The Ramblin Kid | Page 8

hoarsely whispered, "that's them!"
"Let's go!" Skinny exclaimed, sweat starting in unheeded beads on his
forehead. "Good lord, let's get in the car and go while we got a
chance!"
Old Heck made a move as if to comply, then stopped. "Can't now," he
said gloomily, "it's too late!"

As Old Heck turned the woman shrieked in a rasping voice:
"Hey--hey you! Wait a minute!"
The cow-men looked around and stared dumbly, dazedly, at her.
"Can I get you to take me an' my daughter out to that construction
camp where they're buildin' a ditch or something?" she asked; "that
policeman said maybe we could get you to--" she continued. "I got a
job cookin' out there an' Lize here is goin' to wait on table."
Old Heck, still looking up in her eyes, with horror written on every line
of his face, his lips twitching till he could scarcely speak, finally
managed to say:
"Ain't--ain't you Ophelia?"
"Ophelia? Ophelia who?" she asked, then before he could speak she
answered his question: "Ophelia--huh! No, I ain't Ophelia! I'm Missus
Jasamine Swope an' a married woman an' you'd better not try to get
fresh or--"
Simultaneous with Old Heck's question, Skinny, his eyes riveted on the
dowdy girl, asked in a voice barely audible:
"Are you--are you Carolyn June?"
"No, I ain't Carolyn June," she snorted. "Come on, ma; let's go! Them
two's crazy or white slavers or somethin'!"
Expressing their scorn and disdain by the angry flirt of their skirts, the
woman and girl whirled and walked briskly away toward the garage at
the end of the street.
"Praise th' heavens," Old Heck breathed fervently as he gazed
spell-bound after the retreating pair, "it wasn't them!"
"Carolyn June and the widow probably went back after all," Skinny
said without, looking around and with the barest trace of

disappointment, now that the danger seemed past, in his voice. "Maybe
they got to thinking about that telegram and decided not to come at
last."
"More than likely that was it," Old Heck answered.
Steps sounded behind them. Skinny and Old Heck turned and again
they almost fainted at what they saw. The marshal, a leather traveling
bag in each hand, accompanied by two smartly dressed women,
approached.
"These ladies are huntin' for you," he said to Old Heck, dropping the
bags and mopping his face with the sleeve of his shirt. "Guess they're
some kind of kin folks," he added.
Concealed by the freight sheds Carolyn June Dixon and Ophelia Cobb
had stepped from the Pullman at the rear of the train, unseen by Old
Heck and Skinny. Nor had either noticed, being engrossed with the
couple that had left than a moment before, the trio coming across from
the station.
As the cook and her daughter by their very homeliness had appalled
and overwhelmed them, these two, Ophelia and Carolyn June, by their
exactly opposite appearance stunned Old Heck and Skinny and
rendered them speechless with embarrassment. Both were silently
thankful they had shaved that morning and Skinny wondered if his face,
like Old Heck's, was streaked with sweat and dust.
For a moment the group studied one another.
Carolyn June held the eyes of Skinny in mute and helpless admiration.
Despite the heat of the blazing sun she looked fresh and dean and
pleasant--wholly unsoiled by the marks of travel. A snow-white
Panama hat, the brim sensibly wide, drooped over cheeks that were
touched with a splash of tan that suggested much time in the open. An
abundance of hair, wonderfully soft and brown, showing the slightest
glint of coppery red running it in vagrant strands, fluffed from under
the hat. The skirt of her traveling suit, some light substantial material,

reached the span of a hand above the ankle. White shoes, silk stockings
that matched and through which glowed the faint pink of firm, healthy,
young flesh, lent charm to the costume she wore. Her lips were red and
moist and parted over teeth that were strong and white. A saucy upward
tilt to the nose, hinting that Carolyn June was a flirt; brown eyes that
were level almost with Skinny's and that held in them a laugh and yet
deep below the mirth something thoughtful, honest and unafraid,
finished the wreck of the cowboy's susceptible heart. Trim and smooth
was Carolyn June, suggesting to Skinny Rawlins a clean-bred filly of
saddle strain that has developed true to form.
Old Heck gazed in equal awe at the more mature Ophelia.
Somewhere near forty she may have been, cozily plump and solid. She
had gray-blue eyes that were steady and frank yet clearly accustomed to
being obeyed. Her hair was a trifle darker in shade than the silky brown
on the head of Carolyn June. She was dressed with immaculate
neatness and taste