CHAPTER III
AT THE FLYING W
It fell to Uncle Jepson to hitch the blacks to the buckboard--in a frigidsilence Masten had found his trunk, opened it and drawn out some verynecessary dry clothing; then marching behind a thick clump of alder, heproceeded to make the change. After this he climbed down to the river andwashed the mud from visible portions of his body. Then he returned to thebuckboard, to find the others waiting for him. In a strained silence heclimbed up to the seat beside Ruth, took up the reins, and sent theblacks forward.
It was ten miles to the Flying W ranchhouse, and during the ride thesilence was broken only once. That was when, at about the fifth mile,Ruth placed a hand on Masten's arm and smiled at him.
"I really think Mr. Randerson _was_ sorry that he upset you in the mud,Willard," she said gently. "I don't think he did it to be mean. And itwas so manly of him to apologize to you." She laughed, thinking that timehad already removed the sting. "And you really _did_ look funny, Willard,with the mud all over you. I--I could have laughed, myself, if I hadn'tfelt so indignant."
"I'll thank you to not refer to it again, Ruth," he said crossly.
She flushed and looked straight ahead of her at the unfolding vistas thattheir passage revealed: at the undulating plains, green with bunch-grassthat the rain of the night before had washed and reinvigorated; intogullies where weeds grew thick; peering into arroyos--visible memories ofwashouts and cloudbursts; glimpsing barrancas as they flashed by;wondering at the depth of draws through which the trail led; shivering atthe cacti--a brilliant green after the rain--for somehow they seemed tosymbolize the spirit of the country--they looked so grim, hardy, andmysterious with their ugly thorns that seemed to threaten and mock. Sheshrank, too, when the buckboard passed the skeleton of a steer, itsbleached bones ghastly in the sunlight, but she smiled when she saw a seaof soap-weed with yellow blossoms already unfolding, and she looked longat a mile-wide section of mesquite, dark and inviting in the distance.She saw a rattler cross the trail in front of the buckboard and draw itsloathsome length into a coil at the base of some crabbed yucca, andthereafter she made grimaces at each of the ugly plants they passed. Itwas new to her, and wonderful. Everything, weird or ugly, possessed astrange fascination for her, and when they lurched over the crest of ahill and she saw, looming somberly in the distance in front of her, agreat cottonwood grove, with some mountains behind it, their peaksgleaming in the shimmering sunlight, thrusting above some fleecy whiteclouds against a background of deep-blue sky, her eyes glistened and shesat very erect, thrilled. It was in such a country that she had longed tolive all the days of her life.
Somehow, it gave her a different viewpoint. The man who had accommodatedthem back at the river seemed to fit very well here. The spirit of theyoung, unfettered country was in his eyes, in his serene manner; he wasas hardy and rugged as this land from which he had sprung.
* * * * *
When the buckboard came to a halt in the Flying W ranchhouse yard, RuthHarkness' first emotion was one of a great happiness that the Harknesseshad always been thrifty and neat, and also that Uncle William hadpersisted in these habits. She had greatly feared, for during the lastday of her ride on the train she had passed many ranchhouses and she hadbeen appalled and depressed by the dilapidated appearance of theirexteriors, and by the general atmosphere of disorder and shiftlessnessthat seemed to surround them. So many of them had reminded her of thedwelling places of careless farmers on her own familiar countryside, andshe had assured herself that if the Flying W were anything like thoseothers she would immediately try to find a buyer, much as she wished tostay.
But the first glance at the Flying W convinced her that her fears hadbeen groundless. The ranchhouse was a big two-story structure built ofheavy timber, with porches in front and rear, and wide cornices, allpainted white and set on a solid foundation of stone. It looked spaciousand comfortable. The other buildings--stables, bunkhouse, messhouse,blacksmith shop, and several others--did not discredit the ranchhouse.They all were in good repair. She had already noted that the fences werewell kept; she had seen chickens and pigs, flowers and a small garden;and behind the stable, in an enclosure of barbed wire, she had observedsome cows--milkers, she was certain.
The ranchhouse was well sheltered by timber. The great cottonwood grovethat she had seen from the plains was close to the house on the south; itextended east and west for perhaps half a mile, and a grove of firs roseto the north, back of the pasture fence. The general character of theland surrounding the house was a sort of rolling level. The foothillsbelonging to the mountains that she had seen while approaching theranchhouse were behind the cottonwood grove. She had seen, too, that theriver they had crossed at the ford which Wes Vickers had called"Calamity" was not more than a mile from the house, and therefore sheconcluded that it doubled widely. Later, she learned from Vickers thather conclusion was correct, and that the river was called "Rabbit Ear."Why it was called that she was never able to discover.
