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                      THE CAPTAIN OF THE GRAY-HORSE TROOP

                               By HAMLIN GARLAND


SUNSET EDITION

HARPER & BROTHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON

COPYRIGHT, 1901. BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY

COPYRIGHT 1902. BY HAMLIN GARLAND


[Illustration]




CONTENTS


I. A CAMP IN THE SNOW

II. THE STREETER GUN-RACK

III. CURTIS ASSUMES CHARGE OF THE AGENT

IV. THE BEAUTIFUL ELSIE BEE BEE

V. CAGED EAGLES

VI. CURTIS SEEKS A TRUCE

VII. ELSIE RELENTS A LITTLE

VIII. CURTIS WRITES A LONG LETTER

IX. CALLED TO WASHINGTON

X. CURTIS AT HEADQUARTERS

XI. CURTIS GRAPPLES WITH BRISBANE

XII. SPRING ON THE ELK

XIII. ELSIE PROMISES TO RETURN

XIV. ELSIE REVISITS CURTIS

XV. ELSIE ENTERS HER STUDIO

XVI. THE CAMP AMONG THE ROSES

XVII. A FLUTE, A DRUM, AND A MESSAGE

XVIII. ELSIE'S ANCIENT LOVE AFFAIR

XIX. THE SHERIFF'S MOB

XX. FEMININE STRATEGY

XXI. IN STORMY COUNCILS

XXII. A COUNCIL AT NIGHT

XXIII. THE RETURN OF THE MOB

XXIV. THE GRAY-HORSE TROOP

XXV. AFTER THE STRUGGLE

XXVI. THE WARRIOR PROCLAIMS HIMSELF

XXVII. BRISBANE COMES FOR ELSIE

XXVIII. A WALK IN THE STARLIGHT

XXIX. ELSIE WARNS CURTIS

XXX. THE CAPTURE OF THE MAN

XXXI. OUTWITTING THE SHERIFF

XXXII. AN EVENTFUL NIGHT

XXXIII. ELSIE CONFESSES HER LOVE

XXXIV. SEED-TIME

XXXV. THE BATTLE WITH THE WEEDS

XXXVI. THE HARVEST-HOME

XXXVII. THE MINGLING OF THE OLD AND THE NEW




THE CAPTAIN OF THE GRAY-HORSE TROOP




I

A CAMP IN THE SNOW


Winter in the upper heights of the Bear Tooth Range is a glittering
desolation of snow with a flaming blue sky above. Nothing moves, nothing
utters a sound, save the cony at the mouth of the spiral shaft, which
sinks to his deeply buried den in the rocks. The peaks are like marble
domes, set high in the pathway of the sun by day and thrust amid the
stars by night. The firs seem hopeless under their ever-increasing
burdens. The streams are silenced--only the wind is abroad in the waste,
the tireless, pitiless wind, fanged like ingratitude, insatiate as fire.

But it is beautiful, nevertheless, especially of a clear dawn, when the
shadows are vividly purple and each rime-wreathed summit is smit with
ethereal fire, and each eastern <DW72> is resplendent as a high-way of
powdered diamonds--or at sunset, when the high crests of the range stand
like flaming mile-stones leading to the Celestial City, and the lakes
are like pools of pure gold caught in a robe of green velvet. Yet always
this land demands youth and strength in its explorer.

King Frost's dominion was already complete over all the crests, over
timber-line, when young Captain Curtis set out to cross the divide which
lay between Lake Congar and Fort Sherman--a trip to test the virtue of a
Sibley tent and the staying qualities of a mountain horse.

Bennett, the hairy trapper at the head of the lake, advised against it.
"The snow is soft--I reckon you better wait a week."

But Curtis was a seasoned mountaineer and took pride in assaulting the
stern barrier. "Besides, my leave of absence is nearly up," he said to
the trapper.

"Well, you're the doctor," the old trapper replied. "Good luck to ye,
Cap."

