The Orphan - Clarence E. Mulford (that summer book .TXT) 📗

said. “I’ll carry this one high up, it deserves it.”

“Oh, do be careful!” she cried as he swooped it up to his shoulder. “Oh!” she screamed as it thumped against the top of the door frame.

“Whoa! Back up!” cried Bill, executing the order. “Easy, boy–all right, off we go!”

“Grace, Mary,” cried Helen, “we are all ready to go!”

“Ain’t there any more boxes?” asked Bill from the coach.

“Come, girls,” cried Mrs. Shields as she stepped into the coach. “Close the door after you, and lock it, dear.”

Bill gallantly helped the ladies into the coach, grinned at the cake box and started toward the front wheel when he was called back.

“Now, William,” cautioned Mrs. Shields, laughing. “We will not be pursued by Apaches to-day, and this cake must not be shaken!”

“You won’t know you’re riding, ma’am, you shore won’t,” he assured her as he danced toward the front wheel again.

“Wake up there, you!” he yelled from the box. “Come on, Jerry, think you’re glued to the earth? Come on, Tom! Easy there, you fool jackrabbit! –haven’t you learned that you can’t reach this high!”

When they had arrived at the A-Y the baskets were carried into the ranch-house and the women became very busy getting things ready for the feast. Bill took care of his team and then carried the blankets to the grove.

While the picnic was being prepared there arose a series of blood-curdling whoops off to the south where the outfit of the Star C made the air blue with powder smoke. As they came nearer something peculiar was noticed by Helen. It appeared to be a sort of drag drawn by a horse and supported by two long, springy poles, one end of which rested on the ground, and the other fastened to the saddle. While she wondered Bill came up and she turned to him for light.

“What have they got fastened to that horse?” she asked him.

He looked and then smiled: “Why, it is a travois,” he said. “But what under the sun have they got on it? They must be bringing their own grub!”

The travois dragged and bumped over the uneven plain and soon came near enough for its burden to be made out. A man and a dog were strapped to it.

At this point Blake joined Helen and Bill, and as he did so he espied the travois.

“Thunder!” he cried, running forward. “Somebody is hurt! What’s the matter, Silent?” he shouted.

“Matter?” asked Silent, in surprise as the outfit drew near. “There ain’t nothing the matter. Why?”

“What’s that travois doing with you, then?” Blake demanded.

Silent’s face was as grave as that of an owl. “Travois?” he asked. Then his face cleared: “Oh, yes–I near forgot about it,” he added, apologetically. “You see, Humble he shore wanted his dog to come to the picnic, so we reckoned we’d let it come along. Bud and Jim was for slinging it at the end of a rope and dragging it over, but I said no. We ain’t got any ropes to have all frayed out and cut a-dragging dogs to picnics, and I said so, too. So we built the travois and strapped Lightning to it. When Humble saw what we had done he acted real unpolite. He said as how he wasn’t going to have no dog of his’n toted twenty miles in a fool travois. Said that he’d make it stay home first, which was some mean after inviting the dog to come along. He said that he’d go in a travois himself first before he’d let the setter be made a fool of. Well, we simply had to subdue him, and he got so unreasonable that we just had to tie him with his dog. He shore does get awful pig-headed at times.”

“Take off the gag, Jim,” requested Silent, turning to the grinning cow-puncher. “Let him loose now, we’ve arrived.”

Jim leaned over and whispered in Humble’s ear, the information being that there were ladies about, and that all swearing must be thought and not yelled. Then he slipped the gag, and untied the ropes. Gales of laughter met the angry and indignant puncher when he had leaped to his feet, and he flashed one quick glance at the women and then, boiling with wrath and suppressed profanity, fled toward the corrals as swiftly as cramped muscles would allow. The dog snarled at its tormentors and then set off in hot pursuit of its discomfited master, whose waving arms kept time with his speeding legs.

“That’s all the thanks we get,” grumbled Bud, “but then, he don’t know any better anyhow.”

Blake laughed and regarded his grinning and expectant outfit, and the longer he looked at them the more he laughed. They had paid their respects to the women while Silent explained about the travois and now they cast many longing glances at the blankets and cloths spread out on the grass and at the baskets which Bill was busy over. They had tried to coax the driver to them to give information as to what they might expect in the way of edibles, but he had haughtily and disdainfully refused to enlighten them, taking care, however, to arouse their curiosity by looking fondly at the box and the baskets and even showed his elation by taking several fancy steps for their benefit.

“Well, get rid of the cayuses,” said Blake, “and square things with Humble. Bring him back with you or you don’t get any pie. You’re such a darn fool crowd that I can’t get mad this time, but don’t ever drag a man in a travois again.”

“Did he come, or was he kidnapped?” murmured Bud. “What we did once we can do again, and Humble will be on hand when the feast begins.”

Jim had been scowling at Bill, whose manners were most aggravating. “You just wait, you heathen,” threatened Jim. “You’re ace high with the grub, all right, but just you wait ’til we get you alone!”

“Yah!” laughed the driver. “I shore can handle the best cow-wrastler that ever lived.”

