The Ramblin' Kid - Earl Wayland Bowman (snow like ashes series .txt) 📗

her embrace and, glancing up, caught sight of Skinny in the immaculate shirt. "My Gawd!" he whispered under his breath.

Parker immediately saddled a horse and rode away to join the cowboys at their work. Lunches for the party had been taken with them when they left the ranch in the morning. During the trip to Eagle Butte Old Heck and his foreman had talked but little. There was a feeling of restraint between Parker and him that made each hesitate to start a conversation that would be almost certain to work around to a discussion of Ophelia—a subject uppermost in the minds of both.

At noon the Ramblin' Kid came to the house for dinner.

He and Skinny occupied their usual places. He looked once at Skinny's shirt, murmured softly and in a tone of infinite disgust and pity, "Hell!" then ate his food in silence. During the meal Carolyn June ignored him, but smiled tenderly and often at Skinny. Old Heck and the widow, at the far end of the table, carried on a low-voiced dialogue.

During the afternoon the Ramblin' Kid remained away from the house. A couple of times, glancing out of the window, Carolyn June saw him at the circular corral petting and caressing Captain Jack or the Gold Dust maverick.

When Sing Pete hammered the iron triangle announcing supper Parker and the cowboys had returned, the hides from the dead steers had been unloaded and the men were ready for the meal.

As Carolyn June and Ophelia went into the kitchen they exchanged a look of understanding. Skinny lagged behind Old Heck. He dreaded the shock of the white shirt on the other cowboys. When he stepped into the room his face flamed scarlet and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. He expected merciless, sarcastic chiding—thinly veiled but cruel. He was disappointed. The cowboys looked at him for a moment, exchanged winks, then sat silently and solemnly down to the table. The presence of the women had saved, for the time being, the suffering Skinny.

Carolyn June distributed tender words and velvety looks impartially among the younger cowboys, while Ophelia alternated sweet nothings between Parker and Old Heck, with an occasional sidelong glance at Charley that brought a heightened color to his sun-browned cheeks.

Chuck sighed dolefully.

"Why so sad?" Carolyn June asked gently, looking with melting sympathy at the pensive cowboy.

"I—I—was just thinking of a—a—funeral I saw once!" he answered, gazing steadily and with pretended awe at Skinny's white shirt. "Some colors always remind me of funerals or—or—weddings!" he explained.

A suppressed snicker circled the table.

"Don't be down-hearted," Carolyn June laughed, "it may not go that far.

"Uncle Josiah," she added suddenly, "Ophelia and I have a wonderful surprise for you and the boys."

Old Heck looked at her without replying while he awaited an explanation.

"We are going to give a dance!" Carolyn June went on.

"A dance?" he repeated incredulously, "when—"

"To-night—in the front room," she hastened to explain, "not a big dance—just a little one for you and the boys. The graphophone will furnish music, there are some good one-step and waltz records—Skinny and I were playing them this afternoon—and every blessed cowboy on the Quarter Circle KT must be there!"

A short silence followed her words, then a chorus of "We'll be there!" greeted her.

"In an hour," Carolyn June said, smiling sweetly at the cowboys, as they left the kitchen, "everybody be back at the house. We'll fix the room and have it ready—don't any one bother to 'dress up,'" she added as an afterthought.

"Old Heck's niece acts kind of stampedish, don't she?" Bert remarked as Parker and the cowboys filed out of the back-yard gate toward the bunk-house.

"Yes," Charley answered. "I'm going to shave."

"So am I," said Chuck, as they hurried in the direction of their sleeping quarters.

"Me, too," laughed Bert. "Gee, didn't Skinny shine in that shirt?" as they disappeared inside the building and there was a rush to hunt out razors, brushes and other toilet necessities or clean handkerchiefs and ties.

The Ramblin' Kid alone seemed uninterested. He dropped down on his bed and idly watched the others prepare for the evening's diversion.

"Ain't you going?" Chuck asked him, noticing his indifference.

A short, half-cynical laugh with "Oh, maybe I'll go set on the porch an' listen to th' music!" was the answer.

When Parker and the cowboys reappeared at the house it was plain that all had disobeyed Carolyn June's injunction not to "dress up." Each had paid tribute in some way, by a smooth-scraped face, a dean shirt, a tie or something, to the vanity of his own heart and the desire for the good opinion of either Carolyn June or the widow.

Both women noticed it. They exchanged glances while Carolyn June softly whispered to Ophelia: "Stir them up—it's coming to them!"

The widow smiled understandingly.

Old Heck fidgeted uncomfortably. The situation was entirely beyond his control. By right he and Ophelia ought to be sitting there quietly making love, while Skinny and Carolyn June, in another corner of the room or out on the porch, were doing the same thing. He would just have to await developments.

Parker was elated. Carolyn June's proposal had broken up Old Heck's evening alone with the widow. Perhaps—the thought thrilled the foreman —Ophelia herself had planned it!

"Skinny can keep the graphophone working," Carolyn June laughed. "Put on a one-step first," she said as he rather grudgingly went to the corner and started the music. "Come on, Bert, we'll dance this one," she cried merrily, as she stepped up to the blushing cowboy and put her hand, with a tender little pressure, on his arm. "It's 'ladies' night,' you know—Ophelia, pick your pardner!"

"Aw—don't you reckon you ought to choose one of the others first?" Bert, considerably embarrassed by the sudden attention, mumbled as he moved with pretended reluctance but secret eagerness out on to the floor.

"I know who I want to dance with!" Carolyn June whispered significantly with another squeeze of his arm while her warm breath fanned his cheek.