It was sunrise of a crisp, clear autumn morning when they started, and
around them the ground was still bare, but by noon they were wallowing
mid-leg deep in new-fallen snow. Curtis led the way on foot--his own
horse having been packed to relieve the burdens of the others--while
Sergeant Pierce, resolute and uncomplaining, brought up the rear.

"We must camp beside the sulphur spring to-night," Curtis said, as they
left timber-line and entered upon the bleak, wind-swept <DW72>s of
Grizzly Bear.

"Very well, sir," Pierce cheerily replied, and till three o'clock they
climbed steadily towards the far-off glacial heights, the drifts ever
deepening, the cold ever intensifying. They had eaten no food since
dawn, and the horses were weak with hunger and weariness as they topped
the divide and looked down upon the vast eastern <DW72>. The world before
them seemed even more inhospitable and wind-swept than the land they had
left below them to the west. The air was filled with flying frost, the
sun was weak and pale, and the plain was only a pale-blue sea far, far
below to the northeast. The wind blew through the pass with terrible
force, and the cold nipped every limb like a famishing white wolf.

"There is the sulphur spring, sir," said Pierce, pointing towards a
delicate strand of steam which rose from a clump of pines in the second
basin beneath them.

"Quite right, sergeant, and we must make that in an hour. I'd like to
take an observation here, but I reckon we'd better slide down to camp
before the horses freeze."

The dry snow, sculptured by the blast in the pass, made the threadlike
path an exceedingly elusive line to keep, and trailing narrowed to a
process of feeling with the feet; but Curtis set his face resolutely
into the northeast wind and led the way down the gulch. For the first
half-mile the little pack-train crawled slowly and hesitatingly, like a
bewildered worm, turning and twisting, retracing its way, circling huge
bowlders, edging awful cliffs, slipping, stumbling, but ever moving,
ever descending; and, at last, while yet the sun's light glorified the
icy kings behind them, the Captain drew into the shelter of the clump of
pines from which the steam of the warm spring rose like a chimney's
cheery greeting.

"Whoa, boys!" called Curtis, and with a smile at Pierce, added, "Here we
are, home again!"

It was not a cheerful place to spend the night, for even at this level
the undisturbed snow lay full twelve inches deep and the pines were
bowed with the weight of it, and as the sun sank the cold deepened to
zero point; but the sergeant drew off his gloves and began to free the
horses from their packs quite as if these were the usual conditions of
camping.

"Better leave the blankets on," remarked the young officer. "They'll
need 'em for warmth."

The sergeant saluted and continued his work, deft and silent, while
Curtis threw up a little tent on a cleared spot and banked it snugly
with snow. In a very short time a fire was blazing and some coffee
boiling. The two men seemed not to regard the cold or the falling night,
except in so far as the wind threatened the horses.

"It's hard luck on them," remarked Curtis, as they were finishing their
coffee in the tent; "but it is unavoidable. I don't think it safe to try
to go down that slide in the dusk. Do you?"

"It's dangerous at any time, sir, and with our horses weak as they are,
it sure would be taking chances."

"We'll make Tom Skinner's by noon to-morrow, and be out of the snow,
probably." The young soldier put down his tin cup and drew a map from
his pocket. "Hold a light, sergeant; I want to make some notes before I
forget them."

While the sergeant held a candle for him, Curtis rapidly traced with a
soft pencil a few rough lines upon the map. "That settles that
water-shed question;" he pointed with his pencil. "Here is the dividing
wall, not over there where Lieutenant Crombie drew it. Nothing is more
deceptive than the relative heights of ranges. Well, now take a last
look at the horses," he said, putting away his pencil, "and I'll unroll
our blankets."

As they crawled into their snug sleeping-bags Curtis said again, with a
sigh, "I'm sorry for the ponies."

