A Man And His Job
: The Range BossJust what Ruth's sensations were the next morning she could not have
told. She could correctly analyze one emotion: it was eager anticipation.
Also, she could account for it--she wanted to see Randerson. But her
reason for wanting to see him was a mystery that she could not fathom,
though between the time of arising and the moment when she got downstairs
she devoted much thought to it. She knew she did not like Randerson well
enough to wish to see him merely on that account--that was ridiculous, in
spite of the vivid recollection of him that still lingered with her, for
she had met him only once, and she assured herself that she was too
practical-minded to fall in love with anyone at first sight. Yet by
afternoon Ruth had tired of waiting; she had no special reason for
certainty that Randerson would arrive that day, and so she went riding.
She went alone, for Masten seemed to have hidden himself--at least, she
could not find him. She rode to the break in the wall of the canyon that
he had told her about, found it, sent her pony through it and over a
shallow crossing, emerging at length in a tangle of undergrowth in a wood
through which wound a narrow bridle path. She followed this for some
distance, and after a while came to a clearing. A little adobe house
stood near the center of the clearing. Ruth halted her pony, and was
debating whether to call out or to ride boldly up, when a dog came out of
the door of the cabin, growling, its hair bristling belligerently. The
dog was big, black, and undoubtedly savage, for the pony instantly
wheeled, and when the dog came closer, lashed out with both hind hoofs at
it.
"Nig, you ol' duffer, git in hyeh where you b'long! Can't you see that
that there's a lady!" came a voice, unmistakably feminine. And the dog,
still growling, but submissive, drew off.
Ruth urged the pony on and rode the remaining distance to the door. A
girl, attired in a ragged underskirt and equally ragged waist of some
checkered material, and a faded house-apron that was many sizes too small
for her, stood in the open doorway, watching. She was bare-footed, her
hair was in tumbling disorder, though Ruth could tell that it had been
combed recently. But the legs, bare almost to the knees, were clean,
though brown from tan, and her face and arms glowed pink and spotless, in
spite of the rags. In her eyes, as she watched Ruth, was a strange
mixture of admiration and defiance.
"Dad ain't hyeh this mornin'," she volunteered as Ruth climbed off her
pony.
"I came to see you," said Ruth, smiling. She threw the reins over the
pony's head and advanced, holding out a hand. "I am Ruth Harkness," she
added, "the new owner of the Flying W. I have been here almost a month,
and I just heard that I had a neighbor. Wont you shake hands with me?"
"I reckon," said the girl. Reluctantly, it seemed, she allowed Ruth to
take her hand. But she drew it away immediately. "I've heard of you," she
said; "you're a niece of that ol' devil, Bill Harkness." She frowned. "He
was always sayin' dad was hookin' his doggoned cattle. Dad didn't steal
'em--ol' Bill Harkness was a liar!" Her eyes glowed fiercely. "I reckon
you'll be sayin' the same thing about dad."
"No indeed!" declared Ruth. "Your dad and I are going to be friends. I
want to be friends with you, too. I am not going to charge your dad with
stealing my cattle. We are going to be neighbors, and visit each other. I
want to know your dad, and I want you to come over to the Flying W and
get acquainted with my aunt and uncle. Aren't you going to invite me
inside? I would if you came to visit me, you know." She smiled winningly.
The girl flushed, and cast a glance at the interior of the cabin, which,
Ruth had already noted through the open door, was scantily furnished but
clean. Then the girl led the way in, motioned Ruth to a chair near a
rough-topped table, and stood over beside a cast-iron stove, her hands
hanging at her sides, the fingers crumpling the cloth of the ragged
apron. Her belligerence had departed; she seemed now to be beginning to
realize that this visit was really meant to honor her, and she grew
conscious of her rags, of the visible signs of poverty, of the visitor's
raiment, gorgeous in comparison with her own--though Ruth's was merely a
simple riding habit of brown corduroy.
