III. Sister and Brother
Then Madeline returned to the little parlor with the brother whom shehad hardly recognized.
"Majesty!" he exclaimed. "To think of your being here!"
The warmth stole back along her veins. She remembered how that pet namehad sounded from the lips of this brother who had given it to her.
"Alfred!"
Then his words of gladness at sight of her, his chagrin at not beingat the train to welcome her, were not so memorable of him as the way heclasped her, for he had held her that way the day he left home, and shehad not forgotten. But now he was so much taller and bigger, so dustyand strange and different and forceful, that she could scarcely thinkhim the same man. She even had a humorous thought that here was anothercowboy bullying her, and this time it was her brother.
"Dear old girl," he said, more calmly, as he let her go, "you haven'tchanged at all, except to grow lovelier. Only you're a woman now, andyou've fulfilled the name I gave you. God! how sight of you brings backhome! It seems a hundred years since I left. I missed you more than allthe rest."
Madeline seemed to feel with his every word that she was rememberinghim. She was so amazed at the change in him that she could not believeher eyes. She saw a bronzed, strong-jawed, eagle-eyed man, stalwart,superb of height, and, like the cowboys, belted, booted, spurred. Andthere was something hard as iron in his face that quivered with hiswords. It seemed that only in those moments when the hard lines brokeand softened could she see resemblance to the face she remembered. Itwas his manner, the tone of his voice, and the tricks of speechthat proved to her he was really Alfred. She had bidden good-by to adisgraced, disinherited, dissolute boy. Well she remembered the handsomepale face with its weakness and shadows and careless smile, with theever-present cigarette hanging between the lips. The years had passed,and now she saw him a man--the West had made him a man. And MadelineHammond felt a strong, passionate gladness and gratefulness, and adirect check to her suddenly inspired hatred of the West.
"Majesty, it was good of you to come. I'm all broken up. How did youever do it? But never mind that now. Tell me about that brother ofmine."
And Madeline told him, and then about their sister Helen. Question afterquestion he fired at her; and she told him of her mother; of AuntGrace, who had died a year ago; of his old friends, married, scattered,vanished. But she did not tell him of his father, for he did not ask.
Quite suddenly the rapid-fire questioning ceased; he choked, was silenta moment, and then burst into tears. It seemed to her that a long,stored-up bitterness was flooding away. It hurt her to see him--hurt hermore to hear him. And in the succeeding few moments she grew closer tohim than she had ever been in the past. Had her father and mother doneright by him? Her pulse stirred with unwonted quickness. She did notspeak, but she kissed him, which, for her, was an indication of unusualfeeling. And when he recovered command over his emotions he made noreference to his breakdown, nor did she. But that scene struck deepinto Madeline Hammond's heart. Through it she saw what he had lost andgained.
"Alfred, why did you not answer my last letters?" asked Madeline. "I hadnot heard from you for two years."
"So long? How time flies! Well, things went bad with me about the lasttime I heard from you. I always intended to write some day, but I neverdid."
"Things went wrong? Tell me."
"Majesty, you mustn't worry yourself with my troubles. I want you toenjoy your stay and not be bothered with my difficulties."
"Please tell me. I suspected something had gone wrong. That is partlywhy I decided to come out."
"All right; if you must know," he began; and it seemed to Madeline thatthere was a gladness in his decision to unburden himself. "You rememberall about my little ranch, and that for a while I did well raisingstock? I wrote you all that. Majesty, a man makes enemies anywhere.Perhaps an Eastern man in the West can make, if not so many, certainlymore bitter ones. At any rate, I made several. There was a cattleman,Ward by name--he's gone now--and he and I had trouble over cattle. Thatgave me a back-set. Pat Hawe, the sheriff here, has been instrumental inhurting my business. He's not so much of a rancher, but he has influenceat Santa Fe and El Paso and Douglas. I made an enemy of him. I never didanything to him. He hates Gene Stewart, and upon one occasion I spoileda little plot of his to get Gene in his clutches. The real reason forhis animosity toward me is that he loves Florence, and Florence is goingto marry me."
"Alfred!"
"What's the matter, Majesty? Didn't Florence impress you favorably?" heasked, with a keen glance.
"Why--yes, indeed. I like her. But I did not think of her in relationto you--that way. I am greatly surprised. Alfred, is she well born? Whatconnections?"
"Florence is just a girl of ordinary people. She was born in Kentucky,was brought up in Texas. My aristocratic and wealthy family wouldscorn--"
"Alfred, you are still a Hammond," said Madeline, with uplifted head.
