Part 6 (1/2)
”Your pa never told me where, but I heerd afterward that he hit Hardman's trail an' went to western New Mexico. Marco is the name of the place. New country up there. Gold an' silver minin', some cattle outfits goin' in, an lately I heerd of some big wild-hoss deals on.”
”Well,” exclaimed Pan, in profound amaze and sorrow at this news.
”It's a wide-open frontier place, all right,” declared Campbell. ”Some cowpuncher rode through here an' talked about Marco. He said they stepped high, wide an' handsome up there.”
”Why did Dad go?” asked Pan in wonder.
”Reckon I couldn't say fer sure. But he was sore at Hardman, an' the funny thing is he wasn't sore till some time after Hardman left these parts. Mebbe he learned somethin'. An' you can learn whatever it was if you hunt up them ranchers who once got stung by Hardman.”
”Ah-uh!” muttered Pan, thoughtfully. ”Don't know as I care to learn.
Dad will tell me.... Jim Blake, now, what become of him?”
”Jim, a while back, I reckon some years though after you left home, was foreman for Hardman's outfit. An' he went to Marco first. Reckon Hardman sent him up there to scout around.”
”Did Jim take his family along?” inquired Pan, pondering.
”No. But they left soon after. In fact, now I tax myself, several homesteaders from hereabouts went. There's a boom over west, Pan, an'
this here country is gettin' crowded.”
”Marco. How do you get there?”
”Wal, it's on the old road to Californy.”
Pan went to the seclusion of his room, and there in the dark, sleepless, he knew the pangs of remorse. Without realizing the flight of years, always meaning to return home, to help father, mother, little sister, to take up again with his never-forgotten Lucy--he had allowed the wild life of the range to hold him too long. Excuses were futile.
Suppose he had failed to save money--suppose he had become numbered among those whom his old schoolteacher had called ”bad cowboys”!
Pride, neglect, love of the range and new country, new adventure had kept him from doing his duty by his parents. That hour was indeed dark and shameful for Panhandle Smith. Instead of drowning his grief in drink, as would have been natural for a cowboy, he let it work its will upon him. He deserved the pangs of self-reproach, the futile wondering, the revived memories that roused longings stronger than that which had turned him on the homeward trail.
Next day Pan sold his outfit except the few belongings he cherished, and boarded a west-bound stage. Once on the way he recovered from his brooding mood and gradually awakened to the fact that he was riding to a new country, a new adventure--the biggest of his life--in which he must make amends to his mother, and to Lucy. Quite naturally he included Lucy in the little circle of beloved ones--Lucy, whom he had deserted for the open range, for pitching horses and running steers, for the dust and turmoil of the roundup, for the long day ride and the lonely night watch, for the gaming table, the bottle, the gun--for all that made life so thrilling to the American cowboy.
Riding by stage was not new to Pan, though he had never before taken more than a day's journey. The stage driver, Jim Wells, was an old-timer. He had been a pony-express rider, miner, teamster and freighter, and now, grizzled and scarred he liked to perch upon the driver's seat of the stage, chew tobacco and talk. His keen eyes took Pan's measure in one glance.
”Pitch your bag up, cowboy, an' climb aboard,” he said. ”An' what might your handle be?”
”Panhandle Smith,” replied Pan nonchalantly, ”late of Sycamore Bend.”
”Wal, now, whar'd I hear thet name? I got a plumb good memory fer names an' faces. 'Pears I heerd thet name in Cheyenne, last summer....
I got it. Cowpuncher named Panhandle rode down street draggin' a bolt of red calico thet unwound an' stampeded all the hosses. Might thet lad have happened to be you?”
”I reckon it might,” replied Pan, with a grin. ”But if you know any more about me keep it under your sombrero, old-timer.”
”Haw! Haw!” roared Wells, slapping his knee. ”By golly, I will if I can. There's a funny old lady inside what's powerful afeerd of bandits, an' there's a gurl. I seen her takin' in your size an' spurs, an' thet gun you pack sort of comfortable like. An' there's a gambler, too, if I ever seen one. Reckon I'm agoin' to enjoy this ride.”
After the next stop, where the travelers got dinner, Pan returned to the stage to find a young lady perched upon the driver's seat. She had serious gray eyes and pale cheeks.
”I took your seat,” she said, shyly, ”but there's enough room.”
”Thanks, I'll ride inside,” replied Pan.
”But if you don't sit here--someone else might--and I--he--” she faltered, flus.h.i.+ng a little.