Ruth had set out for this visit with a definite intention: she wanted to
discover just how the girl and her father lived, and if conditions were
as she suspected she was determined to help them. Conditions were worse
than she had expected, but her face gave no indication. Perhaps Ruth's
wisdom was not remarkable where men were concerned, but she had a wealth
of delicacy, understanding and sympathy where her own sex was in
question. She stayed at the cabin for more than an hour and at the end of
that time she emerged, smiling happily, her arm around the girl, with the
girl's pledge to visit her soon and an earnest invitation to come again.
Best of all, she had cleverly played upon the feminine instinct for fine
raiment, slyly mentioned a trunk that she had brought with her from the
East, packed to the top with substantial finery which was not in the
least needed by her--an incumbrance, rather--and which, she hinted, might
become the property of another, if suitable in size.
The girl followed her to the edge of the clearing, walking beside the
pony. There they took leave of each other, a glow in the eyes of both
that gave promise of future sincere friendship.
"Good-bye, Hagar," said the Flying W girl.
"Good-bye, lady," said the girl. "Ruth," she changed, as the Flying W
girl held up an admonishing finger. And then, with a last smile, Ruth
rode down the bridle path homeward, pleasure and pity mingling in her
eyes.
Randerson reached the Flying W ranchhouse late in the afternoon. He rode
first to the bunkhouse, and seeing nobody there he made a round of the
buildings. Still seeing no one, he urged Patches toward the house, halted
him at the edge of the front porch and sat in the saddle, looking at the
front door. He was about to call, when the door opened and Uncle Jepson
came out. There was a broad grin on Uncle Jepson's face.
"I cal'late you've got here," he said.
"Looks mighty like it," returned the horseman. "You reckon my new boss is
anywheres around?"
"She's gone off ridin'," Uncle Jepson told him. "It's likely she'll be
back shortly."
"I reckon I'd better wait," said Randerson. He wheeled Patches.
"There's plenty of sittin' room on the porch here," invited Uncle Jepson,
indicating the chairs.
"Thank you--reckon the bunkhouse will be my quarters."
He spoke to the pony. Uncle Jepson spoke at the same instant, and Patches
halted:
"I cal'late you'd better wait here."
"If you insist," said Randerson. He swung off and walked to the edge of
the porch, grinning mildly at Uncle Jepson. The handclasp between them
was warm, for Uncle Jepson had been strongly attracted to this son of the
plains; and the twinkle in Randerson's eyes as his met Uncle Jepson's was
not to be mistaken.
"So Vickers has gone," said Randerson as he dropped into a chair. "He's a
mighty fine man."
"Willard wanted Chavis to have his job," whispered Uncle Jepson.
"You don't say!" Randerson's eyes gleamed. "An' Miss Ruth didn't want
him, I reckon." He caught Uncle Jepson's nod. "She's allowin' that she's
goin' to be boss. But of course she would," he added. He stood up, for
Aunt Martha had opened the door and was standing in it, looking at him.
He removed his hat and bowed to her, his eyes gleaming with something
near affection, for Aunt Martha had found a place in his heart. He
stepped forward, took her hand, and escorted her to the largest and most
comfortable of the rockers on the porch, and when she sat down she looked
up at him and smiled.
"I reckon you like it here?" he said gently to Aunt Martha.
"I like it very much. But there are differences--after Poughkeepsie. One
doesn't notice them so much at first."
"I expect you find it sort of rough here," he said, looking at her. "They
tell me that in the East folks live pretty close together--that there's
conveniences. There ain't a heap of conveniences here." He pronounced the
word slowly and laboriously. It was plain that he was trying to put on
his best manners.
"No--no conveniences," said Aunt Martha. "But it's a wonderful country,
my boy--wonderful!"
A pulse of something shot through him at the word, "boy."
"I'm glad you like it," he said gravely.