Alfred laughed. "We won't quarrel, Majesty. I remember you, and in spiteof your pride you've got a heart. If you stay here a month you'll loveFlorence Kingsley. I want you to know she's had a great deal to dowith straightening me up.... Well, to go on with my story. There's DonCarlos, a Mexican rancher, and he's my worst enemy. For that matter,he's as bad an enemy of Bill Stillwell and other ranchers. Stillwell, bythe way, is my friend and one of the finest men on earth. I got in debtto Don Carlos before I knew he was so mean. In the first place I lostmoney at faro--I gambled some when I came West--and then I made unwisecattle deals. Don Carlos is a wily Greaser, he knows the ranges, hehas the water, and he is dishonest. So he outfigured me. And now I ampractically ruined. He has not gotten possession of my ranch, but that'sonly a matter of time, pending lawsuits at Santa Fe. At present I have afew hundred cattle running on Stillwell's range, and I am his foreman."
"Foreman?" queried Madeline.
"I am simply boss of Stillwell's cowboys, and right glad of my job."
Madeline was conscious of an inward burning. It required an effort forher to retain her outward tranquillity. Annoying consciousness she hadalso of the returning sense of new disturbing emotions. She began to seejust how walled in from unusual thought-provoking incident and sensationhad been her exclusive life.
"Cannot your property be reclaimed?" she asked. "How much do you owe?"
"Ten thousand dollars would clear me and give me another start. But,Majesty, in this country that's a good deal of money, and I haven't beenable to raise it. Stillwell's in worse shape than I am."
Madeline went over to Alfred and put her hands on his shoulders.
"We must not be in debt."
He stared at her as if her words had recalled something long forgotten.Then he smiled.
"How imperious you are! I'd forgotten just who my beautiful sisterreally is. Majesty, you're not going to ask me to take money from you?"
"I am."
"Well, I'll not do it. I never did, even when I was in college, and thenthere wasn't much beyond me."
"Listen, Alfred," she went on, earnestly, "this is entirely different.I had only an allowance then. You had no way to know that since I lastwrote you I had come into my inheritance from Aunt Grace. It was--well,that doesn't matter. Only, I haven't been able to spend half the income.It's mine. It's not father's money. You will make me very happy ifyou'll consent. Alfred, I'm so--so amazed at the change in you. I'mso happy. You must never take a backward step from now on. What is tenthousand dollars to me? Sometimes I spend that in a month. I throw moneyaway. If you let me help you it will be doing me good as well as you.Please, Alfred."
He kissed her, evidently surprised at her earnestness. And indeedMadeline was surprised herself. Once started, her speech had flowed.
"You always were the best of fellows, Majesty. And if you reallycare--if you really want to help me I'll be only too glad to accept. Itwill be fine. Florence will go wild. And that Greaser won't harass meany more. Majesty, pretty soon some titled fellow will be spending yourmoney; I may as well take a l
ittle before he gets it all," he finished,jokingly.
"What do you know about me?" she asked, lightly.
"More than you think. Even if we are lost out here in the woolly Westwe get news. Everybody knows about Anglesbury. And that Dago duke whochased you all over Europe, that Lord Castleton has the running now andseems about to win. How about it, Majesty?"
Madeline detected a hint that suggested scorn in his gay speech. Anddeep in his searching glance she saw a flame. She became thoughtful. Shehad forgotten Castleton, New York, society.
"Alfred," she began, seriously, "I don't believe any titled gentlemanwill ever spend my money, as you elegantly express it."
"I don't care for that. It's you!" he cried, passionately, and hegrasped her with a violence that startled her. He was white; his eyeswere now like fire. "You are so splendid--so wonderful. People calledyou the American Beauty, but you're more than that. You're the AmericanGirl! Majesty, marry no man unless you love him, and love an American.Stay away from Europe long enough to learn to know the men--the real menof your own country."
"Alfred, I'm afraid there are not always real men and real love forAmerican girls in international marriages. But Helen knows this. It'llbe her choice. She'll be miserable if she marries Anglesbury."
"It'll serve her just right," declared her brother. "Helen was alwayscrazy for glitter, adulation, fame. I'll gamble she never saw more ofAnglesbury than the gold and ribbons on his breast."
