The Lawless West (4 page)

“Boys, don’t all talk at once. I can dance with only
one of you at a time. So I’ll take you in alphabetical order. I’m a poor old schoolmarm from Missouri. It’ll be Andy, Nevada, Panhandle, and Tex.”

Despite their protests she held rigidly to this rule. Each one of the cowboys took shameless advantage of his opportunity. Outrageously as they all hugged her, Tex was the worst offender. She tried to stop dancing, but he carried her along as if she had been a child. He was rapt, and yet there seemed a devil in him.

“Tex…how dare you,” panted Jane, when at last the dance ended.

“Wal, I reckon I’d aboot dare anythin’ for you, Jane,” he replied, towering over her.

“You ought to be…ashamed,” went on Jane. “I’ll not dance with you again.”

“Aw, now,” he pleaded.

“I won’t, Tex…so there. You’re no gentleman.”

“Ahuh!” he ejaculated, drawing himself up stiffly. “All right, I’ll go out an’ get drunk, an’, when I come back, I’ll clean out this heah hall.”

“Tex! Don’t go,” she called hurriedly as he started to stride away. “I’ll take that back. I will give you another dance…if you promise to…to behave.”

Then she got rid of him, and was carried off by Mrs. Hartwell to be introduced to ranchers and their wives, to girls and their escorts. She found herself a center of admiring eyes. She promised more dances than she could remember or keep.

Her new partner was a tall handsome cowboy named Jones. She did not know quite what to make of him. But he was an unusually good dancer, and he did not hold her so that she had difficulty in breathing. He talked all the time. He was witty and engaging, and he had a most subtly flattering
tongue. Jane could not fail to grasp that he might even be worse than Tex, but at least he did not make love to her with physical violence. She enjoyed that dance and admitted the singular forceful charm about this Mr. Jones. If he was a little too bold of glance and somehow primitively assured and debonair, she passed it by in the excitement and joy of the hour, and in the certainty that she was now a long way from Missouri. Jones demanded rather than begged for another dance, and, although she laughingly explained her predicament in regard to partners, he said he would come after her anyhow.

Then followed several dances with new partners, between which Jane became more than ever the center of attraction. It all went to her head like wine. She was having a perfectly wonderful time. Jones claimed her again, in fact whirled her out on the floor, and it seemed then that the irresistible rush of the dancers was similar to her sensations. Twice again before the supper hour at midnight she found herself dancing with Jones. How he managed it she did not know. He just took her, carried her off by storm. Jane did not awaken to this unpardonable conduct of hers until she discovered that a little while before she had promised Tex his second dance, and then she had given it to Jones, or at least had danced it with him. What could she do when he walked right off with her? It was a glimpse of Tex’s face, as she was being whirled round in Jones’s arms, that filled Jane with remorse.

Then came the supper hour. It was a gala occasion, for which evidently the children had heroically kept awake. Jane enjoyed the children immensely. She sat with the numerous Hartwells, all of whom were most kindly attentive to her. Jane wondered
why Mr. Springer did not put in an appearance, but considered his absence due to numerous duties.

When the supper hour ended and the people were stirring about the hall, and the men were tuning up, Jane caught sight of Andy. He looked rather pale and sick. Jane tried to catch his eye, but failing that she went to him.

“Andy, please find Tex for me. I owe him a dance, and I’ll give him the very first, unless Mister Springer comes for it.”

Andy regarded her with an aloofness totally new to her.

“Wal, I’ll tell him. But I reckon Tex ain’t presentable just now. All of us are through dancin’ tonight.”

“What’s happened?” queried Jane, swift to divine trouble.

“There’s been a little fight.”

“Oh, no!” cried Jane. “Who? What?…Andy, tell me.”