Aunt Martha folded her hands in her lap and looked long at him over the
rims of her glasses. There was interest in her eyes, and kindliness. For
she saw something in this figure of a new type that sat before
her--something that the two big guns, at his hips did not hint at--nor
his leather chaps, the cartridge belt, the broad hat, the spurs, the
high-heeled boots, the colored scarf at his throat. These things were the
badges of his calling, and were, of course, indispensable, but she saw
them not. But the virile manhood of him; the indomitability; the quiet
fearlessness, indicated by his steady, serene eyes; the rugged, sterling
honesty that radiated from him, she saw--and admired. But above all she
saw the boy in him--the generous impulses that lay behind his mask of
grimness, the love of fun that she had seen him exhibit at Calamity.
"You were born here?" she asked.
"In Colfax, ma'am."
"Is that a city?"
"Bless yu', ma'am, no. It's a county."
"And you were born on a ranch, then."
"Yes, ma'am."
She was asking questions that a man would not have dared to ask him, and
he was answering them as a boy might have answered. It did not seem an
impertinence to him or to her, so great was her interest in him, so deep
was his admiration of her.
"And your parents?"
"Both dead, ma'am." A shadow crossed his face, a look of wistfulness, and
she abruptly ceased questioning. And when, a little later, they saw Ruth
coming across the plains toward them, Aunt Martha got up. He held the
screen door open for her, and she paused on the threshold and patted his
bare head.
"If I had had a son, I could have wished he would be like you," she said.
He blushed crimson. "Why, ma'am--" he began. But Aunt Martha had gone in,
and he turned to face Ruth, who was dismounting at the edge of the porch.
"Oh!" she said, as though his appearance had surprised her, though she
had seen him from afar, "you are here already!"
"I expect it's me, ma'am," he said gravely. "You see, Wes Vickers stopped
at the Diamond H last evenin', an' I come right over."
It was quite evident that he would not attempt to be familiar. No longer
was he the free lance rider of the plains who had been at liberty to
exchange words with her as suited his whim; here was the man who had been
given a job, and there stood his employer; he would not be likely to step
over that line, and his manner showed it.
"Well," she said, "I am glad you decided to come right away; we miss
Vickers already, and I have no doubt, according to his recommendation,
that you will be able to fill his place acceptably."
"Thank you, ma'am. I reckon I'm to take up my quarters in the bunkhouse?"
He paused. "Or mebbe the foreman's shanty?"
"Why," she said, looking at him and noting his grave earnestness, so
strikingly in contrast to his wild frolicksomeness at Calamity that day.
"Why, I don't know about that. Vickers stayed at the ranchhouse, and I
suppose you will stay here too."
"All right, ma'am; I'll be takin' my war-bag in." He was evidently
feeling a slight embarrassment, and would have been glad to retreat. He
got his war-bag from its place behind the saddle, on Patches, shouldered
it, and crossed the porch. He was opening the door when Ruth's voice
stopped him.
"Oh," she said, "your room. I forgot to tell you; it is the one in the
northwest corner."
"Thank you, ma'am." He went in.
"Come down when you have straightened around," she called to him, "I want
to talk with you about some things."
"I'll have to put Patches away, ma'am," he said, "I'd sure have to come
down, anyway."
That talk was held with Uncle Jepson looking on and listening and smoking
his pipe. And when it was over, Randerson took the saddle and bridle off
Patches, turned him loose in the corral and returned to the porch to talk
and smoke with Uncle Jepson.
While they sat the darkness came on, the kerosene lamp inside was
lighted, delicious odors floated out to them through the screen door.
Presently a horseman rode to the corral fence and dismounted.
"One of the boys, I reckon," said Randerson.
Uncle Jepson chuckled. "It's Willard," he said. He peered into
Randerson's face for some signs of emotion. There were none.
"I'd clean forgot him," said Randerson.
Masten came in a few minutes later. He spoke a few words to Uncle Jepson,
but ignored Randerson.
Supper was announced soon after Masten's entrance, and Uncle Jepson led
Randerson around to the rear porch, where he introduced him to a tin
washbasin and a roller towel. Uncle Jepson also partook of this luxury,
and then led the new range boss inside.
If Ruth had any secret dread over the inevitable meeting between Masten
and the new range boss, it must have been dispelled by Randerson's
manner, for he was perfectly polite to Masten, and by no word or sign did
he indicate that he remembered the incident of Calamity.
