The Westerners, Page 2

  II

  THE WOMAN

  Barely had the dust of the half-breed's sudden departure sifted fromthe air, when Buckley arose and announced his intention of "taking alittle look round." He was gone two hours, and returned looking solemnand earnest. Billy and Alfred were cooking things over a small fire.Buckley spat in a propitiatory manner toward seven small bushes, andconversationally informed the northwest corner of the canvas top on anearby schooner that he, Jim Buckley, had decided to take along a woman.

  Billy and Alfred thereupon spilled the coffee, and could not believetheir ears.

  "She's goin', if I have to take her by myself," Buckley concluded. Andthen Alfred and Billy looked up into his face, and saw that he was inearnest.

  Alfred turned pink and wriggled the bacon, trying immediately to thinkhow he was going to make the best of this. It did not look easy.

  Billy Knapp exploded.

  "You go to hell!" was his method of objection.

  "She goes," repeated Jim, with even greater quietness of manner. "An'if you-all don' like it, why, jest say so. I quits. You got to haveher, if you have me."

  "I'd jest like to know why," complained Billy, a little sobered at thisthreat.

  Whereupon Jim found himself utterly at a loss. He had not thought asfar as that. He suddenly appreciated the logical weakness of hisposition; but then, again, intuitively, he realized more subtly itsstrength. So he said not a word, but arose lightly, and brought untothem the woman herself.

  She was a sweet little woman, with deep, trusting blue eyes, and sheaccompanied Jim without a thought of the opposition she had excited.Jim merely told her she was to meet the other two men. She intendedonly to show her appreciation of their kindness.

  She approached the fire, and assumed her most gracious manner.

  "I want to thank you both, as well as Mr. Buckley, for being so good tome," she began, with real feeling. "I know how hard it is for you totake me just now, and I appreciate it more than I can say. I don'tknow what we would have done. You need not be afraid that we shall bemuch trouble, for we will all be brave, and not murmur. Your goodnesshas made me very happy, and I am going to pray to God for youto-night," said the little Puritan with simple reverence. It meant agreat deal to her.

  Alfred, as usual, was wrigglingly shy. Billy Knapp several timesopened his mouth to object, but somehow closed it slowly each timewithout having objected. The woman saw. She thought it meant that herpresence embarrassed them both, so with true tact she wished them agentle good-night, and went away.

  The three looked at one another.

  "Well?" asked Jim defiantly.

  Billy coughed. He spat in the fire. He exploded. "Damn it! Shegoes!" he roared with the voice of a bull.

  They both looked expectantly toward Alfred. Alfred nodded his head.He was wondering how long it had been since anyone had prayed for him.

  "Thar is a man with her," remarked Jim, after a moment's silence."He's a tenderfoot. And a kid. The kid has blue eyes, too," he addedirrelevantly.

  "The camp'll be mighty riled," put in Alfred.

  "Let's go see the tenderfoot," suggested the practical Billy.

  They dropped everything, and went over to the "hotel," where theyviewed the woman's husband at a safe distance. He was a slight, bentman, with near-sighted eyes behind thick spectacles, straight, lighthair, and a peering, abstracted expression of countenance. He wore arather shiny frock coat.

  "Gee Christmas!" ejaculated Billy, and laughed loudly.

  Alfred shook his head.

  Jim looked grave.

  They returned to camp, and began to discuss the question of ways andmeans. There would surely be trouble when the affair became known.The inclusion of a tenderfoot from Chicago, on account of his pintoteam, had almost resulted in a riot of the rejected. Not one of thethree was fatuous enough to imagine for a moment that Jack Snowie, forinstance, who had been refused because he wanted to take his wife,would exactly rejoice over the scouts' decision. In fact, Jack had arather well-developed sense of injustice, and a summary method ofshowing it. And he was by no means alone.

  Jim agreed to transport the three in his schooner, which was one pointwell settled. Billy suggested at least a dozen absurd methods ofkeeping the camp in ignorance until the start had actually been made,each one of which was laughed to scorn by the practical Jim.

  "She might put on men's clothes," he concluded desperately.

  "For the love of God, what for?" inquired Jim. "Stick to sense, Billy.Besides, there's the kid."

  Billy tried once more.

  "They might meet us 'bout a hundred mile out. He could take Jim'sschooner, here, and mosey out nor'-west, and then jest nat'rally pickus up after we gets good and started. That way, the camp thinks hepalavers with Jim and us to get a schooner, and maybe they thinks Jimis a damn fool a whole lot, but Jim don't mind that; do you, Jim?"

  "No, I don't mind that," said Jim, "but yore scheme's no good."

  "Why?"

  "He wouldn't get ten mile before somebody'd hold him up and lift hisschooner off him. They's a raft of bad men jest layin' fer a chancelike that to turn road agent."

  Billy turned a slow brick-red, and got up suddenly, overturning thecoffee-pot. A dozen strides brought him to the camp of the Tennesseeoutfit. There he raised his voice to concert pitch.

  "We aims to pull out day arter to-morrow," he bellowed. "We also aimsto take with us two tenderfeet, a woman, and a kid. Them that hasobjections can go to the devil."

  So saying, he turned abruptly on his heel and returned to his friends.Jim whistled; but Alfred smiled softly, and began to recap the nipplesof his old-fashioned Colt's revolvers. Alfred was at that time thebest shot with a six-shooter in the middle West.

  Seeing this, Billy's frown relaxed into a grin.

  "I'm thinkin' that them that does object probably will go to thedevil," said he.

  In half an hour the news was all over camp. When Michail Lafond heardof it, he left his dinner half eaten and went out to talk earnestly toa great variety of people.