“Wal, when you cut Tex’s dance for Beady Jones, you sure put our outfit in bad,” replied Andy coldly. “At thet there wouldn’t have been anythin’ come of it here if Beady Jones hadn’t got to shootin’ off his chin. Tex slapped his face an’ thet sure started a fight. Beady licked Tex, too, I’m sorry to say. He’s a pretty bad customer, Beady is, an’ he’s bigger’n Tex. Wal, we had a hell of a time keepin’ Nevada out of it. Thet would have been a uneven fight. I’d like to have seen it. But we kept them apart till Springer come out. An’ what the boss said to thet outfit was sure aplenty. Beady Jones kept talkin’ back, nasty like…you know he was once foreman for us…till Springer got good an’ mad. An’ he said…‘Jones, I fired you once because you was a little too slick for our outfit, an’ I’ll tell you this, if it comes to a pinch,
I’ll give you the damnedest thrashin’ any smart-aleck cowboy ever got!’ Gee, the boss was riled. It sort of surprised me, an’ tickled me pink. You can bet that shut Beady Jones’s loud mouth.”

After that rather lengthy speech Andy left her unceremoniously standing there alone. She was not alone long, but it was long enough for her to feel bitter dissatisfaction with herself.

Jane looked for Springer, hoping yet fearing he would come to her. But he did not. She had another uninterrupted dizzy round of dancing until her strength failed. At four o’clock she was scarcely able to walk. Her pretty dress was torn and mussed; her white stockings were no longer white; her slippers were worn ragged. And her feet were dead. From that time she sat with Mrs. Hartwell looking on, and trying to keep awake. The wonderful dance, that had begun so promisingly, had ended sadly for her.

At length the exodus began, although Jane did not see any dancers leaving. She went out with the Hartwells, to be received by Springer, who had evidently made arrangements for their leaving. He was decidedly cool to Jane.

All through the long ride out to the ranch he never addressed her or looked toward her. Daylight came, cold and gray to Jane. She felt crushed.

Springer’s sister and the matronly housekeeper were waiting for them, with cheery welcome, and invitation to a hot breakfast.

Presently Jane found herself momentarily alone with the rancher.

“Miss Stacey,” he said, in a voice she had never heard, “your flirtin’ with Beady Jones made trouble for the Springer outfit.”

“Mister Springer!” she exclaimed, her head going up.

“Excuse me,” he returned, in cutting dry tone that recalled Tex. Indeed, this Westerner was a cowboy, the same as those who rode for him, only a little older, and therefore more reserved and careful of speech. “If it wasn’t that…then you were much taken with Mister Beady Jones.”

“If that was anybody’s business, it might have appeared so,” she retorted, tingling all over with some feeling she could not control.

“Sure. But are you denyin’ it?” he queried soberly, eying her with grave wonder and disapproval. It was this more than his question that roused hot anger and contrariness in Jane.

“I admired Mister Jones very much,” replied Jane. “He was a splendid dancer. He did not maul me like a bear. I really had a chance to breathe during my dances with him. Then, too, he could talk.”

Springer bowed with dignity. His dark face paled. It began to dawn upon Jane that there was something intense in the moment. She began to repent of her hasty pride.

“Thanks,” he said. “Please excuse my impertinence. I see you have found your Mister Frank Owens in this cowboy Jones, an’ it sure is not my place to say any more.”

“But…but…Mister Springer…,” faltered Jane, quite unstrung by that amazing speech. The rancher, however, bowed again, and left her. Jane felt too miserable and weary for anything but rest. She went to her room, and, flinging off her hateful finery, she crawled into bed, a very perplexed and distraught young woman.

About mid-afternoon Jane awakened greatly refreshed and relieved and strangely repentant. She dressed prettily and went out, not quite sure of or satisfied with herself. She walked up and down the long porch of the ranch house, gazing out over the purple range, on to the black belt of forest up the mountains. How beautiful this Arizona! She loved it. Could she ever go away? The thought reposed, to stay before her consciousness. She invaded the kitchen, where the matronly housekeeper, who was fond of her, gave her wild-turkey sandwiches and cookies and sweet rich milk. While Jane mitigated her hunger, the woman gossiped about the cowboys and Springer; and the information she imparted renewed Jane’s concern.

From the kitchen Jane went out into the courtyard, and naturally, as always, gravitated toward the corrals and barns. Springer appeared, in company with a rancher Jane did not know. She expected Springer to stop her for a few pleasant words as he always did. This time, however, he merely touched his sombrero and passed on. Jane felt the incident almost as a slight. It hurt her.

Then she went on down the lane, very thoughtful. A cloud had appeared above the horizon of her happy life there at the Springer Ranch. The lane opened out into the wide square, around which were the gates to corrals, entrances to barns, the forge, granaries, and the commodious bunkhouse of the cowboys.