Ruth watched him covertly during the meal, and was delighted to find his
conduct faultless. He had not Masten's polish, of course, that was not to
be expected. But she noticed this--it was quickly impressed upon her--he
was not self-conscious, but entirely natural, possessing the easy grace
of movement that comes of perfect muscular and mental control. He seemed
to relegate self to the background; he was considerate, quiet, serene.
And last--the knowledge pleased her more than anything else--he continued
to keep between himself and the others the bars of deference; he made
them see plainly that there would be no overstepping his position. It was
his job to be here, and he had no illusions.
More
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At Calamity Crossing
Getting up the shoulder of the mesa was no easy job, but judging from the actions and appearance of wiry pony and rider it was a job that would be accomplished. For part of the distance, it is true, the man thought it best to dismount, drive the p... A Memory Of The Rider
A quiet satisfaction shone from Ruth's eyes when, accompanied by Aunt Martha and Uncle Jepson, she completed her inspection of the ranchhouse. "It isn't all that could be desired," she told Aunt Martha, "but it is better than I expected." "It... The Law Of The Primitive
Randerson continued his policy of not forcing himself upon Ruth. He went his way, silent, thoughtful, attending strictly to business. To Ruth, watching him when he least suspected it, it seemed that he had grown more grim and stern-looking since h... The Runaway Comes Home
Masten's note to Ruth contained merely the information that he was going to Lazette, and that possibly he might not return for two weeks. He hinted that he would probably be called upon to go to Santa Fe on business, but if so he would apprise her... The Sympathetic Rescuer
Halfway down the slope, the rider turned and saw that Willard and the occupants of the buckboard were watching him. The color in his cheeks grew deeper and his embarrassment increased, for he noted that the girl had faced squarely around toward hi... Two Are Taught Lessons
There was one other thing that Ruth did not know--the rage that dwelt in Randerson's heart against Chavis and Kester. He had shown no indication of it when she had related to him the story of her adventure with the men, nor did he mention it to an... How An Insult Was Avenged
As the days passed, it became plain to Ruth, as it did to everyone else on the ranch--Chavis, Pickett, and Masten included--that Vickers had not talked extravagantly in recommending Randerson. Uncle Jepson declared that "he took right a-hold," and... Ready Gun And Clean Heart
Uncle Jepson understood the cow-punchers because he understood human nature, and because he had a strain of the wild in him that had been retained since his youth. Their simplicity, their directness, had been his own; their frankness and generosit... What Uncle Jepson Heard
Every detail of the killing of Jim Pickett remained vivid in Ruth's recollection. She felt that she would never forget it. But her horror gradually abated, and at the end of a week she was able to look at Randerson without shuddering. During the w... The Rock And The Moonlight
Randerson did not leave the scene of the fight immediately. He stood for a long time, after buckling on his belt and pistols, looking meditatively toward the break in the canyon beyond which was Catherson's shack. "Did the dresses have anything ... Somethin's Gone Out Of Them
As Randerson rode Patches through the break in the canyon wall in the afternoon of a day about a week after his talk with Uncle Jepson in the bunkhouse, he was thinking of the visit he intended to make. He had delayed it long. He had not seen Abe ... Into Which A Girl's Trouble Comes
Uncle Jepson and Aunt Martha had not seen Masten when he had visited Ruth, for they had gone in the buckboard to Red Rock. And Masten had departed when they reached home. Nor did they see Ruth after they arrived, for she had gone to bed. But at th... The Fight
At about the time that Chavis and Kester had discovered Ruth's pony and had clambered up the slope in search of the girl, the two figures on the timber-fringed level near the break in the canyon wall were making grotesque shadows as they danced ab... Hagar's Eyes
Randerson had been in no hurry to make an attempt to catch the rustlers whose depredations he had reported to Ruth. He had told the men to be doubly alert to their work, and he had hired two new men--from the Diamond H--to replace those who had le... One Too Many
