Overland Red: A Romance of the Moonstone Cañon Trail Read online

  CHAPTER III

  RAGGED ROMANCE

  At the wide gate of the mountain ranch stood the girl. Her blacksaddle-pony Boyar fretted to be away. Glancing back through thecavernous shade of the live-oaks, the girl hesitated before opening thegate. A little breeze, wayfaring through Moonstone Canon and on up tothe mountain ranch, touched the girl's cheek and she breathed deeply ofits cool fragrance.

  The wide gate swung open, and Louise Lacharme, curbing Black Boyar, rodeout of the shadows into the hot light of the morning, singing as sherode.

  Against the soft gray of the canon wall flamed a crimson flower like apomegranate bud. Across the road ran the cool mountain stream. Away andaway toward the empty sky the ragged edges of the cliffs were etchedsharply upon the blue.

  The road ran swiftly round the eastern wall of the canon. Louise, asfragrantly bright as morning sunshine on golden flowers, laughed as thepony's lithe bound tore the silver of the ford to swirling beads andblade-like flashes.

  On the rise beyond, the girl drew rein at the beginning of the OldMeadow Trail, a hidden trail that led to a mountain meadow of ripegrasses, groups of trees, and the enchantment of seclusion.

  The pony shouldered through the breast-high greasewood and picked hissteps along the edge of the hill. The twigs and branches lisped andclattered against the carved leather tapaderos that hooded the stirrups.The warm sun awoke the wild fragrance of sage and mountain soil. Littlelizards of the stones raced from Black Boyar's tread, becoming rigid onthe sides of rocks, clinging at odd angles with heads slanted, likedelicate Orient carvings in dull brass.

  The girl's eyes, the color of sea-water in the sun, were leveled towardthe distant hills across the San Fernando Valley. From her fingersdangled the long bridle-reins. Her lips were gently parted. Her gaze wasthe gaze of one who dreams in the daylight. And close in the hiddenmeadow crouched Romance, Romance ragged, unkempt, jocular....

  Boyar first scented the wood-smoke. Louise noticed his forward-standingears and his fidgeting. Immediately before her was the low rounded rock,a throne of dreams that she had graced before. From down the slope andalmost hidden by the bulk of the rock, a little wand of smoke stood upin the windless air, to break at last into tiny shreds and curls ofnothingness.

  "It can't be much of a fire yet!" exclaimed Louise, forever watchful, asare all the hill-folk, for that dread, ungovernable red monster ofdestruction, a mountain fire. "It can't be much of a fire _yet_."

  The pony Boyar, delicately scenting something more than wood-smoke,snorted and swerved. Louise dismounted and stepped hurriedly round theshoulder of the rock. A bristle-bearded face confronted her. "No, itain't much of a fire yet, but our hired girl she joined a movin'-pictureoutfit, so us two he-things are doin' the best we can chasin' abreakfast." And the tramp, Overland Red, ragged, unkempt, jocular, rosefrom his knees beside a tiny blaze. He pulled a bleak flop of felt fromhis tangled hair in an over-accentuated bow of welcome.

  "We offer you the freedom of the city, ma'am. Welcome to our midst, andkindly excuse appearances this morning. Our trunks got delayed in NewYork."

  Unsmilingly the girl's level gray eyes studied the tramp's face. Thenher glance swept him swiftly from bared head to rundown heel. "I wasjust making up my mind whether I'd stay and talk with you, or ask you toput out your fire and go somewhere else. But I think you are all right.Please put on your hat."

  THE GIRL'S LEVEL GRAY EYES STUDIED THE TRAMP'S FACE]

  Overland Red's self-assurance shrunk a little. The girl's eyes weredirect and fearless, yet not altogether unfriendly. He thought that deepwithin them dwelt a smile.

  "You got my map all right," he said, a trifle more respectfully."'Course we'll douse the fire when we duck out of here. But what do youthink of Collie here, my pal? Is he all right?"

  "Oh, he's only a boy," said Louise, glancing casually at the youthcrouched above the fire.

  The boy, a slim lad of sixteen or thereabout, flushed beneath thebattered brim of his black felt hat. He watched the tomato-cancoffee-pot intently. Louise could not see his face.

