, dear," she reached over and took his hand in both of
hers. "And, oh, Win--I'm glad--glad!"
Endicott smiled as he raised the slim hand to his lips: "Considerable of
a philosopher--Tex. And cowboy par excellence. I hope we can find
him. If we buy the ranch I've been counting on him to manage it."
"We've got to find him! And dear Old Bat, too! And, Win, won't it be
just grand? We'll live out here in the summer and in the winter we'll go
to New York and Florida, and we'll never, never go back to old
Half-Way Between. The place fairly reeks of soap and whisky--and I
don't care if their old soap does float!"
Again, Endicott laughed: "I suppose it will do us lots of good. I'll
probably spend my days in the saddle and come home smelling of
horses, and covered with alkali dust."
"Horses smell better than gas, anyway, and alkali dust is cleaner than
coal-soot. Look, Win, quick! A family of Indians camped beside the
trail--see the scrawny, sneaky-looking dogs and the ponies with their
feet tied together, and the conical tepee. And, oh, on that red
blanket--the darlingest little brown papoose! I can hardly wait to get
into my riding clothes and gallop for miles! And, Win, dear, you've just
got to promise me that if we do buy the ranch, you'll never bring a
motor out here--not even a roadster--it would spoil