"They'll be all right now, Captain; they've got something in their
stomachs. If a cayuse has any fuel in him he's like an engine--he'll
keep warm," and so silence fell on them, and in the valley the cold
deepened till the rocks and the trees cried out in the rigor of their
resistance.

The sun was filling the sky with an all-pervading crimson-and-orange
mist when the sergeant crawled out of his snug nest and started a fire.
The air was perfectly still, but the frost gripped each limb with
benumbing fury. The horses, with blankets awry, stood huddled close
together in the shelter of the pines not far away. As the sergeant
appeared they whinnied to express their dependence upon him, and when
the sun rose they turned their broadsides to it gratefully.

The two men, with swift, unhesitating action, set to work to break camp.
In half an hour the tent was folded and packed, the horses saddled, and
then, lustily singing, Curtis led the way down upon the floor of the
second basin, which narrowed towards the north into a deep and wooded
valley leading to the plains. The grasp of winter weakened as they
descended; December became October. The snow thinned, the streams sang
clear, and considerably before noon the little train of worn and hungry
horses came out upon the grassy shore of a small lake to bask in genial
sunshine. From this point the road to Skinner's was smooth and easy,
and quite untouched of snow.

As they neared the miner's shack, a tall young Payonnay, in the dress of
a cowboy, came out to meet them, smiling broadly.

"I'm looking for you, Captain."

"Are you, Jack? Well, you see me. What's your message?"

"The Colonel says you are to come in right off. He told me to tell you
he had an order for you."

A slouching figure, supporting a heap of greasy rags, drew near, and a
low voice drawled, weakly: "Jack's been here since Friday. I told him
where you was, but he thought he'd druther lay by my fire than hunt ye."

Curtis studied the squat figure keenly. "You weren't looking for the job
of crossing the range yourself, were you?"

The tramplike miner grinned and sucked at his pipe. "Well, no--I can't
say that I was, but I like to rub it into these lazy Injuns."

Jack winked at Curtis with humorous appreciation. "He's a dandy to rub
it into an Injun, don't you think?"

Even Skinner laughed at this, and Curtis said: "Unsaddle the horses and
give them a chance at the grass, sergeant. We can't go into the fort
to-night with the packs. And, Skinner, I want to hire a horse of you,
while you help Pierce bring my outfit into the fort to-morrow. I must
hurry on to see what's in the wind."

"All right, Captain, anything I've got is yours," responded the miner,
heartily.

The bugles were sounding "retreat" as the young officer rode up to the
door of Colonel Quinlan's quarters and reported for duty.

"Good-evening, Major," called the Colonel, with a quizzical smile and a
sharp emphasis on the word major.

"Major!" exclaimed Curtis; "what do you mean--"

"Not a wholesale slaughter of your superiors. Oh no! You are Major by
the grace of the Secretary of Indian Affairs. Colonel Hackett, of the
War Department, writes me that you have been detailed as Indian agent at
Fort Smith. You'll find your notification in your mail, no doubt."

Curtis touched his hat in mock courtesy. "Thanks, Mr. Secretary; your
kindness overwhelms me."

"Didn't think the reform administration could get along without you, did
you?" asked the Colonel, with some humor. He was standing at his gate.
"Come in, and we'll talk it over. You seem a little breathless."

"It does double me up, I confess. But I can't consistently back out
after the stand I've made."

"Back out! Well, not if I can prevent it. Haven't you hammered it into
us for two years that the army was the proper instrument for dealing
with these redskins? No, sir, you can't turn tail now. Take your
medicine like a man."

"But how did they drop onto me? Did you suggest it?"

The Colonel became grave. "No, my boy, I did not. But I think I know who
did. You remember the two literary chaps who camped with us on our trial
march two years ago?"

The young officer's eyes opened wide. "Ah! I see. They told me at the
time that they were friends of the Secretary. That explains it."

"Your success with that troop of enlisted Cheyennes had something to do
with it, too," added the Colonel. "I told those literary sharps about
that experience, and also about your crazy interest in the sign-language
and Indian songs."