"I am sorry. Anglesbury is a gentleman; but it is the money he wanted, Ithink. Alfred, tell me how you came to know about me, 'way out here? Youmay be assured I was astonished to find that Miss Kingsley knew me asMajesty Hammond."
"I imagine it was a surprise," he replied, with a laugh, "I toldFlorence about you--gave her a picture of you. And, of course, being awoman, she showed the picture and talked. She's in love with you. Then,my dear sister, we do get New York papers out here occasionally, and wecan see and read. You may not be aware that you and your society friendsare objects of intense interest in the U. S. in general, and the West inparticular. The papers are full of you, and perhaps a lot of things younever did."
"That Mr. Stewart knew, too. He said, 'You're not Majesty Hammond?'"
"Never mind his impudence!" exclaimed Alfred; and then again he laughed."Gene is all right, only you've got to know him. I'll tell you what hedid. He got hold of one of those newspaper pictures of you--the onein the Times; he took it away from here, and in spite of Florence hewouldn't fetch it back. It was a picture of you in riding-habit withyour blue-ribbon horse, White Stockings--remember? It was taken atNewport. Well, Stewart tacked the picture up in his bunk-house and namedhis beautiful horse Majesty. All the cowboys knew it. They would seethe picture and tease him unmercifully. But he didn't care. One day Ihappened to drop in on him and found him just recovering from a carouse.I saw the picture, too, and I said to him, 'Gene, if my sister knew youwere a drunkard she'd not be proud of having her picture stuck up inyour room.' Majesty, he did not touch a drop for a month, and when hedid drink again he took the picture down, and he has never put it back."
Madeline smiled at her brother's amusement, but she did not reply. Shesimply could not adjust herself to these queer free Western' ways. Herbrother had eloquently pleaded for her to keep herself above a sordidand brilliant marriage, yet he not only allowed a cowboy to keep herpicture in his room, but actually spoke of her and used her name in atemperance lecture. Madeline just escaped feeling disgust. She was savedfrom this, however, by nothing less than her brother's naive gladnessthat through subtle suggestion Stewart had been persuaded to be good fora month. Something made up of Stewart's effrontery to her; of FlorenceKingsley meeting her, frankly as it were, as an equal; of the eldersister's slow, quiet, easy acceptance of this visitor who had beenhonored at the courts of royalty; of that faint hint of scorn inAlfred's voice, and his amused statement in regard to her pictureand the name Majesty--something made up of all these stung MadelineHammond's pride, alienated her for an instant, and then stimulated herintelligence, excited her interest, and made her resolve to learn alittle about this incomprehensible West.
"Majesty, I must run down to the siding," he said, consulting his watch."We're loading a shipment of cattle. I'll be back by supper-time andbring Stillwell with me. You'll like him. Give me the check for yourtrunk."
She went into the little bedroom and, taking up her bag, she got out anumber of checks.
"Six! Six trunks!" he exclaimed. "Well, I'm very glad you intend to stayawhile. Say, Majesty, it will take me as long to realize who you reallyare as it'll take to break you of being a tenderfoot. I hope you packeda riding-suit. If not you'll have to wear trousers! You'll have to dothat, anyway, when we go up in the mountains."
"No!"
"You sure will, as Florence says."
"We shall see about that. I don't know what's in the trunks. I neverpack anything. My dear brother, what do I have maids for?"
"How did it come that you didn't travel with a maid?"
"I wanted to be alone. But don't you worry. I shall be able to lookafter myself. I dare say it will be good for me."
She went to the gate with him.
"What a shaggy, dusty horse! He's wild, too. Do you let him stand thatway without being haltered? I should think he would run off."
"Tenderfoot! You'll be great fun, Majesty, especially for the cowboys."
"Oh, will I?" she asked, constrainedly.
"Yes, and in three days they will be fighting one another over you.That's going to worry me. Cowboys fall in love with a plain woman,an ugly woman, any woman, so long as she's young. And you! Good Lord!They'll go out of their heads."
"You are pleased to be facetious, Alfred. I think I have had quiteenough of cowboys, and I haven't been here twenty-four hours."
"Don't think too much of first impressions. That was my mistake when Iarrived here. Good-by. I'll go now. Better rest awhile. You look tired."
The horse started as Alfred put his foot in the stirrup and was runningwhen the rider slipped his leg over the saddle. Madeline watched him inadmiration. He seemed to be loosely fitted to the saddle, moving withthe horse.
"I suppose that's a cowboy's style. It pleases me," she said. "Howdifferent from the seat of Eastern riders!"
