The Ramblin\' Kid - Earl Wayland Bowman
THE RAMBLIN' KID
BY EARL WAYLAND BOWMAN
FRONTISPIECE BY W.H.D. KOERNER
1920
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I A NIGHT LETTER
II A BLUFF CALLED
III WHICH ONE'S WHICH
IV THE UNUSED PLATE
V A DUEL OF ENDURANCE
VI YOU'RE A BRUTE
VII THE GREEDY SANDS
VIII QUICK WITH A VENGEANCE
IX OLD HECK'S STRATEGY
X FIXING FIXERS
XI A DANCE AND A RIDE
XII YOU'LL GET YOUR WISH
XIII THE ELITE AMUSEMENT PARLOR
XIV THE GRAND PARADE
XV MOCHA AND JAVA
XVI THE SWEEPSTAKES
XVII OLD HECK GOES TO TOWN
XVIII A SHAME TO WASTE IT
XIX THE GREEK GETS HIS
XX MOSTLY SKINNY
XXI A GIRL LIKE YOU
THE RAMBLIN' KID
CHAPTER I
A NIGHT LETTER
Sand and gravel slithered and slid under the heels of Old Pie Face as
Skinny Rawlins whirled the broncho into the open space in front of the
low-built, sprawling, adobe ranch house of the Quarter Circle KT and
reined the pinto to a sudden stop. Skinny had been to Eagle Butte and
with other things brought back the mail. It was hot, late June, the time
between cutting the first crop of alfalfa and gathering, from the open
range, the beef steers ready for the summer market. Regardless of the
heat Skinny had ridden hard and his horse was a lather of sweat. A
number of cowboys lounged, indolently, in the shade of the bunk-house,
smoking cigarettes and contentedly enjoying the hour of rest after the
noon-day dinner. Another, lean-built, slender, boyish in appearance and
with strangely black, inscrutable eyes, stepped from around the corner
of the house as Skinny jerked Old Pie Face to a standstill.
"Where's Old Heck?" Skinny asked excitedly. "I brought the mail--here,
take it to him!"
The other, known on the Kiowa and the range of western Texas and Mexico
only as "the Ramblin' Kid," strolled leisurely out through the sagging,
weight-swung gate and up to the panting horse from which Skinny had not
yet dismounted.
"Asleep, I reckon," he replied in a voice peculiarly low and deliberate,
"--what's your spontaneousness about? You act like a special d'livery or
somethin'."
"Old Heck's got a letter," Skinny said, jerkily; "maybe's it's bad news
an' he ought to have it quick," as the Ramblin' Kid reached for a yellow
envelope held in the outstretched hand.
At that instant Old Heck, owner and boss of the Quarter Circle KT cow
outfit, stepped from the shadow of the open ranch-house door. He was
short and stocky, red-faced, somewhere near the fifties, and a
yellowish-gray mustache hung over tobacco blackened lips. Overalls, a
checked blue and white shirt, open at the throat, boots into which the
trousers legs were loosely jammed comprised his attire. He was
bareheaded and the sun glistened on a wrinkly forehead, topped by a thin
sprinkling of hair.
"What's the matter?" he asked drowsily, his small, gray-blue eyes
blinking in the yellow sun-glare and still sluggish from the nap
disturbed by the noise of Skinny's arrival.
"Nothin'. Skinny's just got a letter an' is excited about it," the
Ramblin' Kid said, handing the envelope to him. "It's for you."
"My Gawd!" Old Heck exclaimed, "it's a telegram!"
The cowboys resting in the shade of the bunk-house rose to their feet,
sauntered over and surrounded Old Heck and the Ramblin' Kid, commenting
meanwhile, frankly and caustically, on the fagged condition of the
broncho Skinny was on:
"Must 'a' been scared, the way you run that horse," Parker, range
foreman of the Quarter Circle KT, a heavy-built, sandy-complexioned man
in the forties, remarked witheringly to Skinny as the cow-puncher
climbed from the saddle and slid to the ground.
"He's mine, I reckon," Skinny retorted, "an' I figure it's nobody's
darn' business how I ride him--anyhow I brought Old Heck a telegram!" he
added triumphantly.