  "Yes, Miss. _I'm_ all right and so is he." And a humorous wistfulnesscrept into the tramp's eyes. "He's what you might call a changeling."

  "Changeling?"

  "Uhuh! Always changin' around from place to place--when you're young.Ain't that it?"

  "Oh! And when you are older?" she queried, smiling.

  Overland Red frowned. "Oh, then you're just a tramp, a Willie, a Bo, aHobo."

  He saw the girl's eyes harden a little. He spoke quickly, and, sheimagined, truthfully. "I worked ten years for one outfit once, withouta change. And I never knowed what it was to do a day's work out of thesaddle. You know what that means."

  "Cattle? Mexico?"

  Overland Red grinned. "Say! You was born in California, wasn't you?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "'Cause Mexico has been about the only place a puncher could work thatlong without doin' day labor on foot half the year. Yes, I been there.'Course, now, I'm doin' high finance, and givin' advice to the young,and livin' on my income. And say, when it comes to real brain work, I'mthe Most Exhausted Baked High Potentate, but I wouldn't do no minerallabor for nobody. If I can't work in the saddle, I don't work--that'sall."

  "Mineral labor? What, mining?" asked Louise.

  "No, not mining. Jest mineral labor like Japs, or section-hands, orcoachmen with bugs on their hats. Ain't the papers always speakin' ofthat kind as minerals?"

  "Don't you mean menials?"

  "Well, yes. It's all the same, anyway. I never do no hair-splittin' onwords. Bein' a pote myself, it ain't necessary."

  "A--a poet! Really?"

  "Really and truly, and carry one and add five. I've roped a lot ofpo'try in my time, Miss. Say, are we campin' on your land?"

  "No. This is government land, from here to our line up above--theMoonstone Rancho."

  "The Moonstone Rancho?" queried Overland Red, breaking a twig andfeeding the fire.

  "Yes. It's named after the canon. But don't let me keep you frombreakfast."

  "Breakfast, eh? That's right! I almost forgot it, talkin' to you.Collie's got the coffee to boilin'. No, _you_ ain't keepin' us from ourbreakfast any that you'd notice. It would take a whole reg'ment ofRurales to keep us from a breakfast if we seen one runnin' around loosewithout its pa or ma."

  Louise Lacharme did not smile. This was too real. Here was adventurewith no raconteur's glamour, no bookish gloss. Here was Romance. Romanceunshaven, illiterate, with its coat off making coffee in asmoke-blackened tomato-can, but Romance nevertheless. That this romanceshould touch her life, Louise had not the faintest dream. She wasalone ... but, pshaw! Boyar was grazing near, and besides, she was notreally afraid of the men. She thought she rather liked them, or, moreparticularly, the boisterous one who had said his name was Overland Red.

  The tramp gazed at her a moment before he lifted the tomato-can from theembers. "We know you won't join us, but we're goin' to give you theinvite just the same. And we mean it. Ma'am, if you'll be so kind as todraw up your chair, us gents'll eat."

  "Thank you!" said Louise, and Overland's face brightened at thegood-fellowship in her voice. "Thank you both, but I've had breakfast."

  She gazed at the solitary, bubbling, tomato-can coffee-pot of"second-edition" coffee. There was nothing else to grace the board, orrather rock. "I'll be right back," she said. "I'll just take off Boyar'sbridle. Here, Boy!" she called. "You'll be able to eat better."

  And she ran to the pony. From a saddle-pocket she took her own lunch ofsandwiches and ripe olives wrapped in oiled paper. She delayed herreturn to loosen the forward cincha of the saddle and to find the littlestock of cigarette-papers and tobacco that she carried for any chancerider of the Moonstone who might be without them.

  Collie, the boy tramp, glanced up at Overland Red. "I guess she's gone,"he said regretfully.

  "You're nutty, Collie. She ain't the kind to sneak off after sayin'she's comin' back. I know a hoss and a real woman when I see
'em. I wasraised in the West, myself."

  The boy Collie was young, sensitive, and he had not been "raised in theWest." He frowned. "Yes, you was raised in the West, and what you got toshow for it?"