When the buckboard came to a halt, two men who had been seated in thedoorway of one of the buildings--she discovered, later, that it was thebunkhouse--got up, lazily, and approached the buckboard. Ruth felt apulse of trepidation as they sauntered close to the wagon. Vickers hadtold her nothing directly concerning the character of the men at theranch, but during their conversation at Red Rock that morning he hadmentioned that the "boys are a good lot, taken together, but they's somethat don't measure up." And she wondered whether these two came underthat final vague, though significant classification.
Their appearance was against them. The one in advance, a man of mediumheight, looked positively villainous with his long, drooping blackmustache and heavy-thatched eyebrows. He eyed the occupants of thebuckboard with an insolent half-smile, which the girl thought hetried--in vain--to make welcoming.
The other was a man of about thirty; tall, slender, lithe, swarthy, withthin, expressive lips that were twisted upward at one corner in aninsincere smirk. This taller man came close to the wagon and paused in anattitude of quiet impudence.
"I reckon you're Ruth Harkness--the ol' man's niece?" he said.
"Yes," returned the girl, smiling. Perhaps she had misjudged these men.
"Well," said the man, looking at her with a bold glance that made herpulse skip a beat, "you're a stunner for looks, anyway." He reached outhis hand. She took it, feeling that it was the proper thing to do,although with the action she heard a grumble from Masten.
"You're welcome to the Flyin' W," said the man, breaking an awkwardsilence. "Tom Chavis is special glad to see a pretty woman around theseparts."
She felt, in his eyes more than his words, a veiled significance. Shereddened a little, but met his gaze fairly, her eyes unwavering.
"Who is Tom Chavis?" she asked.
"I'm reckonin' to be Tom Chavis," he said, studying her. He waved a handtoward the other man, not looking at him. "This is my friend Jim Pickett.We was foreman an' straw boss, respective, under Bill Harkness."
She could not help wishing that her uncle had discharged the two menbefore his death. She was wondering a little at Masten's silence; itseemed to her that he must see her embarrassment, and that he mightrelieve her of the burden of this conversation. She looked quickly athim; he appeared to be unconcernedly inspecting the ranchhouse. Perhaps,after all, there was nothing wrong with these men. Certainly, being a manhimself, Masten should be able to tell.
And so she felt a little more at ease.
"I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Chavis," she said. "Your friend Mr. Picketttoo." She indicated Masten with a nod of her head toward him. "This isMr. Willard Masten, a very dear friend of mine." The color in her facedeepened with the words.
Chavis had looked twice at Masten before Ruth spoke. He looked again now,meeting the Easterner's eyes. Chavis had been ready to sneer at Mastenbecause of his garments--they were duplicates of those he had worn beforethe ducking, and qui
te as immaculate--but something in the Easterner'seyes kept the sneer back; his own eyes gleamed with a quick,comprehensive fire, and he smiled. In the buckboard, fresh from thatcivilization which Chavis was ready to scorn, he had recognized a kindredspirit. There was exultation in his voice when he spoke, and he reachedover Ruth to grasp Masten's hand.
"An' so this is Willard, a very dear friend of yourn, eh? Well, now, I'msure glad, an' I reckon him an' me will get on." He urged Pickett forwardand introduced him, and Pickett gave Masten one quick, appraising glance.Then he, too, grinned.
Ruth was gratified. These men were rough, but they had been quick torecognize and appreciate Masten's good qualities. They had gone more thanhalf way in welcoming him. Of course, there was Chavis' bold allusion toa "pretty woman," but the very uncouthness of the men must be theexplanation for that breach of etiquette. She was much relieved.
Masten was suave and solicitous. He jumped out of the buckboard andhelped her down, performing a like service for Aunt Martha. Uncle Jepsongot out himself. Then, as Ruth hesitated an instant, Masten bent overher.
"You must be tired, dear. Go in and explore the house. Get somerefreshment and take a rest. I'll attend to the baggage and the horses."
He gave her a gentle pressure of the hand, and, followed by Uncle Jepsonand Aunt Martha, she went indoors.