"You did? Well, then you _are_ responsible, after all."

The Colonel put his hand on his subordinate's shoulder. "Go and do the
work, boy! It's better than sitting around here waiting promotion. If I
weren't so near retirement I'd resign. I have lived out on these cursed
deserts ever since 1868--but I'll fool 'em," he added, with a grim
smile. "I'm going to hang on to the last, and retire on half-pay. Then
I'll spend all my time looking after my health and live to be
ninety-five, in order to get even."

Curtis laughed. "Quite right, Colonel," and, then becoming serious, he
added, "It's my duty, and I will do it." And in this quiet temper he
accepted his detail.

Captain George Curtis, as the Colonel had intimated, was already a
marked man at Fort Sherman--and, indeed, throughout the western division
of the army. He feared no hardship, and acknowledged no superior on the
trail except Pierce, who was as invincible to cold and snow as a grizzly
bear, and his chief diversions were these trips into the wild. Each
outing helped him endure the monotony of barrack life, for when it was
over he returned to the open fire of his study, where he pored over his
maps, smoking his pipe and writing a little between bugle-calls. In
this way he had been able to put together several articles on the
forests, the water-sheds, and the wild animals of the region he had
traversed, and in this way had made himself known to the Smithsonian
Institution. He was considered a crank on trees and Indians by his
fellow-officers, who all drank more whiskey and played a better hand at
poker than he; "but, after all, Curtis is a good soldier," they often
said, in conclusion. "His voice in command is clear and decisive, and
his control of his men excellent." He was handsome, too, in a firm,
brown, cleanly outlined way, and though not a popular officer, he had no
enemies in the service.

His sister Jennie, who had devotedly kept house for him during his
garrison life, was waiting for him at the gate of his little yard, and
cried out in greeting:

"How _did_ you cross the range in this weather? I was frightened for
you, George. I could see the storm raging up there all day yesterday."

"Oh, a little wind and snow don't count," he replied, carelessly. "I
thought you'd given up worrying about me."

"I have--only I thought of poor Sergeant Pierce and the horses. There's
a stack of mail here. Do you know what's happened to you?"

"The Colonel told me."

"How do you like it?"

"I don't know yet. At this moment I'm too tired to express an opinion."

From the pile of mail on his desk he drew out the order which directed
him to "proceed at once to Fort Smith, and as secretly as may be. You
will surprise the agent, if possible--intercepting him at his desk, so
that he will have no opportunity for secreting his private papers. You
will take entire charge of the agency, and at your earliest convenience
forward to us a report covering every detail of the conditions there."

"Now that promises well," he said, as he finished reading the order. "We
start with a fair expectancy of drama. Sis--we are Indian agents! All
this must be given up." He looked round the room, which glowed in the
light of an open grate fire. The floor was bright with Navajo blankets
and warm with fur rugs, and on the walls his books waited his hand.

"I don't like to leave our snug nest, Jennie," he said, with a sigh.

"You needn't. Take it with you," she replied, promptly.

He glanced ruefully at her. "I knew I'd get mighty little sympathy from
you."

"Why should you? I'm ready to go. I don't want you trailing about over
these mountains till the end of time; and you know this life is fatal to
you, or any other man who wants to do anything in the world. It's all
very well to talk about being a soldier, but I'm not so enthusiastic as
I used to be. I don't think sitting around waiting for some one to die
is very noble."

He rose and stood before the fire. "I wish this whole house could be
lifted up and set down at Fort Smith; then I might consider the matter."

She came over, and, as he put his arm about her, continued earnestly:
"George, I'm serious about this. The President is trying to put the
Indian service into capable hands, and I believe you ought to accept;
in fact, you can't refuse. There is work for us both there. I am
heartily tired of garrison life, George. As the boys say, there's
nothing in it."

"But there's danger threatening at Smith, sis. I can't take you into an
Indian outbreak."

