the Drift Fence (1992) (4 page)

Molly thrilled to her toes at that performance.

The roping of calves was not new to her, though she had never believed such swift time possible. The roping of two-year-olds was a sterner game.

Next after that came the riding of bucking bronchos. In any horse country there are bound to be some mean horses, and Molly imagined she had seen a few. But she had not even known what a mean horse was like. There was a black devil of a mustang with rolling white eyes that simply made the cold chills run over Molly. Buck! He went six feet into the air, doubled up, and came down stiff-legged. And he threw three successive riders. Yet how these lean, supple, round-limbed, small-hipped cowboys could ride!

They stuck on like burrs. But it was dangerous sport. Many were thrown.

One red-headed fellow had a horse fall back on him. Another rolled clear over with his horse and still came up in the saddle. At this the crowd roared. Molly saw another boy carried off the field, but she had not observed what had happened to him. When that whirling, dusty, snorting, and yelling mOlTe ended it was none too soon for Molly.

"Bulldoggin' steers next," said Mr. See, consulting his programme.

"Goodness! Do they chase them with bulldogs?" ejaculated Molly, in amaze.

See laughed heartily. "Wal, thet's a good one."

"Caleb, this is Molly's first rodeo," reproved his wife, though it was plain the girl's remark had tickled her.

Molly was soon to learn more. A wicked wide-horned steer was let loose, and a cowboy, superbly mounted, came tearing down the field, to drive the steer furiously, catch up with it, and then to dive out of his saddle. He alighted on the neck of the steer, and swinging down by the horns he tumbled it head over heels, and rolled over with it. Molly screamed. But the cowboy came out of the dust unhurt and victorious, for there he sat on the head of the steer, holding it down.

"There! What do you think of that for a cowboy?" exclaimed See, turning to Molly.

"He's wonderful. But he's crazy. Who ever heard of such a thing?" returned Molly, feelingly.

"Molly's right," agreed Mrs. See. "I think this bulldoggin' sport is brutal. Where's the sense in it?"

"Ain't none. But shore takes a slick rider to do it," said her husband.

"A cowboy once told me he didn't have an unbroken bone in his body. Now I can see why," commented Molly.

Nevertheless, though this style of riding, and downing a steer like a bulldog, made Molly cold and sick, she could not help watching it through. She would certainly have something to tell Arch Dunn.

Fortunately, none of the riders were seriously hurt during this most perilous test of horsemanship and hardihood. And the rest of the programme allowed Molly to recover.

"Wal, lass, an' how'd you like it?" asked Mr. See.

"I've had the most wonderful time in all my life," dreamily replied Molly.

"With the best yet to come," added Mrs. See. "This is all very well for the men, but it's the dance where a girl shines."

With that remark there came flashing back to Molly the strange thoughts and sensations roused by her last customer at the booth. Ought she not tell Mrs. See about this young man? Molly was inherently honest and she knew she should, but she was also in conflict with feelings new to her, and most confusing. She would wait. What would Mrs. See and Mrs. Price think of her if they knew she had promised dances to a stranger who had not even told her his name? That omission had not even occurred to Molly until now. All during the service at the booth she had been most careful of her tongue, and then the very last young man had made her forget herself and what was due her hostesses. Molly could not understand it. He had sort of carried her away. Still, he had not been bold like some of the cowboys, or flirtatious like others. At least she did not think so.

But then she might have been wrong. The trouble was he had surprised her into liking him. No doubt of that! Who was he and what had troubled him and how had he been about licked, as he called it? Would it be possible for any young fellow to be so clever and so deceitful as to make up all that? Molly was startled. She had known boys to do queer tricks. But she loyally defended this one who had found her weak. He was as honest as he was nice.

Here Molly got down to the point where he had become so undisguisedly interested in the fact that she did not have a best fellow. There had been a soft, almost mischievous light in his gray eyes. Could he have meant that he would like to be her best fellow? Molly burned within and without. The tumultuous fact was that he could be her only fellow, if he wanted to be. And she was ashamed and shocked to confess it. What had good Mrs. See brought upon her?

This perturbing state of mind got side-tracked again at the hotel, from which there was a general exodus of ranchers who lived near town. Molly was thrown in contact with women whom the Sees knew. And at dinner they sat with friends, so that Molly was not able to think for herself, until she got to her room. There anticipation and delight assailed her again, into which crept a dread of what she knew not.

Then she spread the white gown and accessories out on the bed, to revel in them, and forget the proximity of catastrophe. The following hour was one of exultation and dismay combined. She fixed her hair this way and that, never satisfied. It was an apparition which stared wide-eyed at her from the mirror. Who was this girl? Her arms and shoulders were bare. She could not get over the feeling of being still undressed.

When Mrs. See came in, to exclaim in raptures over her, then Molly's last vestige of sense went into eclipse. She needed to be scolded and reminded that she was only Molly Dunn of the Cibeque, instead of being lauded to the skies, and told not one of the society girls at St. Louis, where Mrs.

See had once been, could hold a candle to her.

"Upon your haid be it!" murmured Molly, tragically.

And so they went out to the dance, which was held in the town-hall a few blocks from the hotel. They walked, and Molly trod on air. Never in her life had she felt anything like her sensations when she walked through the crowd before the hall, between lines of men and women, children, Indians, and then at the entrance, before a phalanx of polished-faced cowboys. Whatever happened, she would have that to remember.

Inside there was a goodly assembly, among whom were Mrs. Price, her daughter Ellen, and an awkward son about Molly's age. They at once appropriated Molly, and this perhaps was the time of greatest strain for her. It was scarcely necessary, however, for Molly to remember Mrs. See's injunctions. She scarcely had a voice at all. Fortunately, she was too little and dainty to be clumsy, and shyness only added to her charm.

