Waifs and Strays, etc | Page 6

goods in the store. Sorry to
wake you up but we must have 'em. Come on out, Vncle Tommy, and
get a move on you."
Uncle Tommy was slow, but at length they got him behind his counter
with a kerosene lamp lit, and told him of their dire need.
"Easter hats?" said Uncle Tommy, sleepily. "Why, yes, I believe I have
got just a couple left. I only ordered a dozen this spring. I'll show 'em to
you."
Now, Uncle Tommy Sutton was a merchant, half asleep or awake. In
dusty pasteboard boxes under the counter he had two left-over spring
hats. But, alas! for his commercial probity on that early Saturday
morn--they were hats of two springs ago, and a woman's eye would
have detected the fraud at half a glance. But to the unintelligent gaze of
the cowpuncher and the sheepman they seemed fresh from the mint of
contemporaneous April.
The hats were of a variety once known as "cart-wheels." They were of
stiff straw, colored red, and flat brimmed. Both were exactly alike, and
trimmed lavishly around their crowns with full blown, immaculate,
artificial white roses.

"That all you got, Uncle Tommy?" said Pearson. "All right. Not much
choice here, Burr. Take your pick."
"They're the latest styles" lied Uncle Tommy. "You'd see 'em on Fifth
Avenue, if you was in New York."
Uncle Tommy wrapped and tied each hat in two yards of dark calico
for a protection. One Pearson tied carefully to his calfskin saddle-
thongs; and the other became part of Road Runner's burden. They
shouted thanks and farewells to Uncle Tommy, and cantered back into
the night on the home stretch.
The horsemen jockeyed with all their skill. They rode more slowly on
their way back. The few words they spoke were not unfriendly.
Burrows had a Winchester under his left leg slung over his saddle horn.
Pearson had a six shooter belted around him. Thus men rode in the Frio
country.
At half-past seven in the morning they rode to the top of a hill and saw
the Espinosa Ranch, a white spot under a dark patch of live-oaks, five
miles away.
The sight roused Pearson from his drooping pose in the saddle. He
knew what Road Runner could do. The sorrel was lathered, and
stumbling frequently; Road Runner was pegging away like a donkey
engine.
Pearson turned toward the sheepman and laughed. "Good-bye, Burr,"
he cried, with a wave of his hand. "It's a race now. We're on the home
stretch."
He pressed Road Runner with his knees and leaned toward the
Espinosa. Road Runner struck into a gallop, with tossing head and
snorting nostrils, as if he were fresh from a month in pasture.
Pearson rode twenty yards and heard the unmistakable sound of a
Winchester lever throwing a cartridge into the barrel. He dropped flat
along his horse's back before the crack of the rifle reached his ears.
It is possible that Burrows intended only to disable the horse-- he was a
good enough shot to do that without endangering his rider. But as
Pearson stooped the ball went through his shoulder and then through
Road Runner's neck. The horse fell and the cowman pitched over his
head into the hard road, and neither of them tried to move.
Burrows rode on without stopping.
In two hours Pearson opened his eyes and took inventory. He managed

to get to his feet and staggered back to where Road Runner was lying.
Road Runner was lying there, but he appeared to be comfortable.
Pearson examined him and found that the bullet had "creased" him. He
had been knocked out temporarily, but not seriously hurt. But he was
tired, and he lay there on Miss Tonia's hat and ate leaves from a
mesquite branch that obligingly hung over the road.
Pearson made the horse get up. The Easter hat, loosed from the
saddle-thongs, lay there in its calico wrappings, a shapeless thing from
its sojourn beneath the solid carcass of Road Runner. Then Pearson
fainted and fell head long upon the poor hat again, crumpling it under
his wounded shoulders.
It is hard to kill a cowpuncher. In half an hour he revived--long enough
for a woman to have fainted twice and tried ice-cream for a restorer. He
got up carefully and found Road Runner who was busy with the
near-by grass. He tied the unfortunate hat to the saddle again, and
managed to get himself there, too, after many failures.
At noon a gay and fluttering company waited in front of the Espinosa
Ranch. The Rogers girls were there in their new buckboard, and the
Anchor-O outfit and the Green Valley folks--mostly women. And each
and every one wore her new Easter hat, even upon the lonely prairies,
for they greatly desired