"Blamed if he didn't!" Charley Saunders, with a trifle of awe, pretended
or real, in his tone, said. "It sure is!"
"My Gawd!" Old Heck repeated, slowly turning the envelope over in his
hand, "it's a telegram! Wonder what it's about?"
"Why don't you open it and see?" Parker suggested.
"Yes, open th' blamed thing and find out," Skinny encouraged.
"I--I've a notion to," Old Heck whispered.
"Go on and do it, it won't take but a minute," Charley Saunders
entreated.
"Maybe he's one of these mind-readers and can read it through the
envelope," Bert Lilly volunteered.
"Aw, shut up and give him a chance!"
Trembling, Old Heck tore open the envelope and silently read the
message.
"My Gawd!" he groaned again. "The worst has come to the worst!"
"That ought to make it middlin' bad," Charley remarked soberly.
"Ought to," Bert added sententiously.
Parker crowded forward on sympathy bent.
"Tell us what's in it," he said; "if it's sorrowful we'll be plumb glad
to condole!"
"It's worse than sorrowful--"
"Melancholical?" Skinny inquired.
"My Gawd!" Old Heck said again, his weatherworn features working
convulsively, "it's more than a mortal man can endure and stand!"
"Bet somebody's dead!" Bert whispered to the Ramblin' Kid.
"Probably. Most everybody gets to be sooner or later," was the answer
without emotion.
Sing Pete, Chinese cook for the outfit, dish-rag over his shoulder,
edged out of the kitchen door and shuffled around to the group.
Glimpsing the yellow slip of paper held in the shaking hand of Old Heck
and the awed interest of the cowboys gathered about the boss, he
queried:
"Teleglam?"
No answer.
"Teleglam? Maybe alle samee somebody sickee?" he continued, cheerfully
confident that questions enough would ultimately bring a reply. He was
rewarded:
"What do you know about 'teleglams'? You slant-eyed burner of
beef-steaks!"
"Who's it from?" Charley asked. "Anybody we know--"
"My Gawd," Old Heck mourned once more, "she's comin'!"
"Who's she?" Parker coaxed.
"A female," Old Heck replied, "she's a female!"
"The darned old cuss has had a wife sometime and run off from her and
deserted her and she's pursuing him and trailing him down to earth!"
Chuck Slithers, doubting Thomas of the outfit and student of Sherlock
Holmes, cunningly suggested. "I always imagined he was a varmint with a
past--a' ex-heart breaker of innocent women or a train-robber or--"
"Aw, hell," the Ramblin' Kid rebuked, "him have a wife? Don't insult th'
female population!"
"_Carramba!_" exclaimed Pedro Valencia, Mexican line-rider for the
Quarter Circle KT, "perhaps she will stick him with the dagger, or shoot
him with the gun when she arrive! The ladies with love kill quick when
the love is--what you call him?--the jilt?"
"And I'd almost forgot I ever had one!" Old Heck continued talking as if
to himself.
"What'd I tell you?" Chuck exulted.
"Shut up! He's confessin'--let him alone an' he'll get it out of his
conscience sooner or later!"
"Had a what?" Parker urged sympathetically. "Maybe you didn't have
one--maybe you only imagined you did!"
"Had a brother--anyhow a half a one--our mothers was the same but
different fathers on account of mine dyin' when I was little and his
marrying our mother again; we was playmates together in our innocent
childhood and infancy until I run away and went to sea and finally
anchored on the Kiowa and got to raisin' cattle--"
"Where does he come in at?" Parker questioned.
"He said it was a female, to start with," Skinny added.
"--and his name is Simeon Dixon on account of his father's being the
same thing, and he went in the street railroad business in a place named
Hartville in Connecticut, and he got married and had a wife--she was
Zithia Forbes, and she's dead, and I knowed that, and he's rich I reckon
and--"
"An' Amrak begat Meshak an' Meshak begat Zimri an' Zimri was th' founder
of th' House of Old Heck," the Ramblin' Kid chanted. "What in thunder
does details amount to, anyhow?"
"But you was mournin' about a she!" Parker insisted.