Then Madeline sat upon the porch and fell to interested observation ofher surrounding. Near at hand it was decidedly not prepossessing. Thestreet was deep in dust, and the cool wind whipped up little puffs. Thehouses along this street were all low, square, flat-roofed structuresmade of some kind of red cement. It occurred to her suddenly that thisbuilding-material must be the adobe she had read about. There was noperson in sight. The long street appeared to have no end, though theline of houses did not extend far. Once she heard a horse trotting atsome distance, and several times the ringing of a locomotive bell. Wherewere the mountains, wondered Madeline. Soon low over the house-roofs shesaw a dim, dark-blue, rugged outline. It seemed to charm her eyes andfix her gaze. She knew the Adirondacks, she had seen the Alps from thesummit of Mont Blanc, and had stood under the great black, white-tippedshadow of the Himalayas. But they had not drawn her as these remoteRockies. This dim horizon line boldly cutting the blue sky fascinatedher. Florence Kingsley's expression "beckoning mountains" returned toMadeline. She could not see or feel so much as that. Her impression wasrather that these mountains were aloof, unattainable, that if approachedthey would recede or vanish like the desert mirage.
Madeline went to her room, intending to rest awhile, and she fellasleep. She was aroused by Florence's knock and call.
"Miss Hammond, your brother has come back with Stillwell."
"Why, how I have slept!" exclaimed Madeline. "It's nearly six o'clock."
"I'm sure glad. You were tired. And the air here makes strangers sleepy.Come, we want you to meet old Bill. He calls himself the last of thecattlemen. He has lived in Texas and here all his life."
Madeline accompanied Florence to the porch. Her brother, who was sittingnear the door, jum
ped up and said:
"Hello, Majesty!" And as he put his arm around her he turned toward amassive man whose broad, craggy face began to ripple and wrinkle. "Iwant to introduce my friend Stillwell to you. Bill, this is my sister,the sister I've so often told you about--Majesty."
"Wal, wal, Al, this's the proudest meetin' of my life," repliedStillwell, in a booming voice. He extended a huge hand. "Miss--MissMajesty, sight of you is as welcome as the rain an' the flowers to anold desert cattleman."
Madeline greeted him, and it was all she could do to repress a cryat the way he crunched her hand in a grasp of iron. He was old,white-haired, weather-beaten, with long furrows down his checks and withgray eyes almost hidden in wrinkles. If he was smiling she fancied it amost extraordinary smile. The next instant she realized that it had beena smile, for his face appeared to stop rippling, the light died, andsuddenly it was like rudely chiseled stone. The quality of hardness shehad seen in Stewart was immeasurably intensified in this old man's face.
"Miss Majesty, it's plumb humiliatin' to all of us thet we wasn't onhand to meet you," Stillwell said. "Me an' Al stepped into the P. O.an' said a few mild an' cheerful things. Them messages ought to hev beensent out to the ranch. I'm sure afraid it was a bit unpleasant fer youlast night at the station."
"I was rather anxious at first and perhaps frightened," repliedMadeline.
"Wal, I'm some glad to tell you thet there's no man in these partsexcept your brother thet I'd as lief hev met you as Gene Stewart."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, an' thet's takin' into consideration Gene's weakness, too. I'mallus fond of sayin' of myself thet I'm the last of the old cattlemen.Wal, Stewart's not a native Westerner, but he's my pick of the last ofthe cowboys. Sure, he's young, but he's the last of the old style--thepicturesque--an' chivalrous, too, I make bold to say, Miss Majesty, aswell as the old hard-ridin' kind. Folks are down on Stewart. An' I'monly sayin' a good word for him because he is down, an' mebbe last nighthe might hev scared you, you bein' fresh from the East."
Madeline liked the old fellow for his loyalty to the cowboy he evidentlycared for; but as there did not seem anything for her to say, sheremained silent.
"Miss Majesty, the day of the cattleman is about over. An' the day ofthe cowboy, such as Gene Stewart, is over. There's no place for Gene. Ifthese weren't modern days he'd come near bein' a gun-man, same as wehad in Texas, when I ranched there in the 'seventies. But he can't fitnowhere now; he can't hold a job, an' he's goin' down."
"I am sorry to hear it," murmured Madeline. "But, Mr. Stillwell, aren'tthese modern days out here just a little wild--yet? The conductor onmy train told me of rebels, bandits, raiders. Then I have had otherimpressions of--well, that were wild enough for me."
