Lin McLean - Owen Wister (read after TXT) 📗

the ladies in the cabin and the men choosing various spots outside, that he became talkative again for a while. We lay in the blank—we had spread on some soft, dry sand in preference to the stable, where Taylor and Tommy had gone. Under the contemplative influence of the stars, Lin fell into generalization.

“Ever notice,” said he, “how whiskey and lyin’ act the same on a man?”

I did not feel sure that I had.

“Just the same way. You keep either of ‘em up long enough, and yu’ get to require it. If Tommy didn’t lie some every day, he’d get sick.”

I was sleepy, but I murmured assent to this, and trusted he would not go on.

“Ever notice,” said he, “how the victims of the whiskey and lyin’ habit get to increasing the dose?”

“Yes,” said I.

“Him roping six bears!” pursued Mr. McLean, after further contemplation. “Or any bear. Ever notice how the worser a man’s lyin’ the silenter other men’ll get? Why’s that, now?”

I believe that I made a faint sound to imply that I was following him.

“Men don’t get took in. But ladies now, they—”

Here he paused again, and during the next interval of contemplation I sank beyond his reach.

In the morning I left Riverside for Buffalo, and there or thereabouts I remained for a number of weeks. Miss Peck did not enter my thoughts, nor did I meet any one to remind me of her, until one day I stopped at the drug-store. It was not for drugs, but gossip, that I went. In the daytime there was no place like the apothecary’s for meeting men and hearing the news. There I heard how things were going everywhere, including Bear Creek.

All the cow-punchers liked the new girl up there, said gossip. She was a great addition to society. Reported to be more companionable than the school-marm, Miss Molly Wood, who had been raised too far east, and showed it. Vermont, or some such dude place. Several had been in town buying presents for Miss Katie Peck. Tommy Postmaster had paid high for a necklace of elk-tushes the government scout at McKinney sold him. Too bad Miss Peck did not enjoy good health. Shorty had been in only yesterday to get her medicine again. Third bottle. Had I heard the big joke on Lin McLean? He had promised her the skin of a big bear he knew the location of, and Tommy got the bear.

Two days after this I joined one of the roundup camps at sunset. They had been working from Salt Creek to Bear Creek, and the Taylor ranch was in visiting distance from them again, after an interval of gathering and branding far across the country. The Virginian, the gentle-voiced Southerner, whom I had last seen lingering with Miss Wood, was in camp. Silent three-quarters of the time, as was his way, he sat gravely watching Lin McLean. That person seemed silent also, as was not his way quite so much.

“Lin,” said the Southerner, “I reckon you’re failin’.”

Mr. McLean raised a sombre eye, but did not trouble to answer further.

“A healthy man’s laigs ought to fill his pants,” pursued the Virginian. The challenged puncher stretched out a limb and showed his muscles with young pride.

“And yu’ cert’nly take no comfort in your food,” his ingenious friend continued, slowly and gently.

“I’ll eat you a match any day and place yu’ name,” said Lin.

“It ain’t sca’cely hon’able,” went on the Virginian, “to waste away durin’ the roundup. A man owes his strength to them that hires it. If he is paid to rope stock he ought to rope stock, and not leave it dodge or pull away.”

“It’s not many dodge my rope,” boasted Lin, imprudently.

“Why, they tell me as how that heifer of the Sidney-Nebraska brand got plumb away from yu’, and little Tommy had to chase afteh her.”

Lin sat up angrily amid the laughter, but reclined again. “I’ll improve,” said he, “if yu’ learn me how yu’ rope that Vermont stock so handy. Has she promised to be your sister yet?” he added.

“Is that what they do?” inquired the Virginian, serenely. “I have never got related that way. Why, that’ll make Tommy your brother-in-law, Lin!”

And now, indeed, the camp laughed a loud, merciless laugh.

But Lin was silent. Where everybody lives in a glass-house the victory is to him who throws the adroitest stone. Mr. McLean was readier witted than most, but the gentle, slow Virginian could be a master when he chose.

“Tommy has been recountin’ his wars up at the Taylors’,” he now told the camp. “He has frequently campaigned with General Crook, General Miles, and General Ruger, all at onced. He’s an exciting fighter, in conversation, and kep’ us all scared for mighty nigh an hour. Miss Peck appeared interested in his statements.”

“What was you doing at the Taylors’ yourself?” demanded Lin.

“Visitin’ Miss Wood,” answered the Virginian, with entire ease. For he also knew when to employ the plain truth as a bluff. “You’d ought to write to Tommy’s mother, Lin, and tell her what a dare-devil her son is gettin’ to be. She would cut off his allowance and bring him home, and you would have the runnin’ all to yourself.”

“I’ll fix him yet,” muttered Mr. McLean. “Him and his wars.”

With that he rose and left us.