"Well, I reckon it ain't a wife--at least not the one I was thinking
about," Chuck murmured disappointedly, "but I bet he's had one somewhere
in his vari'gated career and is hiding out from her in fear an'
tremblin'--"
"And there will not be the grand, the beautiful murder?" Pedro sighed,
questioningly.
"Wait a minute," Skinny pleaded, "--give him air!"
"--and he's got a female daughter--and I didn't know that--and he's--oh,
Gawd!--he's sending her out to the Quarter Circle KT!"
"How big is she?" Parker whispered.
"She's--she's twenty-two--"
"Inches around or what?" Charley gasped.
"--and Ophelia is coming with her--Ophelia Cobb--C-o-double-b it is--is
coming with her for a chaperon--"
"Great guns!" Skinny breathed,"--two females!"
"Hold still and I'll read it--no, you do it, Parker--I'm too full of
emotion--my voice'd quiver--"
Parker read:
"Josiah Heck, Eagle Butte, Texas:
"Am sending my daughter, Carolyn June, out to your ranch
for a while. She needs a change. She has broke all the
he-human hearts in Hartville--that is all of them old
enough or young enough to be broke--and is what's called
a love-stimulator and won't settle. She is twenty-two
and it's time she was calmed. Hoping six months on the
Kiowa range will gentle her quite a lot, I am
sympathetically your 1/2 brother, Simeon.
"P.S.--Mrs. Ophelia Cobb, a lady widow, is coming with
her for a chaperon. Beware of both of them. They will
arrive at Eagle Butte the 21st.--S."
"Gee, it's a long one!" Chuck said admiringly.
"It's one of these 'Night Letters,'" Parker explained.
"I knowed it was bad news," Skinny exclaimed, "--poor old Heck!"
"Better say, 'Poor we all!'" Bert declared. "Farewell peace and joy on
the Quarter Circle KT!"
"The Lord have mercy on Old Heck!" Charley cried with dramatic fervor.
"Holy smoke," Parker murmured desperately, "_two of them on the
twenty-first--and that's to-morrow!_"
CHAPTER II
A BLUFF CALLED
The Quarter Circle KT was a womanless ranch. Came now, like a bolt from
the clear sky or the sudden clang of a fire-alarm bell, the threat of
violation of this Eveless Eden by the intrusion of a pair of strange and
unknown females. The arrival of the telegram telling of the coming of
Carolyn June Dixon, Old Heck's niece, and Ophelia Cobb, her chaperon,
filled with varying emotions the hearts of Old Heck, Parker and the
cowboys.
To Old Heck their presence meant nothing less than calamity. Long years
of he-man association had made him dread the petty restraints he
imagined would be imposed by intimate contact with womankind. Good lord,
a man wouldn't be able even to cuss freely, and without embarrassment,
with a couple of women in the house and prowling around the ranch!
Skinny, Bert, Chuck, Pedro, Charley, the Ramblin' Kid, even the Chink
cook and Parker, quivered with excitement and curiosity behind thinly
veiled pretense of fear and horror. Secretly they rejoiced. It was
marvelous news borne by the telegram Skinny brought. Here would be
diversion ample, unusual, wholly worth while and filled with
possibilities of romance as luring as the first glimpse of a strange new
land shadowed with mystery and promise of thrilling adventure.
Sing Pete paddled back to the unfinished business of the kitchen,
chattering excitedly. The cowboys stood mutely and stared at Old Heck
and the fatal slip of yellow paper.
"What'll I do?" Old Heck asked the group despairingly. "They'll ruin
everything."
"Can't you head 'em off, somehow?" Parker suggested.
"Can't be done. They're already on their way and probably somewhere this
side of Kansas City by now."
"Find out which train they're on and let the Ramblin' Kid and me cut
across to the Purgatory River bridge and wreck it," Skinny Rawlins,
always tragic, darkly advised.
"I ain't particular about killin' females," the Ramblin' Kid objected,
"besides, we ain't got no dynamite."
"Send them a telegram and say Old Heck's dead and not to come," Bert
Lilly volunteered.
"Aw, you blamed idiot, they'd come anyhow then, just to attend the
funeral--"
"I got an idea," Chuck Slithers exclaimed; it's a telegram too. Send
them one C.O.D. in care of the train that will get to Eagle Butte the
twenty-first and tell them we've all got the smallpox and we're sorry
but everybody's dangerously sick and to please answer!"