"That's all newspaper talk. Mr. Dudley writes--"

"Dudley--is he down there? Oh, you are a masterful sly one! Your
touching solicitude for the Tetongs is now explained. What is Dudley
doing at Smith besides interfering with my affairs?"

"He's studying the Tetong burial customs--but he isn't there at
present."

"These Smithsonian sharps are unexpectedly keen. He'd sacrifice me and
my whole military career to have you study skulls with him for a few
days. Do you know, I suspect him and Osborne Lawson of this whole
conspiracy--and you--you were in it! I've a mind to rebel and throw
everything out o' gear."

Jennie gave him a shove. "Go dress for dinner. The Colonel and his wife
and Mr. Ross are coming in to congratulate you, and you must pretend to
be overjoyed."

As he sat at the head of his handsome table that night Curtis began to
appreciate his comforts. He forgot the dissensions and jealousies, the
cynical speculations and the bitter rivalries of the officers--he
remembered only the pleasant things.

His guests were personable and gracious, and Jennie presided over the
coffee with distinction. She was a natural hostess, and her part in the
conversation which followed was notable for its good sense, but Mr.
Ross, the young lieutenant, considered her delicate color and shining
hair even more remarkable than her humor. He liked her voice, also, and
had a desire to kick the shins of the loquacious Colonel for absorbing
so much of her attention. Mrs. Quinlan, the Colonel's wife, was, by the
same token, a retiring, silent little woman, who smiled and nodded her
head to all that was said, paying special attention to the Colonel's
stories, with which all were familiar; even Mr. Ross had learned them.

At last the Colonel turned to Curtis. "You'll miss this, Curtis, when
you're exiled down there at old Fort Smith among the Tetongs. Here we
are a little oasis of civilization in the midst of a desert of
barbarians; down there you'll be swallowed up."

"We'll take civilization with us," said Jennie. "But, of course, we
shall miss our friends."

"Well, you'll have a clear field for experiment at Smith. You can try
all your pet theories on the Tetongs. God be with them!--their case is
desperate." He chuckled gracelessly.

"When do you go?" asked Mrs. Quinlan.

"At once. As soon as I can make arrangements," replied Curtis, and then
added: "And, by-the-way, I hope you will all refrain from mentioning my
appointment till after I reach Fort Smith."

The visitors did not stay late, for their host was plainly preoccupied,
and as they shook hands with him in parting they openly commiserated
him. "I'm sorry for you," again remarked the Colonel, "but it's a just
punishment."

After they were gone Curtis turned to his sister. "I must leave here
to-morrow morning, sis."

"Why, George! Can't you take time to breathe and pack up?"

"No, I must drop down on that agent like a hawk on a June-bug, before he
has a chance to bury his misdeeds. The Colonel has given out the news of
my detail, and the quicker I move the better. I must reach there before
the mail does."

"But I want to go with you," she quickly and resentfully replied.

"Well, you can, if you are willing to leave our packing in Pierce's
hands."

"I don't intend to be left behind," she replied. "I'm going along to see
that you don't do anything reckless. I never trust a man in a place
requiring tact."

Curtis laughed. "That's your long suit, sis, but I reckon we'll need all
the virtues that lie in each of us. We are going into battle with
strange forces."




II

THE STREETER GUN-RACK


There is a good wagon-road leading to old Fort Smith from Pinon City,
but it runs for the most part through an uninteresting country, and does
not touch the reservation till within a few miles of the agency
buildings. From the other side, however, a rough trail crosses a low
divide, and for more than sixty miles lies within the Tetong boundaries,
a rolling, cattle country rising to grassy hills on the west.

For these reasons Curtis determined to go in on horseback and in
civilian's dress, leaving his sister to follow by rail and buckboard;
but here again Jennie promptly made protest.

"I'll not go that way, George. I am going to keep with you, and you
needn't plan for anything else--so there!"

"It's a hard ride, sis--sixty miles and more. You'll be tired out."