For a moment Ophelia stood as if undecided while Old Heck and Parker each tried by their looks to register unconcern, their hearts meanwhile leaping with uncertain expectancy and hope. Suddenly turning from both and going up to Charley, she said softly and with well-feigned shyness:

"I—I—please, won't you dance this one with me?"

"With the most exceeding pleasure!" Charley replied gallantly, arising and reaching out his hands.

Parker and Old Heck gulped their astonishment and disappointment—each swallowing as if he had something in his throat that would not go down—and glared savagely at each other.

Skinny next put on a waltz record. Carolyn June and Chuck swung through its dreamy rhythm while her hair brushed the cowboy's neck and her eyes, half closed, looked alluringly into his. "I—I—could do this forever—with you!" she breathed, accenting the last word and making Chuck want to yell for joy.

At the beginning of the waltz Ophelia paused a moment before Old Heck, glanced demurely at Parker, took a step toward the latter, turned quickly to the first and flooding him with a look of tenderness held out her hands while she spoke the simple entreaty:

"Please!"

Old Heck leaped to his feet, hitched nervously at the belt of his trousers, ran his fingers around the inside of his collar, and, with a look of triumph at Parker, led the widow through the dance. She permitted her body to relax and lean against her partner, dancing with an abandon that not only fired the emotions of Old Heck to fever heat, but was as well like dippers of oil on the flame of the foreman's jealousy.

Parker gritted his teeth and followed Old Heck with a look that meant nothing less than the desire to kill!

As Ophelia and Old Heck, and Carolyn June with Chuck circled the room Skinny leaned weakly against the graphophone. He was tortured agonizingly by the strange action of Carolyn June. He was her lover, her official, absolute lover! Why did she want to go and get things all mixed up like this? It wasn't fair. The other boys were not supposed to make love to her! They had elected him to do it and he was getting along all right till she thought of having this blamed fool dance. He began to doubt the efficacy of the white shirt and frequently drew one of the loose, baggy sleeves—rapidly losing their snowy spotlessness—across his face to rid himself of beads of perspiration.

The waltz was followed by another one-step and Ophelia granted this favor to Parker while Old Heck sat and swore steadily under his breath—regretful that he had not sent the foreman and the cowboys out on the beef hunt a week ago!

Outside, the Ramblin' Kid half-reclined on the edge of the porch. With a cigarette between his teeth, a sneering smile on his lips, he watched, through the open door, the group within. He was convinced now that Carolyn June was utterly frivolous. She danced and flirted with Bert, Chuck, Charley—and even Pedro—one after the other and occasionally Parker. Poor Skinny alone was neglected. She seemed to have forgotten that he existed save when, from time to time, she suggested that he put this or that record on the graphophone. To each of the cowboys she whispered tender little sentiments, gave soulful looks and insinuating smiles—all but caressed them openly. Ophelia did like things to Old Heck, Parker and Charley.

In very truth it was a "slaughter."

It was hot. After an hour Carolyn June stepped out on the porch for a breath of air while Skinny sought in the cabinet for a record she had asked him to play. The Ramblin' Kid straightened up as she came out of the door. He was disgusted, angry, heart-sickened. He had seen enough and was starting to leave.

Carolyn June had noticed the absence of the Ramblin' Kid. She had believed, all evening, he was on the porch and that was the real reason she had come outside. She saw him. "Oh, is—is—that you, Ramblin' Kid?" she exclaimed as if surprised, and went quickly to where, at the sound of her voice, he had paused.

He did not answer. The light shone full on his face and he knew that she knew—and had known before she spoke—that he was there. His eyes were filled with a look queerly blending scorn, loathing, pity and pain.

"Why—why—don't you come in and dance?" she asked lightly, not certain of his mood.

"I don't want to," he replied coldly: "anyhow—" he added with a sneer and a brutal laugh as he slowly moved away in the darkness, "when I decide to hug I'll hug in private!"

Carolyn June started almost as though he had struck her. The taunt was an insult! A flood of anger swept over her. "The brute!" she whispered passionately and with utter contempt in her voice. She stood a moment. Suddenly she remembered the reckless abandon with which she had been dancing and flirting with the cowboys inside the house. Her face flamed scarlet. She looked out into the blackness toward the circular corral. Her expression changed and a pitying smile crossed her lips: "Poor Ramblin' Kid—he just—does not understand!" she murmured and stepped back into the house.

As the Ramblin' Kid passed through the back-yard gate he muttered savagely under his breath: "Playin' with their hearts like marbles—th' damned fools!" He paused a moment and added, as though tired, "Oh, well, I reckon she thinks she has to do it—it's her breed—she was raised that way I guess!"

The snuffling sound of a horse blowing hay-powder or other dust from its nostrils came from the direction of the circular corral. The Ramblin' Kid stopped in his walk and turning went thoughtfully through the darkness toward where Captain Jack and the Gold Dust maverick were quietly feeding. He leaned against the bars of the corral and looked at the shadowy forms of the two horses standing a little distance away. Captain Jack quit eating and came to the fence.

"God! Little Horse"—the Ramblin' Kid spoke tensely and without repression—"why can't humans be as decent an' honest as you?"

The black dome of night was studded with innumerable stars that gleamed like points of silver sprinkled over a canopy of somber velvet some infinite hand had flung, in a great arch, from rim to rim of a sleeping world. The call of a night bird shrilled softly from the cottonwood trees along the Cimarron. A hint of a breeze swung idly from the west and rustled the leaves in the tops of the poplars in front of the house. Faintly as a distant echo came the wailing strains of a