



Produced by David Edwards, Louise Setzer, Mary Meehan and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net









                            BAT WING BOWLES

                            BY DANE COOLIDGE

               AUTHOR OF "HIDDEN WATER" AND "THE TEXICAN"

                     Illustrated by D. C. Hutchison


    NEW YORK
    FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
    PUBLISHERS

    COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY
    FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

    COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY
    STREET & SMITH, NEW YORK

    _All rights reserved, including that of translation
    into foreign languages_

    _March, 1914_




[Illustration: "'WHY, HELLO THERE, COWBOY!' SHE CHALLENGED BLUNTLY"]




CONTENTS


I MR. BOWLES

II THE FAR WEST

III THE BAT WING RANCH

IV BRIGHAM

V WA-HA-LOTE

VI THE ROUND-UP

VII THE QUEEN AT HOME

VIII A COWBOY'S LIFE

IX REDUCED TO THE RANKS

X THE FIRST SMILE

XI CONEY ISLAND

XII PROMOTED

XIII A LETTER FROM THE POSTMISTRESS

XIV THE ENGLISH LORD

XV BURYING THE HATCHET

XVI THE STRAW-BOSS

XVII AND HIS SQUIRREL STORY

XVIII THE ROUGH-RIDERS

XIX A COMMON BRAWL

XX THE DEATH OF HAPPY JACK

XXI A CALL

XXII THE HORSE THAT KILLED DUNBAR

XXIII THE CUSTOM OF THE COUNTRY




ILLUSTRATIONS


"'Why, hello there, cowboy!' she challenged bluntly"

"Only Bowles, the man from the East, rose and took off his hat"

"'You want to be careful how you treat these Arizona girls!'"

"The man-killer charged at him through the dust"




BAT WING BOWLES




CHAPTER I

MR. BOWLES


It was a fine windy morning in March and Dixie Lee, of Chula Vista,
Arizona, was leaving staid New York at the gate marked "Western
Limited." A slight difference with the gatekeeper, who seemed to doubt
every word she said, cast no cloud upon her spirits, and she was
cheerfully searching for her ticket when a gentleman came up from
behind. At sight of the trim figure at the wicket, he too became
suddenly happy, and it looked as if the effete East was losing two of
its merriest citizens.

"Oh, good-morning, Miss Lee!" he said, bowing and smiling radiantly as
she glanced in his direction. "Are you going out on this train?"

"Why--yes," she replied, gazing into her handbag with a preoccupied
frown. "That is, if I can find my ticket!"

She found it on the instant, but the frown did not depart. She had
forgotten the young man's name. It was queer how those New York names
slipped her memory--but she remembered his face distinctly. She had met
him at some highbrow affair--it was a reception or some such social
maelstrom--and, yes, his name was Bowles!

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Bowles," she exclaimed as he gallantly took her bag;
but a furtive glance at his face left her suddenly transfixed with
doubts. Not that his expression changed--far from that--but a fleeting
twinkle in his eyes suggested some hidden joke.

"Oh, isn't your name Bowles?" she stammered. "I met you at the
Wordsworth Club, you know, and----"

"Oh, yes--quite right!" he assured her politely. "You have a wonderful
memory for names, Miss Lee. Shall we go on down to your car?"

Dixie Lee regarded the young man questioningly and with a certain
Western disfavor. He was one of those trim and proper creatures that
seemed to haunt Wordsworth societies, welfare meetings, and other
culture areas known only to the cognoscente and stern-eyed Eastern
aunts. In fact, he seemed to personify all those qualities of breeding
and education which a long winter of compulsory "finishing" had taught
her to despise; and yet--well, if it were not for his clothes and
manners and the way he dropped his "r's" he might almost pass for human.
But she knew his name wasn't Bowles.

There had been a person there by the name of Bowles, but the hostess had
mumbled when she presented this one--and they had talked quite a little,
too. She glanced at him again and a question trembled on her lips; but
names were nothing out where she came from, and she let it go for
Bowles.

The hypothetical Mr. Bowles was a tall and slender young man, of a type
that ordinarily maddened her beyond all reason and prompted her to say
cruel things which she was never sorry for afterward. He had a clear
complexion, a Cupid's bow mouth, and eyes as innocent as a girl's. They
were of a deep violet hue, very soft and soulful, and