The Ramblin Kid | Page 4

in care of whatever
train they might be on and get an answer, then come back as quick as
possible --waiting is agony!"

It was a long afternoon for Old Heck and the cowboys of the Quarter
Circle KT. A band of colts were in the circular corral to be gentled to
rope, saddle and hackamore. Old Heck sat on the top pole of the corral
and moodily watched the struggle of the men and horses in the dry,
dusty enclosure as one by one each young broncho was roped, saddled
and ridden. Frequently he turned longing eyes toward Eagle Butte,
anxious for sight of the cloud of dust from which Chuck would emerge
bringing, he hoped, word that Carolyn June and Ophelia Cobb had
heeded the misleading message.
The sun crept across the western sky and dropped lower and lower until
it hung at last, a blazing disk of fire, close above the highest peaks of
the Costejo mountain range. The poplars in front of the house flung
slim black shadows across the low adobe buildings and splashed the tip
of their shade in the dust-cloud that filled with haze the corral a
hundred yards away. Sing Pete stepped from the door and beat a tattoo
on the iron triangle suspended by a piece of wire from the lowest
branch of a mesquit tree at the corner of the house, announcing by the
metallic clamor that the work of the day was finished and supper was
ready and waiting. Parker swung back the heavy gate at the corral
entrance and the dozen colts, sweat streaks on heads and backs and
bellies where hackamore, saddle and cinches told of the lessons of the
afternoon, pushing and jamming and with a clatter of hoofs, whirled
out to freedom, around the stable and down a lane into an open
meadow.
Kicking off their chaps the cowboys tossed them on the riding gear,
piled already against the fence of the corral, and straggled stiffly
toward the house. On the wire enclosing the back yard Sing Pete had
hung a couple of heavy towels, coarse and long. Some basins and
several chunks of yellow laundry soap were on a bench beside an
irrigation ditch that ran along the fence just inside the gate. Old Heck,
Parker and the cowboys stopped at the ditch, pitched their hats on the
grass and dipping water from the ditch scoured the dust and sweat from
their faces and hands.
All were silent as if each was troubled with thoughts too solemn to be

spoken aloud.
At last, Skinny, handing a towel to Bert after drying his own
sun-tanned face and hands, remarked inanely:
"Chuck ain't come, has he?"
"Slupper!" Sing Pete called.
They filed into the kitchen and each took his regular place at the long,
oilcloth covered table. The food, wholesome, plain and abundant, was
already served.
Silently each heaped his plate with the viands before him while Sing
Pete circled the table pouring coffee into the white porcelain cups. The
Quarter Circle KT was famous for the excellence of its grub and the
Chink was an expert cook.
"Lordy, oh, lordy," Old Heck groaned, "it don't seem possible them
women are coming!"
"Maybe they won't," Parker sympathized. "When they get that telegram
they ought to turn around and go back--"
"Chuck's coming!" Bert Lilly exclaimed at that moment and the sound
of a horse stopping suddenly at the front of the house reached the ears
of the group at the table.
"Go ask him if he got an answer, somebody, quick!" Old Heck cried.
As Charley Saunders sprang to his feet Chuck yelled, "They got it and
sent an answer! I got one--" and rushed excitedly through the house and
into the kitchen waving an envelope, twin to the one Skinny had
brought earlier in the day. "They're on Train Number Seventeen, the
agent said--"
"My Gawd!" Old Heck gasped, "what does it say? Give it here!"
reaching for the message the cowboy held in his hand.

"Good lord, it didn't work!" he groaned as he read the telegram and
handed it across the table to Parker.
"Read it out loud," several spoke at once.
"'We've both had it,'" Parker read, "'and are not afraid. Anyhow we
think you are a darned old lovable liar. Will arrive according to
schedule. If you are not a liar we'll nurse you back to health and
happiness. If you are, watch out! Your affectionate but suspicious little
niece Carolyn June Dixon. Postscript: Are there any nice wild, untamed,
young cowboys out there?--Carolyn J.'"
"Hell-fire!" Skinny said, "what'll we do?"
No answer. Chuck went moodily out to attend to his horse, and the
meal was finished in silence. Even Sing Pete seemed deeply depressed.
After supper Old Heck straightened up and in a