"That might work," Parker said; "they'd be mighty near sure not to want
to catch it."
"We'll try it," Old Heck agreed. "Chuck wants to ride over to Eagle
Butte anyway and he can have the depot agent send it and wait for a
reply."
"Go get your horse ready, Chuck," Parker said, "we'll write it while
you're saddlin' up!"
Chuck hurried to the corral while Old Heck went into the house for
pencil and writing-paper. Parker and the cowboys moved in a group to the
shade of the porch in front of the house.
"What'll we tell them?" Old Heck asked, reappearing with writing
materials. "Here, Parker, you write it."
"Dear niece Carolyn June Dixon and Chaperon: Sorry, but there's an
epidemic of smallpox at the Quarter Circle KT and you can't come. Chuck
is dying with it. Old Heck's plumb prostrated, Bert is already broke
out, Pedro is starting to and Skinny Rawlins and the Ramblin' Kid are
just barely able to be up. I love you too much to want you to catch it.
Please go back to Hartville and give my regards to your pa and don't
expose yourself. Answer by return telegram so I'll know your intentions.
Affectionately and absolutely your Uncle Josiah Heck," Parker read after
writing a few moments. "How's that?"
"Sounds all right."
"Got it ready?" Chuck called from the fence, while Silver Tip, the
trim-built half-blood Hambletonian colt he was riding, reared and
pranced, eager for the road and a run.
"For lord's sake hurry up, Chuck," Old Heck yelled as the Ramblin' Kid
handed the paper to Chuck and the cowboy whirled his horse into a gallop
toward Eagle Butte. "Have the agent send it in care of whatever train
they might be on and get an answer, then come back as quick as possible
--waiting is agony!"
It was a long afternoon for Old Heck and the cowboys of the Quarter
Circle KT. A band of colts were in the circular corral to be gentled to
rope, saddle and hackamore. Old Heck sat on the top pole of the corral
and moodily watched the struggle of the men and horses in the dry, dusty
enclosure as one by one each young broncho was roped, saddled and
ridden. Frequently he turned longing eyes toward Eagle Butte, anxious
for sight of the cloud of dust from which Chuck would emerge bringing,
he hoped, word that Carolyn June and Ophelia Cobb had heeded the
misleading message.
The sun crept across the western sky and dropped lower and lower until
it hung at last, a blazing disk of fire, close above the highest peaks
of the Costejo mountain range. The poplars in front of the house flung
slim black shadows across the low adobe buildings and splashed the tip
of their shade in the dust-cloud that filled with haze the corral a
hundred yards away. Sing Pete stepped from the door and beat a tattoo on
the iron triangle suspended by a piece of wire from the lowest branch of
a mesquit tree at the corner of the house, announcing by the metallic
clamor that the work of the day was finished and supper was ready and
waiting. Parker swung back the heavy gate at the corral entrance and the
dozen colts, sweat streaks on heads and backs and bellies where
hackamore, saddle and cinches told of the lessons of the afternoon,
pushing and jamming and with a clatter of hoofs, whirled out to freedom,
around the stable and down a lane into an open meadow.
Kicking off their chaps the cowboys tossed them on the riding gear,
piled already against the fence of the corral, and straggled stiffly
toward the house. On the wire enclosing the back yard Sing Pete had hung
a couple of heavy towels, coarse and long. Some basins and several
chunks of yellow laundry soap were on a bench beside an irrigation ditch
that ran along the fence just inside the gate. Old Heck, Parker and the
cowboys stopped at the ditch, pitched their hats on the grass and
dipping water from the ditch scoured the dust and sweat from their faces
and hands.
All were silent as if each was troubled with thoughts too solemn to be
spoken aloud.
At last, Skinny, handing a towel to Bert after drying his own
sun-tanned face and hands, remarked inanely:
"Chuck ain't come, has he?"
"Slupper!" Sing Pete called.
They filed into the kitchen and each took his regular place at the long,
oilcloth covered table. The food, wholesome, plain and abundant, was
already served.