"What of that? I'll have plenty of time to rest afterwards."

"Very well. It is always a pleasure to have you with me, you stubborn
thing," he replied, affectionately.

It had been hard to leave everything at the Fort, hard to look back from
the threshold upon well-ordered books and furniture, and harder still
to know that rude and careless hands would jostle them into heaps on the
morrow, but Jennie was accustomed to all the hardships involved in being
sister to a soldier, and, after she had turned the key in the lock, set
her face to the south cheerfully. There was something of the missionary
in her, and she had long burned with a desire to help the red people.

They got off at a squalid little cow-town called "Riddell" about noon of
the second day, and Curtis, after a swift glance around him, said: "Sis,
our chances for dinner are poor."

The hotel, a squat, battlemented wooden building, was trimmed with
loafing cowboys on the outside and speckled with flies on the inside,
but the landlord was unexpectedly attractive, a smiling, courteous host,
to whom flies and cowboys were matters of course. It was plain he had
slipped down to his present low level by insensible declinations.

"The food is not so bad if it were only served decently," said Jennie,
as they sat at the table eying the heavy china chipped and maimed in the
savage process of washing.

"I hope you won't be sorry we've left the army, sis."

"I would, if we had to live with these people," she replied, decisively,
looking about the room, which was filled with uncouth types of men,
keen-eyed, slouchy, and loud-voiced. The presence of a pretty woman had
subdued most of them into something like decorum, but they were not
pleasant to look at. They were the unattached males of the town, a mob
of barkeepers, hostlers, clerks, and railway hands, intermixed with a
half-dozen cowboys who had ridden in to "loaf away a day or two in
town."

"The ragged edge of the cloth of gold," said Curtis, as he glanced round
at them. "Civilization has its seamy side."

"This makes the dear old Fort seem beautiful, doesn't it?" the girl
sighed. "We'll see no more green grass and well-groomed men."

An hour later, with a half-breed Indian boy for a guide, they rode away
over the hills towards the east, glad to shake the dust of Riddell off
their feet.

The day was one of flooding sunlight, warm and golden. Winter seemed far
away, and only the dry grass made it possible to say, "This is autumn."
The air was without dust or moisture--crystalline, crisp, and
deliciously invigorating.

The girl turned to her brother with radiant face. "This is living! Isn't
it good to escape that horrid little town?"

"You'd suppose in an air like this all life would be clean and sweet,"
he replied. "But it isn't. The trouble is, these people have no inner
resource. They lop down when their accustomed props are removed. They
come from defective stock."

The half-breed guide had the quality of his Indian mother--he knew when
to keep silence and when to speak. He led the way steadily, galloping
along on his little gray pony, with elbows flapping like a rooster about
to take flight.

There was a wonderful charm in this treeless land, it was so lonely and
so sinister. It appealed with great power to Curtis, while it appalled
his sister. The solitary buttes, smooth of <DW72> and grotesque of line;
the splendid, grassy hollows, where the cattle fed; the burned-up mesas,
where nothing lived but the horned toad; the alkaline flats, leprous and
ashen; the occasional green line of cottonwood-trees, deep sunk in a dry
water-course--all these were typical of the whole vast eastern
water-shed of the continental divide, and familiar to the young officer,
for in such a land he had entered upon active service.

It was beautiful, but it was an ill place for a woman, as Jennie soon
discovered. The air, so dry, so fierce, parched her skin and pinched her
red lips. The alkali settled in a gray dust upon her pretty hair and
entered her throat, increasing her thirst to a keen pain.

"Oh, George! here is a little stream," she cried out.

"Courage, sis. We will soon get above the alkali. That water is rank
poison."

"It looks good," she replied, wistfully.

"We'll find some glorious water up there in that clump of willows," and
a few minutes' hard riding brought them to a gurgling little brook of
clear, cold water, and the girl not merely drank--she laved away all
traces of the bitter soil of the lower levels.

