Part 20 (2/2)
”Smart's nothin',” observed Mr. McLean.
”Pete has learned me and Sidney a lot,” pursued Billy, engagingly.
”I'll bet he has!” growled the cow-puncher; and again Billy was taken aback at his language.
It was not so simple, this case. To the perturbed mind of Mr. McLean it grew less simple during that day at Golden, while Billy recovered, and talked, and ate his innocent meals. The cow-puncher was far too wise to think for a single moment of restoring the runaway to his debauched and s.h.i.+ftless parents. Possessed of some imagination, he went through a scene in which he appeared at the Lusk threshold with Billy and forgiveness, and intruded upon a conjugal a.s.sault and battery. ”Shucks!”
said he. ”The kid would be off again inside a week. And I don't want him there, anyway.”
Denver, upon the following day, saw the little bootblack again at his corner, with his trade not lost; but near him stood a tall, singular man, with hazel eyes and a sulky expression. And citizens during that week noticed, as a new sight in the streets, the tall man and the little boy walking together. Sometimes they would be in shops. The boy seemed as happy as possible, talking constantly, while the man seldom said a word, and his face was serious.
Upon New-year's Eve Governor Barker was overtaken by Mr. McLean riding a horse up Hill Street, Cheyenne.
”h.e.l.lo!” said Barker, staring humorously through his gla.s.ses. ”Have a good drunk?”
”Changed my mind,” said Lin, grinning. ”Proves I've got one. Struck Christmas all right, though.”
”Who's your friend?” inquired his Excellency.
”This is Mister Billy Lusk. Him and me have agreed that towns ain't nice to live in. If Judge Henry's foreman and his wife won't board him at Sunk Creek--why, I'll fix it somehow.”
The cow-puncher and his Responsibility rode on together toward the open plain.
”Sufferin Moses!” remarked his Excellency.
SEPAR'S VIGILANTE
We had fallen half asleep, my pony and I, as we went jogging and jogging through the long sunny afternoon. Our hills of yesterday were a pale-blue coast sunk almost away behind us, and ahead our goal lay s.h.i.+ning, a little island of houses in this quiet mid-ocean of sage-brush. For two hours it had looked as clear and near as now, rising into sight across the huge dead calm and sinking while we travelled our undulating, imperceptible miles. The train had come and gone invisibly, except for its slow pillar of smoke I had watched move westward against Wyoming's stainless sky. Though I was still far off, the water-tank and other buildings stood out plain and complete to my eyes, like children's blocks arranged and forgotten on the floor. So I rode along, hypnotized by the sameness of the lazy, splendid plain, and almost unaware of the distant rider, till, suddenly, he was close and hailing me.
”They've caved!” he shouted.
”Who?” I cried, thus awakened.
”Ah, the fool company,” said he, quieting his voice as he drew near.
”They've shed their haughtiness,” he added, confidingly, as if I must know all about it.
”Where did they learn that wisdom?” I asked, not knowing in the least.
”Experience,” he called over his shoulder (for already we had met and pa.s.sed); ”nothing like experience for sweating the fat off the brain.”
He yelled me a brotherly good-bye, and I am sorry never to have known more of him, for I incline to value any stranger so joyous. But now I waked the pony and trotted briskly, surmising as to the company and its haughtiness. I had been viewing my destination across the sagebrush for so spun-out a time that (as constantly in Wyoming journeys) the emotion of arrival had evaporated long before the event, and I welcomed employment for my otherwise high-and-dry mind. Probably he meant the railroad company; certainly something large had happened. Even as I dismounted at the platform another hilarious cow-puncher came out of the station, and, at once remarking, ”They're going to leave us alone,”
sprang on his horse and galloped to the corrals down the line, where some cattle were being loaded into a train. I went inside for my mail, and here were four more cow-punchers playing with the agent. They had got a letter away from him, and he wore his daily look of anxiety to appreciate the jests of these rollicking people. ”Read it!” they said to me; and I did read the private doc.u.ment, and learned that the railroad was going to waive its right to enforce law and order here, and would trust to Separ's good feeling. ”Nothing more,” the letter ran, ”will be done about the initial outrage or the subsequent vandalisms. We shall pa.s.s over our wasted outlay in the hope that a policy of friends.h.i.+p will prove our genuine desire to benefit that section.
”'Initial outrage,'” quoted one of the agent' large playmates. ”Ain't they furgivin'?”
”Well,” said I, ”you would have some name for it yourself if you sent a deputy sheriff to look after your rights, and he came back tied to the cow-catcher!”
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