Part 39 (1/2)

For a second he rode with his arm outstretched as if gauging the distance, then Helene grew rigid as she saw him leave the saddle.

He made it--barely. The gap was so big that it seemed as if it were not humanly possible more than to touch the short mane on the animal's neck with his finger-tips. But he clung somehow, his feet and body dragging, while the steer's speed increased rather than slackened. First with one hand and then the other he worked his way to a grip on the horns, which was what he wanted.

The steer stopped to fight him. Its feet ploughed up the dirt as it braced them to resist him. Then they struggled. The steer was a big one, raw-boned, leggy, a typical old-time long-horn of the Texas ranges, and now in fear and rage it put forth all the strength of which it was capable.

With his teeth grinding, Wallie fought it in desperation, trying to give the twist that drops the animal. Its breath in his face, the froth from its mouth blinded him, but still he clung while it threw him this and that way. He himself never knew where his strength came from. Suddenly the steer fell heavily and the two lay panting together.

Helene drew the back of her hand across her eyes and brushed away the tears that blurred her vision, while a lump rose in her throat too big to swallow. ”Gentle Annie” of The Colonial veranda, erstwhile authority on Battenburg and sweaters, had accomplished the most reckless of the dare-devil feats of the cow-country--he had ”bull-dogged” a steer from horseback!

CHAPTER XXI

”WORMAN! WORMAN!”

Business which had to do with the cache they had lifted from Tucker detained Pinkey in town longer than expected. He returned in the night and did not get up when the triangle jangled for breakfast. In fact, it was well into the forenoon when he appeared, only to learn that Miss Eyester had gone off with old Mr. Penrose to look at an eagle's nest.

”What did he do that for?” Pinkey demanded of Wallie.

”I presume he wanted her company,” Wallie replied, composedly, entertained by the ferocity of Pinkey's expression.

”Is he a dude or is he a duder that he has to go guidin' people to see sights they prob'ly don't want to look at?”

”She seemed willing enough to go,” Wallie answered.

Pinkey sneered:

”Mebbe I'd better git me a blue suit with bra.s.s b.u.t.tons and stand around and open gates and unsaddle fer 'em.”

Wallie regarded his partner calmly.

”Pinkey, you're _jealous_.”

”Jealous! Me jealous of an old Methuselah that don't know enough to make a mark in the road?” Unconsciously Pinkey's hand sought his eyebrows, as he laughed hollowly. ”Why, I could show her a barrel of eagles' nests! I know whur there's a coyote den with pups in it! I know whur there's a petrified tree and oceans of Injun arrer heads, if she'd jest waited.

But if anybody thinks I'm goin' to melt my boot-heels down taggin' a worman, they're mistaken!” Pinkey stamped off to the bunk-house and slammed the door behind him.

”Where's Pinkey?” The question was general when it was observed that his chair was vacant at dinner.

”Still reposing, I imagine,” Wallie answered, humorously.

Mrs. Budlong commented:

”A night ride like that must be very fatiguing.”

”Oh, very.” Wallie winked at himself figuratively, thinking that the 99 per cent. alcoholic content of one of Mr. Tucker's bottles undoubtedly accounted for his weariness.

”You are sure he's not ill?” inquired Miss Eyester. She had not enjoyed her revenge upon Pinkey, for going away without telling her, as much as she had antic.i.p.ated; besides, the eagle's nest turned out to be a crows'

nest with no birds in it, and that was disappointing.