The next afternoon he informed me that if I was riding up the creek to spend the night he would go for company. In that direction we started, therefore, without any mention of the Taylors or Miss Peck. I was puzzled. Never had I seen him thus disconcerted by woman. With him woman had been a transient disturbance. I had witnessed a series of flighty romances, where the cow-puncher had come, seen, often conquered, and moved on. Nor had his affairs been of the sort to teach a young man respect. I am putting it rather mildly.

For the first part of our way this afternoon he was moody, and after that began to speak with appalling wisdom about life. Life, he said, was a serious matter. Did I realize that? A man was liable to forget it. A man was liable to go sporting and helling around till he waked up some day and found all his best pleasures had become just a business. No interest, no surprise, no novelty left, and no cash in the bank. Shorty owed him fifty dollars. Shorty would be able to pay that after the roundup, and he, Lin, would get his time and rustle altogether some five hundred dollars. Then there was his homestead claim on Box Elder, and the surveyors were coming in this fall. No better location for a home in this country than Box Elder. Wood, water, fine land. All it needed was a house and ditches and buildings and fences, and to be planted with crops. Such chances and considerations should sober a man and make him careful what he did. “I’d take in Cheyenne on our wedding-trip, and after that I’d settle right down to improving Box Elder,” concluded Mr. McLean, suddenly.

His real intentions flashed upon me for the first time. I had not remotely imagined such a step.

“Marry her!” I screeched in dismay. “Marry her!”

I don’t know which word was the worse to emphasize at such a moment, but I emphasized both thoroughly.

“I didn’t expect yu’d act that way,” said the lover. He dropped behind me fifty yards and spoke no more.

Not at once did I beg his pardon for the brutality I had been surprised into. It is one of those speeches that, once said, is said forever.

But it was not that which withheld me. As I thought of the tone in which my friend had replied, it seemed to me sullen, rather than deeply angry or wounded—resentment at my opinion not of her character so much as of his choice! Then I began to be sorry for the fool, and schemed for a while how to intervene. But have you ever tried intervention? I soon abandoned the idea, and took a way to be forgiven, and to learn more.

“Lin,” I began, slowing my horse, “you must not think about what I said.”

“I’m thinkin’ of pleasanter subjects,” said he, and slowed his own horse.

“Oh, look here!” I exclaimed.

“Well?” said he. He allowed his horse to come within about ten yards.

“Astonishment makes a man say anything,” I proceeded. “And I’ll say again you’re too good for her—and I’ll say I don’t generally believe in the wife being older than the husband.”

“What’s two years?” said Lin.

I was near screeching out again, but saved myself. He was not quite twenty-five, and I remembered Mrs. Taylor’s unprejudiced computation of the biscuit-shooter’s years. It is a lady’s prerogative, however, to estimate her own age.

“She had her twenty-seventh birthday last month,” said Lin, with sentiment, bringing his horse entirely abreast of mine. “I promised her a bear-skin.”

“Yes,” said I, “I heard about that in Buffalo.”

Lin’s face grew dusky with anger. “No doubt yu’ heard about it,” said he. “I don’t guess yu’ heard much about anything else. I ain’t told the truth to any of ‘em—but her.” He looked at me with a certain hesitation. “I think I will,” he continued. “I don’t mind tellin’ you.”

He began to speak in a strictly business tone, while he evened the coils of rope that hung on his saddle.

“She had spoke to me about her birthday, and I had spoke to her about something to give her. I had offered to buy her in town whatever she named, and I was figuring to borrow from Taylor. But she fancied the notion of a bear-skin. I had mentioned about some cubs. I had found the cubs where the she-bear had them cached by the foot of a big boulder in the range over Ten Sleep, and I put back the leaves and stuff on top o’ them little things as near as I could the way I found them, so that the bear would not suspicion me. For I was aiming to get her. And Miss Peck, she sure wanted the hide for her birthday. So I went back. The she-bear was off, and I crumb up inside the rock, and I waited a turruble long spell till the sun travelled clean around the canyon. Mrs. Bear come home though, a big cinnamon; and I raised my gun, but laid it down to see what she’d do. She scrapes around and snuffs, and the cubs start whining, and she talks back to ‘em. Next she sits up awful big, and lifts up a cub and holds it to her close with both her paws, same as a person. And she rubbed her ear agin the cub, and the cub sort o’ nipped her, and she cuffed the cub, and the other cub came toddlin’, and away they starts rolling all three of ‘em! I watched that for a long while. That big thing just nursed and played with them little cubs, beatin’ em for a change onced in a while, and talkin’, and onced in a while she’d sit up solemn and look all around so life-like that I near busted. Why, how was I goin’ to spoil that? So I come away, very quiet, you bet! for I’d have hated to have Mrs. Bear notice me. Miss Peck, she laughed. She claimed I was scared to shoot.”

“After you had told her why it was?” said I.

“Before and after. I didn’t tell her first, because I felt kind of foolish. Then Tommy went and he killed the bear all right, and she has the skin now. Of course the boys joshed me a heap about gettin’ beat by Tommy.”

“But since she has taken