  "Well, hear the kid!" exclaimed Overland. "Out of the mouth of babes andsaplings! What have I got to show? What have I--! Wha--? Oh, you gochase a snake! I know a good hoss and a good woman when I see 'em, and Iseen both together this morning."

  "But what do _she_ want with us bos?" asked the boy.

  "S-s-h-h! Why, she's interested in me romantic past, of course. Ain't Ithe 'cute little gopher when it comes to the ladies? Fan me, Collie, andslow music and a beer for one. I'm some lady's-man, sister!"

  "You're a bo, the same as me," said the boy.

  "S-s-h-h! For the love of Pete, don't you handle that word 'bo' socareless. It's loaded. It has a jarrin' effect on earsunattenuated--er--meanin' ears that ain't keyed up to it, as the potesays. She's comin' back. Fold your napkin. Don't look so blame hungry!Ain't you got any style?"

  "She's the prettiest girl I ever seen," said the boy, hastily swallowinghis share of the hot, insipid coffee.

  "Pretty?" whispered Overland, as Louise approached. "She's thoroughbred.Did you see them eyes? Afraid of nothin', and smilin' at what might dastto scare her. Not foolish, either. She's wise. And she's kind andlaughin', and not ashamed to talk to us. That's thoroughbred."

  Round the rock came Louise, the neat package of sandwiches in one hand.In the other was the tobacco and cigarette-papers. "I'm going to have myluncheon," she said. "If you won't object, I'll take a sandwich. There,I have mine. The rest are for you."

  "We had our breakfast," said Overland quickly, "when you was talkin' toyour pony."

  Louise glanced at the empty tomato-can. "Well, I'll excuse you for notwaiting for me, but I shall not excuse you from having luncheon with me.I made these sandwiches myself. Have one. They're really good."

  "Oh!" groaned Overland, grimacing. "If I could curry up my languagesmooth, like that, I--I guess I'd get deaf listenin' to myself talk. Yousaid that speech like takin' two turns round the bandstand tryin' tocatch yourself, and then climbin' a post and steppin' on your ownshoulders so you could see the parade down the street. Do you get that?"And he sighed heavily. "Say! These here sandwiches is great!"

  "Will you have one?" asked Louise, gracefully proffering the olives.

  "Seein' it's you. Thanks. I always take two. The second one for a chaserto kill the taste of the first. It's the only way to eat 'em--if youknow where to stop. They do taste like somethin' you done and are sorryfor afterwards, don't they?"

  "Were you ever sorry for anything?" asked the boy, feeling a littlepiqued that he had been left out of the conversation.

  "I was raised in the West, myself," growled the tramp, scowling. "Butthat's a good pony you got, Miss. That your saddle too?"

  "Yes."

  "You rope any?"

  "A little. How did you know?"

  "Rawhide cover to the saddle-horn is wore with a rope," said Overland,helping himself to a second sandwich.

  Then the tramp and the girl, oblivious to everything else, discussedrawhide riatas as compared with the regular three-strand stock rope, orlariat,--center-fire, three quarter, and double rigs, swell forks andold Visalia trees, spade bits and "U" curbs,--neither willing, evenlightly, to admit the other's superiority of chosen rig.

  The boy Collie listened intently and a trifle jealously. Overland Redand the girl had found a common ground of interest that excluded himutterly. The boy itched for an excuse to make the girl speak to him,even look at him.

  The sandwiches gone, Louise proffered Overland tobacco and papers.Actual tears stood in the ex-cowboy's eyes. "Smoke! Me?" he exclaimed."I was dyin' for it. I'd do time for you!"

  Then in that boyish spirit that never quite leaves the range-rider,Overland Red took the tobacco and papers and cleverly rolled a cigarettewith one hand. In the other he held his battered felt hat. His eyes hada far-away look as he reached forward and lighted his cigarette at thefire. "I was settin' on a crazy bronc', holdin' his head up so hecouldn't go to buckin'--outside a little old adobe down in Yuma,Arizona, then," he explained, glancing at the girl. "Did you ever driftaway complete, like that, jest from some little old trick to make youdream?"