Silently each heaped his plate with the viands before him while Sing
Pete circled the table pouring coffee into the white porcelain cups. The
Quarter Circle KT was famous for the excellence of its grub and the
Chink was an expert cook.
"Lordy, oh, lordy," Old Heck groaned, "it don't seem possible them women
are coming!"
"Maybe they won't," Parker sympathized. "When they get that telegram
they ought to turn around and go back--"
"Chuck's coming!" Bert Lilly exclaimed at that moment and the sound of a
horse stopping suddenly at the front of the house reached the ears of
the group at the table.
"Go ask him if he got an answer, somebody, quick!" Old Heck cried.
As Charley Saunders sprang to his feet Chuck yelled, "They got it and
sent an answer! I got one--" and rushed excitedly through the house and
into the kitchen waving an envelope, twin to the one Skinny had brought
earlier in the day. "They're on Train Number Seventeen, the agent
said--"
"My Gawd!" Old Heck gasped, "what does it say? Give it here!" reaching
for the message the cowboy held in his hand.
"Good lord, it didn't work!" he groaned as he read the telegram and
handed it across the table to Parker.
"Read it out loud," several spoke at once.
"'We've both had it,'" Parker read, "'and are not afraid. Anyhow we
think you are a darned old lovable liar. Will arrive according to
schedule. If you are not a liar we'll nurse you back to health and
happiness. If you are, watch out! Your affectionate but suspicious
little niece Carolyn June Dixon. Postscript: Are there any nice wild,
untamed, young cowboys out there?--Carolyn J.'"
"Hell-fire!" Skinny said, "what'll we do?"
No answer. Chuck went moodily out to attend to his horse, and the meal
was finished in silence. Even Sing Pete seemed deeply depressed. After
supper Old Heck straightened up and in a do-or-die tone said:
"We'll all go out where it's cool and hold a caucus and figure what
ought to be done."
"There ain't nothing we can do but surrender, as far as I can see,"
Parker observed gloomily as they gathered on the porch in front of the
house. "They seem plumb determined to arrive--"
"I've already give up hope," Old Heck answered, "but what will we do
with them when they get here? We can't just brand 'em and turn them
loose on the range."
"I make a motion we elect Skinny to ride herd on 'em!" Bert Lilly
suggested.
"Damned if I do!" Skinny exclaimed uneasily.
"It's a good idea," Parker said. "From all accounts the young one
expects to be made love to and if she ain't she'll probably be weeping
around all the time--"
"Well, I can't stand sobbin'!" Old Heck declared. "Any female is hard
enough to endure and one that gets to mourning is plumb distasteful!
"That's probably the best thing to do," he continued, "just appoint
Skinny to be official love-maker to Carolyn June while she's at the
Quarter Circle KT. It will probably save confusion--"
"I brought the telegram telling about them coming and I've done my
share," Skinny protested; "somebody else can be delegated to do the
love-making!"
"That's just the reason it ought to be your job," Old Heck argued; "you
went and got the telegram in the first place and are sort of responsible
for them being here."
"Aw, let th' Ramblin' Kid do it," Skinny pleaded, "he's an easy talker
and everything--"
The Ramblin' Kid straightened up and started for the gate.
"Where you going?"
"To catch Capt'n Jack," he drawled; "after that for a little ride down
to th' Pecos or over in Chihuahua somewhere a couple hundred miles. I
decline with enthusiasm to fall in love on th' spur of th' moment for
any damned outfit!"
"You come on back," Parker called, "Skinny'll have to do it. He can have
all his time for it and just pretend he's in love and sort of entertain
her. He don't need to go and do it in earnest. Come on back, you darned
chump, I need you on the beef hunt!"
"What'll I have to do?" Skinny asked cautiously.
"Just set on the front porch with her at night and make your eyes roll
up like a calf's that's being branded and kind of sigh heart-broken once
in a while," Bert volunteered. "It'll be easy when you get used to it--"
"If you know so much about it why don't you enlist yourself?" Skinny
asked irritably. "Some of you fellows go on and volunteer," he pleaded
dolefully.
"I would in a minute," Chuck chipped in, "if I was good-looking like
Skinny and had a white shirt--"
"What's a white shirt got to do with it?"