At about four o'clock the guide struck into a transverse valley, and
followed a small stream to its source in a range of pine-clad hills
which separate the white man's country from the Tetong reservation. As
they topped this divide, riding directly over a smooth swell, Curtis
drew rein, crying out, "Wait a moment, Louie."

They stood on the edge of a vast dip in the plain, a bowl of amethyst
and turquoise. Under the vivid October sun the tawny grass seemed to be
transmuted into something that shimmered, was translucent, and yet was
firm, while the opposite wall, already faintly in shadow, rose by two
degrees to snow-flecked mountains, faintly showing in the west and
north. On the floor of this resplendent amphitheatre a flock of cattle
fed irregularly, luminous as red and white and deep-purple beads. The
landscape was silent--as silent as the cloudless sky above. No bird or
beast, save the cattle, and the horses the three travellers rode, was
abroad in this dream-world.

"Oh, isn't it beautiful!" exclaimed Jennie.

Curtis sat in silence till the guide said: "We must hurry. Long ways to
Streeter."

Then he drew a sigh. "That scene is typical of the old time. Nothing
could be more moving to me. I saw the buffaloes feed like that once.
Whose are the cattle?" he asked of the boy.

"Thompson's, I think."

"But what are they doing here--that's Tetong land, isn't it?"

The guide grinned. "That don't make no difference to Thompson. All same
to him whose grass he eats."

"Well, lead on," said Curtis, and the boy galloped away swiftly down the
trail. As they descended to the east the sun seemed to slide down the
sky and the chill dusk rose to meet them from the valley of the Elk,
like an exhalation from some region of icy waters. Night was near, but
Streeter's was in sight, a big log-house, surrounded by sheds and
corrals of various sorts and sizes.

"How does Mr. Streeter happen to be so snugly settled on Indian land?"
asked Jennie.

"He made his location before the reservation was set aside. I believe
there are about twenty ranches of the same sort within the lines,"
replied Curtis, "and I think we'll find in these settlers the chief
cause of friction. The cattle business is not one that leads to
scrupulous regard for the rights of others."

As they clattered up to the door of the ranch-house a tall young fellow
in cowboy dress came out to meet them. He was plainly amazed to find a
pretty girl at his door, and for a moment fairly gaped with lax jaws.

"Good-evening," said Curtis. "Are you the boss here?"

He recovered himself quickly. "Howdy--howdy! Yes, I'm Cal Streeter.
Won't you 'light off?"

"Thank you. We'd like to take shelter for the night if you can spare us
room."

"Why, cert. Mother and the old man are away just now, but there's plenty
to eat." He took a swift stride towards Jennie. "Let me help you down,
miss."

"Thank you, I'm already down," said Jennie, anticipating his service.

The young man called shrilly, and a Mexican appeared at the door of the
stable. "Hosy, come and take these horses." Turning to Jennie with a
grin, he said: "I can't answer for the quality of the grub, fer Hosy is
cooking just now. Mother's been gone a week, and the bread is wiped out.
If you don't mind slapjacks I'll see what we can do for you."

Jennie didn't know whether she liked this young fellow or not. After his
first stare of astonishment he was by no means lacking in assurance.
However, she was plains-woman enough to feel the necessity of making the
best of any hospitality when night was falling, and quickly replied:
"Don't take any trouble for us. If you'll show me your kitchen and
pantry I'll be glad to do the cooking."

"Will you? Well, now, that's a sure-enough trade," and he led the way
into the house, which was a two-story building, with one-story wings on
either side. The room into which they entered was large and bare as a
guard-room. The floor was uneven, the log walls merely whitewashed, and
the beams overhead were rough pine boles. Some plain wooden chairs, a
table painted a pale blue, and covered with dusty newspapers, comprised
the visible furniture, unless a gun-rack which filled one entire wall
could be listed among the furnishings. Curtis brought a keen gaze