Part 11 (1/2)
Typically Western, she thought, that in their second meeting he should act like an old friend. Delightfully Western, too! Under his straight-glancing eyes, his open smile of pleasure, new confidence came in Marianne, new self-reliance. The grip of his hand sent strength up her arm and into her heart.
”I'd given you up,” she admitted.
”Mighty sorry it took so long,” said Perris. ”You see, I was right in the middle of a little poker game that hung on uncommon long. But when it finished up, me and Shorty come as fast as we could. Eh, Shorty?”
”Huh!” grunted Shorty. Marianne looked to her messenger for the first time.
He sat his saddle loosely, one hand falling heavily on the pommel, and his head bent. He did not raise it to meet her glance, but rolled his eyes up in a gloomy scowl which flitted over her face and then came to a rest on the face of Red Jim Perris. A frown of weariness puckered the brow of Shorty. Purple, bruised places of sleeplessness surrounded his eyes. And every line of age or worry or labor was graven more deeply on his face.
”Huh!” grunted Shorty again, mumbling his words very much like a drunkard. ”I've killed my Mamie hoss, that's all!”
And with this gloomy retort, he urged the mare to a down-headed trot. In fact, the staunch little brown mare staggered on tired legs and her sides heaved like bellows. The grey horse of Red Jim Perris was in hardly better condition.
”I wanted you quickly,” said Marianne, a little horrified. ”But I didn't ask you to kill your horses coming.”
”Kill 'em?” said Perris, and he cast a sharp glance of disapproval at her. ”Not much! That hoss of mine is a pile f.a.gged. I aim to get her that way. But she'll be fit as a fiddle in the morning. I ride her till she's through and never a step more. I know the minute she's through working on muscle and starts working on her nerve, and when that time comes, I stop. I've put up in the middle of nowheres to let her get back her wind. Kill her? Nope, lady, and the only reason Shorty's hoss was so used up was because he plumb insisted on keeping up with us!”
And Marianne nodded. Ordinarily such a speech would have drawn argument from her. Indeed, her own submissiveness startled her as she found herself gently inviting the fire eater to come into the house and learn in detail the work which lay before him.
CHAPTER XII
FROM THE HIP
Shorty rode for the bunkhouse instead of the corrals and tumbling out of the saddle he staggered through the door. Inside, the cowpunchers sat about enjoying a before-dinner smoke and the coolness which the evening wash had brought to their wind-parched skins. Shorty reeled through the midst of them to his bunk and collapsed upon it.
Not a man stirred. Not an eye followed him. No matter what curiosity was burning in their vitals, etiquette demanded that they ask no questions.
If in no other wise, the Indian has left his stamp on the country in the manners of the Western riders.
In the meantime, Shorty lay on his back with his arms flung out crosswise, his eyes closed, his breath expelled with a moan and drawn in with a rattle.
”Slim!” he called at length.
Slim raised his little freckled face which was supported by a neck of uncanny length, and he blinked unconcernedly at his bunkie. He and Shorty were inseparable companions.
”Take the saddle off my horse and put 'er up,” groaned Shorty. ”I'm dead beat!”
”Maybe you been chasing Perris on foot,” observed Lew Hervey. Direct questions were still not in order, but often a man could be taunted into speech.
”d.a.m.n Perris and d.a.m.n him black,” retorted Shorty, opening his eyes with a snap and letting a glance blaze into s.p.a.ce. ”Of all the leather-skinned, mule-muscled, wrong-headed gents I ever seen he's the outlastingest.”
”You sure got your vocabulary all warmed up,” observed Little Joe, so-called because of two hundred pounds of iron-hard sinew and muscle.
Slim was wandering towards the door to execute his mission, but he kept his head c.o.c.ked towards his prostrated friend to learn as much as possible before he left. ”Which I disremember,” went on Little Joe thoughtfully, ”of you ever putting so many words together without cussing. Perris must of give you some Bible study down to Glosterville.”
It brought Shorty up on one bulging elbow and he glared at Little Joe.
”Bible?” snorted Shorty. ”His idea of a Bible is fifty-two cards and a joker. He does his praying with one foot on a footrail.”
”He'll sure fit in fine here,” drawled Little Joe. ”What with a girl for our boss and a hired hoss-catcher, none of us being good enough to take the job, we-all will get a mighty fine rep around these parts. You done yourself proud bringing him up here, Shorty.”