“Bill seems to be running this here festival,” Bud complained to Helen.

“Oh, he is our right-hand man,” she replied with enthusiasm. “We couldn’t possibly get along without him, now. He has charge of the pie and cake.”

Bill’s chest expanded: “I’m foreman of the pie and cake herd,” he exclaimed proudly. “You can’t get ahead of me.”

Bud looked at the driver and then significantly waved his hand at the travois: “And you’ll shore travel in style, just like a real pie foreman, too, when we gets a chance to honor you like we wants to.”

“You’ll get no pie if you acts smart, little boy,” retorted the driver. “Run along and play till lunch is ready, and don’t dirty your hands and face.”

“Well, we’ve got fine memories,” Bud suggested as he led the way to the corrals, where he found The Orphan.

“Hullo, Orphan!” he cried enthusiastically as he gripped the outstretched hand. “Plumb glad to see you. How’s things?”

“Glad to see you, boys,” cried the temporary foreman, who was all smiles. “One at a time!” he laughed as they crowded about him. “Make yourselves right at home–that smallest corral is for your cayuses. And you’ll find plenty of soap and water and towels by the bunk-house, and there’s a box of good cigars, a tin of tobacco, and a jug on the table inside. Help yourself to anything you want, the place is all yours.”

“Gee, this is a good game, all right,” Bud laughed as he turned to put his horse in the corral. “The sheriff shore knows how to deal.”

“Leave a cigar for me, Silent,” jokingly warned Jim as his friend turned toward the bunk-house. “Too many smokes will make you sick.”

“Well, you’ve got a gall, all right!” retorted Silent. “You better let me bring yours out to you and keep away from the box, for I’m always plumb suspicious of these goody-goody, it’s-for-your-own-good people.”

A crafty look came to Jack Lawson’s face and he turned to The Orphan: “Has Bill Howland got his cigars yet?” he asked, winking at his friends.

“Why, I don’t know whether he has or not,” replied The Orphan. “But I don’t believe that he has been out of sight of the pies since he came. They’ve got him in a trance.”

“Guess I’ll take him one,” continued Jack, grinning broadly. “He likes to smoke.”

“Shore enough, go ahead,” endorsed the foreman of the A-Y as he turned toward the grove. Then he stopped, and with a knowing look added: “If you want to see Humble, he just went in the bunk-house.”

A yell of dismay arose as the outfit started pell-mell for the house. Silent entered it first and his profanity informed his companions that their fears were well grounded. Neither Humble, cigars, tobacco nor jug were to be seen, and a search was forthwith instituted. Jack looked at a distant corral and saw Lightning as the dog disappeared from sight into it.

“Hey!” he cried. “He’s in the big corral–I just saw his dog go in, and it was wagging its tail a whole lot. Come on, we’ll surround it and show that frisky gent a thing or two!”

No more words were wasted, and in a very short time figures were creeping around the corral. Then there was a scramble as most of the searchers scaled the wall at different points while two of them ran in through the gate. The first thing they saw was the dog, and his tail was still wagging as he curiously followed, nose to the ground, a huge horned toad. He looked up at the sudden disturbance and backed off suspiciously, looking for a way to escape.

“–– ––!” chorused the fooled punchers, who discovered that deductions don’t always deduct, and then they returned to the bunk-house to “slick up.” When finally satisfied about their appearance they made their way to the grove and the sight which greeted their eyes as they entered it almost made them drop in their tracks.

Humble and Bill sat cross-legged on a blanket, which was surrounded with guns. The jug, tobacco and cigars were flanked by pies and a cake, while each of the conspirators held a lighted cigar in one hand while they took turns at the jug. A huge piece of pie rested in a plate at Humble’s side, while Bill’s knee held a piece of cake.

“Hands up!” shouted Humble, grabbing a gun. “Don’t you dare to raid the gallery! You stay right where you are!”

Bill’s blacksnake whip leaped from point to point experimentally, picking up twigs and leaves with disturbing accuracy.

The invaders halted just beyond the range of the whip and consulted uneasily, not noticing that the driver had shortened his weapon by twice the length of its handle. Finally Jim and Docile ran back toward the corral while their friends waited impatiently for their return, grinning at the enemy with an I-told-you-so air.

Bill suddenly leaned forward, the whip slid down into his hand to the end of the handle and cracked viciously. Joe Haines, who had grown a little careless, leaped into the air and yelled, grabbing at his leg.

“Keep your distance, you!” warned the driver, trying to look ferocious. “Twenty feet is the dead-line, children.”

Jim and Docile returned apace and brought with them half a dozen lariats, which ranged in length from thirty to forty feet.

“Hey, you!” cried Humble in alarm. “That ain’t fair!”

Grim silence was the only reply as the invaders each took his rope and surrounded the two. Then, suddenly, the air was full of darting ropes and in less time than it takes to tell of it the pair were hopelessly and helplessly trussed. Silent ran in and hurled the whip away and then squatted before the prisoners, throwing their cigars after the whip as he took up the pie and cake,