To no man in the outfit did Randerson whisper a word concerning the result of his visit to the ranchhouse--that he would cease to be the Flying W range boss just as soon as Ruth Harkness could find a man to replace him. He went his way, thoughtful... The Rustlers
At about the time Randerson was crossing the river near the point where the path leading to Catherson's shack joined the Lazette trail, Ruth Harkness was loping her pony rapidly toward him. They passed each other within a mile, but both were uncon... The Target
Earlier in the morning, Ruth had watched Uncle Jepson and Aunt Martha ride away in the buckboard toward Lazette. She had stood on the porch, following them with her eyes until the buckboard had grown dim in her vision--a mere speck crawling over a... At The Flying W
It fell to Uncle Jepson to hitch the blacks to the buckboard--in a frigid silence Masten had found his trunk, opened it and drawn out some very necessary dry clothing; then marching behind a thick clump of alder, he proceeded to make the change. A... Love Vs Business
On Sunday afternoon Ruth, Masten, Aunt Martha, and Uncle Jepson were sitting on the front porch of the Flying W ranchhouse. Ruth was reading and thinking--thinking most of the time, the book lying open in her lap. Masten was smoking a cigar--one o... A Man And His Job
Just what Ruth's sensations were the next morning she could not have told. She could correctly analyze one emotion: it was eager anticipation. Also, she could account for it--she wanted to see Randerson. But her reason for wanting to see him was a... The Gunfighter
Red Owen, foreman of the Flying W in place of Tom Chavis, resigned, was stretched out on his blanket, his head propped up with an arm, looking at the lazy, licking flames of the campfire. He was whispering to Bud Taylor, named by Randerson to do d... A Man Is Born Again
The meeting between Catherson and Randerson had taken the edge off Catherson's frenzy, but it had not shaken his determination. He had been in the grip of an insane wrath when he had gone to see the Flying W range boss. His passions had ruled him,... Dave Porter's Past
"What do you think of that, fellows?" asked Roger, as he concluded the reading of the letter. "I am not surprised," answered Dave. "Now that Merwell finds he can't show himself where he is known, he must be very bitter in mind." "I thought he... The Bubble Dreams
Loping his pony through the golden haze of the afternoon, Randerson came over the plains toward the Flying W ranchhouse, tingling with anticipation. The still small voice to which he had listened in the days before Ruth's coming had not lied to hi... The Landslide Mine
"Roger, that sounds like a fairy tale--a real gold mine belonging to your mother lost through a landslide!" "So it does sound like a fairy tale, Dave; but it is absolutely true. The mine was owned by my uncle, Maurice Harrison, of Butte, Montana... 0n The Snow-trail
Aline had passed into the house, moved by an instinct which shrank from publicity in the inevitable personal meeting between her and her husband. Now, Harley, with the cavalier nod of dismissal, which only a multimillionaire can afford, followed her... A Band Of Guerrillas
Madeline bolted the door, and, flying into the kitchen, she told the scared servants to shut themselves in. Then she ran to her own rooms. It was only a matter of a few moments for her to close and bar the heavy shutters, yet even as she was fasteni... A Bargain
Melissy saw the two prisoners brought in, though she could not tell at that distance who they were. Her watch told her that it was four-thirty. She had slept scarcely at all during the night, but now she lay down on the bed in her clothes. The ... A Bargain With Peg-leg
"Hey, youse!" shouted the car-boy. He brought his trundling, jolting, loose-jointed car to a halt by the face of the drift. "Hey, youse!" he shouted again. Bunt shut off the Burly air-drill and nodded. "Chaw," he remarked to me. We clamber... A Bear Trap
The winding trail led up to the scrub pines and from there north into the hills. Curly had not traveled far when he heard the sound of a gun fired three times in quick succession. He stopped to listen. Presently there came a faint far call for hel... A Bit Of Paper
Good Indian came out upon the rim-rock, looked down upon the ranch beneath him, and knew, by various little movements about the place, that breakfast was not yet ready. Gene was carrying two pails of milk to the house, and Wally and Jack were wateri... A Blizzard