"Wal, it's some more pleasant an' excitin' these days than for manyyears," replied Stillwell. "The boys hev took to packin' guns again. Butthet's owin' to the revolution in Mexico. There's goin' to be troublealong the border. I reckon people in the East don't know there is arevolution. Wal, Madero will oust Diaz, an' then some other rebel willoust Madero. It means trouble on the border an' across the border, too.I wouldn't wonder if Uncle Sam hed to get a hand in the game. There'salready been holdups on the railroads an' raids along the Rio GrandeValley. An' these little towns are full of Greasers, all disturbed bythe fightin' down in Mexico. We've been hevin' shootin'-scrapes an'knifin'-scrapes, an' some cattle-raidin'. I hev been losin' a few cattleright along. Reminds me of old times; an' pretty soon if it doesn'tstop, I'll take the old-time way to stop it."
"Yes, indeed, Majesty," put in Alfred, "you have hit upon an interestingtime to visit us."
"Wal, thet sure 'pears to be so," rejoined Stillwell. "Stewart got introuble down heah to-day, an' I'm more than sorry to hev to tell youthet your name figgered in it. But I couldn't blame him, fer I surewould hev done the same myself."
"That so?" queried Alfred, laughing. "Well, tell us about it."
Madeline simply gazed at her brother, and, though he seemed amused ather consternation, there was mortification in his face.
It required no great perspicuity, Madeline thought, to see thatStillwell loved to talk, and the way he squared himself and spread hishuge hands over his knees suggested that he meant to do this opportunityjustice.
"Miss Majesty, I reckon, bein' as you're in the West now, thet you musttake things as they come, an' mind each thing a little less than the onebefore. If we old fellers hedn't been thet way we'd never hev lasted.
"Last night wasn't particular bad, ratin' with some other nights lately.There wasn't much doin'. But, I had a hard knock. Yesterday when westarted in with a bunch of cattle I sent one of my cowboys, Danny Mains,along ahead, carryin' money I hed to pay off hands an' my bills, an' Iwanted thet money to get in town before dark. Wal, Danny was held up.I don't distrust the lad. There's been strange Greasers in town lately,an' mebbe they knew about the money comin'.
"Wal, when I arrived with the cattle I was some put to it to make endsmeet. An' to-day I wasn't in no angelic humor. When I hed my businessall done I went around pokin' my nose beak an' there, tryin' to getscent of thet money. An' I happened in at a hall we hev thet does dutyfer' jail an' hospital an' election-post an' what not. Wal, just thenit was doin' duty as a hospital. Last night was fiesta night--theseGreasers hev a fiesta every week or so--an' one Greaser who hed been badhurt was layin' in the hall, where he hed been fetched from the station.Somebody hed sent off to Douglas fer a doctor, but be hedn't come yet.I've hed some experience with gunshot wounds, an' I looked thisfeller over. He wasn't shot up much, but I thought there was danger ofblood-poison-in'. Anyway, I did all I could.
"The hall was full of cowboys, ranchers, Greasers, miners, an' townfolks, along with some strangers. I was about to get started up this waywhen Pat Hawe come in.
"Pat he's the sheriff. I reckon, Miss Majesty, thet sheriffs are new toyou, an' fer sake of the West I'll explain to you thet we don't hev manyof the real thing any more. Garrett, who killed Billy the Kid an' waskilled himself near a year or so ago--he was the kind of sheriff thethelps to make a self-respectin' country. But this Pat Hawe--wal, Ireckon there's no good in me sayin' what I think of him. He come intothe hall, an' he was roarin' about things. He was goin' to arrest DannyMains on sight. Wal, I jest polite-like told Pat thet the money was minean' he needn't get riled about it. An' if I wanted to trail the thiefI reckon I could do it as well as anybody. Pat howled thet law was law,an' he was goin' to lay down the law. Sure it 'peared to me thet Pat wasdaid set to arrest the first man he could find excuse to.
"Then he cooled down a bit an' was askin' questions about the woundedGreaser when Gene Stewart come in. Whenever Pat an' Gene come togetherit reminds me of the early days back in the 'seventies. Jest naturallyeverybody shut up. Fer Pat hates Gene, an' I reckon Gene ain't verysweet on Pat. They're jest natural foes in the first place, an' then thecourse of events here in El Cajon has been aggravatin'.
"'Hello, Stewart! You're the feller I'm lookin' fer,' said Pat.