"Listen to the innocent child," Chuck laughed, "as if any darned fool
didn't know that the first thing a professional love-maker has to have
is a white shirt!"
"That settles it," Skinny declared with emphasis, "I won't wear a white
shirt to make love to no blamed woman--"
"Chuck's locoed," the Ramblin' Kid interposed; "you don't need to have
no white shirt--of course it would be better but it ain't downright
necessary--women don't fall in love with shirts, it's what's inside of
them."
"Where did you find out so much about women?" Bert queried.
"I didn't find out--I'm just guessin'--"
"There ain't no use arguing," Old Heck broke in. "Skinny will have to be
expert love-maker for that Carolyn June niece of mine--I'll allow him
ten dollars a month more wages while he's doing it. I ain't going to
have her writing letters to her pa and telling him she didn't have no
conveniences or nothing. Anyhow, she's young and I reckon it's sort of
necessary."
"What about th' other one--Ophelia Cobb or whoever she is?" Bert Lilly
asked.
"She's past the age for it, probably," Parker said uneasily.
"They don't pass it," the Ramblin' Kid interrupted laconically; "when
females get too old to want to be made love to they die--"
"I'd like to know where in hell a juvenile like you got your education
about women!" Bert insisted to the Ramblin' Kid.
"I ain't got none--I'm just guessing I told you," the other replied,
"but it's the truth, anyhow."
"Well, if I've got to make love to the young one Old Heck or Parker or
somebody's got to do it for the other one," Skinny declared positively.
"Ophelia don't need it," Old Heck said hastily, "she's a widow and has
done been--"
"Widows are th' worst," the Ramblin' Kid drawled; "they've had
experience an' don't like to give it up."
"Th' Ramblin' Kid's right," Chuck broke in. "I read a book once that
said that's the way they are. It's up to Old Heck or Parker to represent
Cupid to the widow--"
"Who the hell's Cupid?" Skinny asked curiously.
"He's a dangerous little outlaw that ain't got no reg'lar range," the
Ramblin' Kid answered for Chuck.
"I'll not do it--" Old Heck and Parker spoke at once.
"Then I won't either," Skinny declared flatly, "I'll quit the dog-goned
Quarter Circle KT first!"
"Let Sing Pete make love to the widow," Bert suggested.
"No, no! Me busy cookee," Sing Pete, who had been listening from the
open doorway, jabbered and darted, frightened, back into the house.
"Anyhow I'd kill him if he did," the Ramblin' Kid said softly; "no
darned Chink can make love to a white woman, old, young or indifferent,
in my presence an' live!"
"Well, Old Heck'll have to do it, then," Skinny said; "hanged if I'm
going to be the only he-love-maker on this ranch!"
"Let Parker and Old Heck divide up on Ophelia," Chuck advised, "one of
them can love her one day and the other the next--"
"That's reasonable," Bert declared, "she'd probably enjoy a change
herself."
"I tell you I ain't got time," Parker protested.
"Neither have I," Old Heck added.
"All right then, I ain't either!" Skinny declared. "If you two ain't
willing to take turn about with the widow and love her off and on
between you I'll be everlastingly hell-tooted if I'm going to stand for
a whole one by myself all of the time! I'll go on strike first and start
right now!"
"We'll stay with you, Skinny," the Ramblin' Kid exclaimed with a laugh,
"th' whole bunch will quit till Parker an' Old Heck grants our demands."
"We'll all quit!" the cowboys chorused.
"Oh, well, Parker," Old Heck grumbled, "I reckon we'll have to do it!"
"It won't be hard work," the Ramblin' Kid said consolingly, "all you got
to do is set still an' leave it to Ophelia. Widows are expert
love-makers themselves an' know how to keep things goin'!"
It was settled. Skinny Rawlins, at an increase of ten dollars a month on
his wage, protestingly, was elected official love-maker to Carolyn June
Dixon, Old Heck's niece, speeding unsuspectingly toward the Quarter
Circle KT, and Old Heck and Parker between them were to divide the
affections of Ophelia Cobb, widow and chaperon.
In the mind of every cowboy on the ranch there was one thought
unexpressed but very insistent that night, "Wonder what She looks like?"
thinking, of course, of Carolyn June.