Moya found in Goldbanks much to interest her. Its helter-skelter streets following the line of least resistance, its slapdash buildings, the scarred hillsides dotted with red shaft-houses beneath which straggled slate-colored dumps like long beard... A Bluff Is Called
Torpid lay Aravaipa in a coma of sunheat. Its adobe-lined streets basked in the white glare of an Arizona spring at midday. One or two Papago Indians, with their pottery wares, squatted in the shade of the buildings, but otherwise the plaza was dese... A Bound Boy's Story
With the horses gone beyond recapture, Big Pete must needs depend on his own legs if he meant to escape. The constable's party could not be far behind, and with the boy, whose throat he clutched, to point the way in which he had gone, when the off... A Branch Road
I "Keep the main-travelled road till you come to a branch leading off-keep to the right." IN the windless September dawn a voice went singing, a man's voice, singing a cheap and common air. Yet something in the elan of it all told he was you... A Buckshot Greeting
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That night the wire across the mountains to Prescott was long alive with news, and there was little rest for operator, adjutant, or commanding officer at Sandy. Colonel Byrne, it seems, had lost telegraphic touch with his chief, who, quitting Camp... A Capture
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The flag at Camp Sandy drooped from the peak. Except by order it never hung halfway. The flag at the agency fluttered no higher than the cross-trees, telling that Death had loved some shining mark and had not sued in vain. Under this symbol of mou... A Change Of Base
Stratton staggered back against the wall and leaned there, panting. All his strength had gone out in that last terrific blow, and for a space he seemed incapable of movement. At length, conscious of a warm, moist trickle on his chin, he raised one... A Clean Up
A slight accident occurred at the jail, one so unimportant that Scanlan the jailer did not think it worth reporting to his chief. Blackwell, while eating, knocked a glass from the table and broke it on the cement floor of his cell. There is a lege... A Clean White Man's Option
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Tucked away in an obscure corner of the same issue of the papers which announced the resignation of Lyndon Hobart as manager of the Consolidated properties, and the appointment of James K. Mott as his temporary successor, were little one-stick parag... A Conversation
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The largest tent of the Tasajara camp meeting was crowded to its utmost extent. The excitement of that dense mass was at its highest pitch. The Reverend Stephen Masterton, the single erect, passionate figure of that confused medley of kneeling wor... A Corner In Horses
It was dark night. The stay-herd bellowed frantically from one of the big corrals; the cow-and-calf-herd from a second. Already the remuda, driven in from the open plains, scattered about the thousand acres of pasture. Away from the conveniences ... A Crossed Trail
The tenderfoot rose from the ledge upon which he had been lying and stretched himself stiffly. The chill of the long night had set him shivering. His bones ached from the pressure of his body upon the rock where he had slept and waked and dozed ag... A Crusader And A Sign
It was the 4th of August, 1854, off Cape Corrientes. Morning was breaking over a heavy sea, and the closely-reefed topsails of a barque that ran before it bearing down upon the faint outline of the Mexican coast. Already the white peak of Colima s... A Cup Of Cold Water
The pursuers caught up with the Utes the third day out from Bear Cat. It was in the morning, shortly after they had broken camp, that Houck and Big Bill while scouting in advance of the troop jumped up an Indian out of the sagebrush. He made ac... A Dastard's Blow
At about the time when Rexhill was freeing Moran from his bonds, Wade and Santry, with rifles slung across their backs were tramping the banks of Piah Creek. In the rocky canyon, which they finally reached, the placid little stream narrowed into a... A Day's Pleasure
"Mainly it is long and weariful, and has a home o' toil at one end and a dull little town at the other." WHEN Markham came in from shoveling his last wagon-load of corn into the crib, he found that his wife had put the children to bed, and was kn... A Dead Man Walks
Harlan had paid strict attention to Lane Morgan's words at Sentinel Rock, and he remembered that Morgan had told him that his son, whom he had called "Bill," had left the Rancho Seco on some mission for the governor. Evidently it had not occurred ...