There was a good deal of standing around, talking and waiting, with introductions in order, while slowly the hall filled comfortably. Then the music began, and it was not a fiddle sawed by a backwoodsman, but real music, and Molly could have danced in leaden boots.

Waltzes and square dances, with the former in large proportion, were to be the programme. Molly's first partner was the Price boy, who could not dance very well, but that did not spoil it for her. It developed that intermissions were frequent, but brief. The young people clamoured to dance. They would let the old folk sit and look on and talk. Molly had the next dance with a friend of Ellen's, a young man of the town, very pleasant and attentive, and a good dancer. And the third with Mr. Price himself, who declared he would allow nothing to prevent him having a dance with Molly. She enjoyed it, too, for he was light on his feet and full of fun.

All this while, which seemed interminable despite her enjoyment, Molly knew there was something amiss. The dance had really begun and she was there. Everywhere she turned she met smiles and admiring glances. They bewildered her. Yet she was keen to note that this was no wild, continuous, stamping log-cabin dance. Hilarity prevailed, but not boisterousness. She wondered if there would be any drinking and fights. A dance without these would be new to Molly.

Then, after the fourth, when she was standing with a group near the entrance of the hall, she saw Him. She felt herself tremble. He wore black and looked tall and slim. His eager eyes, dark with excitement, swept the hall. Molly knew what they were searching for. She had never wanted anything so badly as for him to see her, yet she was afraid. He did see her. His smile and bow came before he had time to look her over.

Then Molly's cup grew perilously full. But what would he do? She was standing with Ellen Price and her friends. Suppose this stranger would present himself! Molly thought she might pretend to have forgotten his name; then if he had any sense he could save the situation for her. To her relief, however, he did not approach.

The music burst forth again and another partner claimed Molly. But even in the whirling throng she did not lose sight of this young man whom she had promised dances. Now and then as she turned she saw him leaning against the wall. Met his dark glance! It followed her everywhere. He did not dance. He did not mingle with the crowd. During the next intermission she saw that he was noticed by girls, who whispered to one another, and by cowboys who gave him rather contemptuous looks. Both actions struck Molly singularly. In some sense he seemed an outsider or else he did not choose to make himself agreeable. The meaning of feminine glances sent his way was not lost upon Molly. And when she, too, dared to glance his way, to find him watching her, she would quickly avert her eyes. She realized that he hopefully and reasonably expected her to give him an opportunity.

At the end of the next number, which Molly had with young Price, she claimed to be a little tired and wanted to sit down. They found a vacant place, where they conversed for the brief interval.

"Shall I take you across to mother?" asked young Price.

"No, thanks. I'll wait here for my next partner," replied Molly. graciously.

"Excuse me, then," he returned, and left her.

Molly hoped her stranger would be quick. But she had scarcely prepared herself for his sudden arrival.

"Is this mine?" he asked, bending over her eagerly.

"Yes," murmured Molly, rising.

Then he whirled her into the throng. His presence did not quite make her oblivious to his strong arm, his light step, his perfect time. But instantly Molly realized she did not need to help this young man learn his steps.

"I was afraid you'd forgotten me," he said, pressing her hand. "Don't talk," returned Molly.

He laughed and obeyed her. Molly's head came about to his shoulder and she just escaped contact with it. Not that she wished to! She felt that her face must be burning and she would have liked to hide it there. She did not seem to be making any effort to dance. Yet she was whirling, swaying, gliding around among dancers who looked vague and dim. All the threatened feelings accumulated during the last two days took possession of her now.

The music ceased when they were at the farther end of the hall. "Come Let's get out before some of them grab you," he said. "I must talk to you."

Chapter
FOUR

He led her out through a corridor to a long porch, high up over a garden.

It appeared deserted and shadowy. There was moonlight at the corner and just at the edge of it a bench. He found a seat for her there.

"You look perfectly lovely," he said, expelling a deep breath, as if in relief. "I just didn't know you."

"You--you don't know me, anyhow," returned Molly, not knowing what to say.

"Nor you me. But at first I thought you did. It sure was jolly. To think I almost didn't ride to town!"

"That would have been terrible, wouldn't it?" murmured Molly. She could not remain silent. He seemed to draw expression from her.

"It sure would. But I don't want to tell you about myself, now. I want to talk about you."

"An' I'd rather not."

"Aren't we mysterious?" He took her hand and held it.

Molly did not have the desire to withdraw it, nor the strength. But she managed to look up. How pale and eager he was! His eyes devoured her. And his face wore an ineffable smile.

"'All's fair in love and war,'" he said. "And I rustled you away from them"--he indicated the distant dance-hall by an eloquent gesture--"to have a minute with you alone."

Molly's presagement that something was going to happen to her was near its fulfilment.

"There's a strange thing about you--a lack I can't understand," he went on.

"What--do you mean?" faltered Molly. Had he found her out already?

"Oh, it's the most wonderful thing for me. I mean about the--the lack of that best fellow you said you didn't have. How does it happen? Sure you're only sixteen. But that's quite grown up in this country. Have you a fierce father or brother?"

"You bet I have. Both!" replied Molly, with a little laugh. She was sure of her ground here.

"Then that accounts. I'm glad. I was afraid of something else... Very well, I make application for the vacant place."

"Place?" echoed Molly, weakly.

"Yes. I most earnestly apply for the job of being your best fellow."

"Oh, you--you can't be serious!" exclaimed Molly, in confusion.

"Serious? I'm afraid it is," he said, running a hand through his hair.

"You don't know me. And I haven't any recommendations. But I'd like you to take me on without these."