Jane’s sharp eyes caught sight of the boys before they espied her. And when she looked up again, every lithe back was turned. They allowed her to pass without any apparent knowledge of her existence.
This was unprecedented. It offended Jane bitterly. She knew she was unreasonable, but could not or would not help it. She strolled on down to the pasture gate, and watched the colts and calves. Upon her return, she passed closer to the cowboys. But again they apparently did not see her. Jane added resentment to her wounded vanity and pride. Yet even then a still small voice tormented. She went back to her room, meaning to read or sew, or do schoolwork. But instead she cried.

Springer did not put in an appearance at the dinner table, and that was the last straw for Jane. She realized she had made a mess of her wonderful opportunity there. But those stupid fiery cowboys! This sensitive Westerner! How could she know how to take them? The worst of it was that she was genuinely fond of the cowboys. And as for the rancher—her mind seemed vague and unreliable about him, but she said she hated him.

Next day was Sunday. Heretofore every Sunday had been a full day for Jane. This one bade fair to be empty. Company came as usual, neighbors from nearby ranches. The cowboys were off duty and other cowboys visited them.

Jane’s attention was attracted by sight of a superb horseman riding up the lane to the ranch house. He seemed familiar, but she could not place him. What a picture he made as he dismounted, slick and shiny, booted and spurred, to doff his huge sombrero. Jane heard him ask for Miss Stacey. Then she recognized him. Beady Jones! She was a once horrified, and something else she could not name. She remembered now he had asked if he might call Sunday and she had certainly not refused. But for him to come after the fight with Tex and the bitter scene with
Springer! It seemed an unparalleled affront. What manner of man was this cowboy Jones? He certainly did not lack courage. But more to the point—what idea had he of her? Jane rose to the occasion. She had let herself in for this, and she would see it through, come what might. Looming disaster stimulated her. She would show these indifferent, deceitful, fire-spirited, incomprehensible cowboys. She would let Springer see she, indeed, had taken Beady Jones for Mr. Frank Owens.

To that end Jane made her way down the porch to greet her cowboy visitor. She made herself charming and gracious, and carried off the embarrassing situation—for Springer was present—as if it were perfectly natural. And she led Jones to one of the rustic benches down the porch.

Jane meant to gauge him speedily, if that were possible. While she made conversation, she brought to bear all that she possessed of intuition and discernment, now especially excited. The situation here was easy for her.

Naturally Jones resembled the cowboys she knew. The same range and life had developed him. But he lacked certain things she liked so much in Tex and Nevada. He was a superb animal. She had reluctantly to admire his cool easy boldness in a situation certainly perilous for him. But then he had reasoned, of course, that she would be his protection. She did not fail to note that he carried a gun, inside his embroidered vest.

Manifest, indeed, was it that young Jones felt he had made a conquest. He was the most forceful and bold person Jane had ever met, quite incapable of appreciating her as a lady. Soon he waxed ardent. Jane was accustomed to the sentimental talk of cowboys,
but this fellow was neither amusing nor interesting. He was dangerous. When Jane pulled her hand, by main force, free from his, and said she was not accustomed to allow men such privileges, he grinned at her like a handsome devil.

“Sure, sweetheart, you have missed a heap of fun,” he said. “An’ I reckon I’ll have to break you in.”

Jane could not feel insulted at this brazen lout, but she certainly raged at herself. Her instant impulse was to excuse herself and abruptly leave him. But Springer was close by. She had caught his dark wandering covert glances. And the cowboys were at the other end of the long porch. Jane feared another fight. She had brought this upon herself, and she must stick it out. The ensuing hour was an increasing torment. At last it seemed she could not bear the false situation any longer, and, when Jones again importuned her to meet him out on horseback she stooped to deception to end the interview. She really did not concentrate her attention on his plan or take stock of what she’d agreed to, but she got rid of him with lax dignity before Springer and the others. After that, she did not have the courage to stay out and face them. How bitterly she had disappointed the rancher! Jane stole off to the darkness and loneliness of her room. There, however, she was not above peeping out from behind her window-blind at the cowboys. They had grown immeasurably in her estimation. Alas! No doubt they were through with the little tenderfoot schoolmarm from Missouri.