"Stewart eyed him an' said, mighty cool an' sarcastic, 'Hawe, you look agood deal fer me when I'm hittin' up the dust the other way.'
"Pat went red at thet, but he held in. 'Say, Stewart, you-all think alot of thet roan horse of yourn, with the aristocratic name?'
"'I reckon I do,' replied Gene, shortly.
"'Wal, where is he?'
"'Thet's none of your business, Hawe.'
"'Oho! it ain't, hey? Wal, I guess I can make it my business. Stewart,there was some queer goings-on last night thet you know somethin' about.Danny Mains robbed--Stillwell's money gone--your roan horse gone--thetlittle hussy Bonita gone--an' this Greaser near gone, too. Now, seein'thet you was up late an' prowlin' round the station where this Greaserwas found, it ain't onreasonable to think you might know how he gotplugged--is it?'
"Stewart laughed kind of cold, an' he rolled a cigarette, all the timeeyin' Pat, an' then he said if he'd plugged the Greaser it 'd never hevbeen sich a bunglin' job.
"'I can ar
rest you on suspicion, Stewart, but before I go thet farI want some evidence. I want to round up Danny Mains an' thet littleGreaser girl. I want to find out what's become of your hoss. You'venever lent him since you hed him, an' there ain't enough raiders acrossthe border to steal him from you. It's got a queer look--thet hoss bein'gone.'
"'You sure are a swell detective, Hawe, an' I wish you a heap of luck,'replied Stewart.
"Thet 'peared to nettle Pat beyond bounds, an' he stamped around an'swore. Then he had an idea. It jest stuck out all over him, an' he shookhis finger in Stewart's face.
"'You was drunk last night?'
"Stewart never batted an eye.
"'You met some woman on Number Eight, didn't you?' shouted Hawe.
"'I met a lady,' replied Stewart, quiet an' menacin' like.
"'You met Al Hammond's sister, an' you took her up to Kingsley's. An'cinch this, my cowboy cavalier, I'm goin' up there an' ask this granddame some questions, an' if she's as close-mouthed as you are I'llarrest her!'
"Gene Stewart turned white. I fer one expected to see him jump likelightnin', as he does when he's riled sudden. But he was calm an' he wasthinkin' hard. Presently he said:
"'Pat, thet's a fool idee, an' if you do the trick it'll hurt you allthe rest of your life. There's absolutely no reason to frighten MissHammond. An' tryin' to arrest her would be such a damned outrage aswon't be stood fer in El Cajon. If you're sore on me send me to jail.I'll go. If you want to hurt Al Hammond, go an' do it some man kind ofway. Don't take your spite out on us by insultin' a lady who has comehyar to hev a little visit. We're bad enough without bein' low-down asGreasers.'
"It was a long talk for Gene, an' I was as surprised as the rest of thefellers. Think of Gene Stewart talkin' soft an' sweet to thet red-eyedcoyote of a sheriff! An' Pat, he looked so devilishly gleeful thetif somethin' about Gene hedn't held me tight I'd hev got in the gamemy-self. It was plain to me an' others who spoke of it afterwards thetPat Hawe hed forgotten the law an' the officer in the man an' his hate.
"'I'm a-goin', an' I'm a-goin' right now!' he shouted. "An' after thetany one could hev heerd a clock tick a mile off. Stewart seemed kindof chokin', an' he seemed to hev been bewildered by the idee of Hawe'sconfrontin' you.
"An' finally he burst out: 'But, man, think who it is! It's MissHammond! If you seen her, even if you was locoed or drunk, you--youcouldn't do it.'
"'Couldn't I? Wal, I'll show you damn quick. What do I care who she is?Them swell Eastern women--I've heerd of them. They're not so much. ThisHammond woman--'
"Suddenly Hawe shut up, an' with his red mug turnin' green he went forhis gun."
Stillwell paused in his narrative to get breath, and he wiped his moistbrow. And now his face began to lose its cragginess. It changed, itsoftened, it rippled and wrinkled, and all that strange mobility focusedand shone in a wonderful smile.
"An' then, Miss Majesty, then there was somethin' happened. Stewart tookPat's gun away from him and throwed it on the floor. An' what followedwas beautiful. Sure it was the beautifulest sight I ever seen. Only itwas over so soon! A little while after, when the doctor came, he hedanother patient besides the wounded Greaser, an' he said thet this newone would require about four months to be up an' around cheerful-likeagain. An' Gene Stewart hed hit the trail for the border."