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

  CHAPTER IV

  "ANY ROAD, AT ANY TIME, FOR ANYWHERE"

  The boy Collie took the empty tomato-can and went for water with whichto put out the fire.

  Louise and Overland Red gazed silently at the youthful figure crossingthe meadow. The same thought was in both their hearts--that the boy'schance in life was still ahead of him. Something of this was in thegirl's level gray eyes as she asked, "Why did you come up here, so farfrom the town and the railroad?"

  "We generally don't," replied Overland Red. "We ain't broke. Collie'sgot some money. We got out of grub from comin' up here. We come up tosee the scenery. I ain't kiddin'; we sure did! 'Course, speakin' ingeneral, a free lunch looks better to me any day than the Yosemite--butthat's because I need the lunch. You got to be fed up to it to enjoyscenery. Now, on the road we're lookin' at lots of it every day, but weain't seein' much. But give me a good feed and turn me loose in the BigShow Pasture where the Bridal Veil is weepin' jealous of the CathedralSpires, and the Big Trees is too big to be jealous of anything, whereAdam would 'a' felt old the day he was born--jest take off my hobblesand turn me out to graze _there_, and _feed_, and say, lady, I scorn theidea of doin' _any_thing but decomposin' my feelin's and smokin' andwritin' po'try. I been there! There's where I writ the song called 'BeatIt, Bo.' Mebby you heard of it."

  "No, I should like to hear it."

  The fire steamed and spluttered as Collie extinguished it. Overland Redhanded the tobacco and papers to him.

  "About comin' up this here trail?" he resumed as the boy stretchedbeside them on the warm earth. "Well, Miss, it was four years ago that Ipicked up Collie here at Albuquerque. His pa died sudden and left thekid to find out what a hard map this ole world is. We been across, fromFrisco to New York, twice since then, and from Seattle to San Diego onthe side, and 'most everywhere in California, it bein' my native Stateand the best of the lot. You see, Collie, he's gettin' what you mightcall a liberated education, full of big ideas--no dinky stuff. Yes, Ipicked him up at Albuquerque, a half-starved, skinny little cuss thatwas cryin' and beggin' me to get him out of there."

  "Albuquerque?" queried Louise.

  "Uhuh. Later, comin' acrost the Mojave, we got thrun off a freight bymistake for a couple of sewin'-machines that we was ridin' with toBarstow, so the tickets on the crates said. That was near Daggett, by awater-tank. It was hotter than settin' on a stove in Death Valley at 12o'clock Sunday noon. We beat it for the next town, afoot. Colliecommenced to give out. He was pretty tender and not strong. I lugged himsome and he walked some. He was talkin' of green grass and cucumbers inthe ice-box and ice-cream and home and the Maumee River, and a whole lotof things you can't find in the desert. Well, I got him to his feet nextmornin'. We had some trouble, and was detained a spell in Barstow afterthat. They couldn't prove nothin', so they let us go. Then Collie got totalkin' again about a California road that wiggled up a hill and througha canon, and had one of these here ole Mission bells where it lit offfor the sky-ranch. Funny, for he was never in California then. Mebby itwas the old post-card he got at Albuquerque. You see his pa bought itfor him 'cause he wanted it. He was only a kid then. Collie, he saysit's the only thing his pa ever did buy for him, and so he kept it tillit was about wore out from lookin' at it. But considerin' how his paacted, I guess that was about all Collie needed to remember him by.Anyhow, he dreamed of that road, and told me so much about it that Igot to lookin' for it too. I knowed of the old El Camino Real and thebells, so we kept our eye peeled for that particular dream road, kind offor fun. We found her yesterday."

  "What, this? The road to our ranch?"

  "Uhuh. Collie, he said so the minute we got in that canon, MoonstoneCanon, you said. We're restin' up and enjoyin' the scenery. We need therest, for only last week we resigned from doin' a stunt in amovin'-picture outfit. They wanted somebody to do native sons. We saidwe didn't have them kind of clothes, but the foreman of the outfit sayswe'd do fine jest as we was. It was fierce--and, believe me, lady, Ibeen through some! I been through some!

  "They was two others in checker clothes and dip-lid caps, and they_wasn't_ native sons. They acted like sons of--I'd hate to tell youwhat, Miss--to the chief dollie in the show. They stole her beau andtied him to the S. P. tracks; kind of loose, though. She didn't seem tocare. She jest stood around chewin' gum and rollin' her lamps at thehead guy. Then the movin'-picture express, which was a retiredswitch-engine hooked onto a Swede observation car, backs down onAdolphus, and we was to rush up like--pretty fast, and save his life.

  "She was a sassy little chicken with blond feathers and a three-quarterrig skirt. She had a regular strawberry-ice-cream-soda complexion, andher eyes looked like a couple of glass alleys with electric lights in'em. I wondered if she took 'em out at night to go to sleep or onlyswitched off the current. Anyhow, up she rides in a big reddish kind ofautomobile and twists her hands round her wrists and looks up the trackand down the track and sees us and says, 'Oh, w'ich way has he went?W'ich way did Disgustus Adolphus beat it to?' And chewin' gum right ontop of that, too. It was tough on us, Miss, but we needed the money.

  "'Bout the eighteenth time she comes coughin' up in that old one-lungmachine,--to get her expression right, so the boss kept hollerin',--why,I gets sick and tired. If there's anything _doin_', why, I'm game, butsuch monkeyin'! There was that picture-machine idiot workin' the crankas if he was shellin' a thicket-full of Injuns with a Gatling, and hisfool cap turned round with the lid down the back of his neck, and me andCollie, the only sensible-actin' ones of the lot, because we was actin'natural, jest restin'. I got sick and tired. The next time up coughsthat crippled-up automobile with the mumps on its front tire, and shesays, 'Where, oh, where has he went?' I ups and says, 'Crazy, Miss, andcan you blame him?'

  "She didn't see no joke in that, so the boss he fired us. He wasn'tgoin' to pay us at that, but I picks up the little picture-machine boxand I swings her up over the track kind of suggestive like. 'One!' saidI. 'Do we get our money?'

  "'Drop that machine!' says he, rushin' up to me.

  "'I'm a-goin' to,' says I, 'good and hard. Think again, while I count.Do we get our money?'

  "'You get pinched!' says he.

  "'Two,' says I, and I swings the box up by the legs.

  "'Hole on!' yells the boss. 'Pay the mutt, Jimmy, and, for Gord sake,get that machine before he ruins the best reel we made yet!'

  "We got paid."

  "But the bell and Moonstone Canon?" questioned Louise, glancing back atBoyar grazing down the meadow.

  "Sure! Well, we flopped near here that night--"

  "Flopped?"

  "Uhuh. Let's see, you ain't hep to that, are you? Why, we crawled to thehay, hit the feathers, pounded our ear--er--went to bed! That's what itused to be. Well, in the morning, me and Collie got some sardines andcrackers to the store and a little coffee. It was goin' over there thatwe seen the bell and the road and the whole works. I got kind ofinterested myself in that canon. I never saw so many moonstones layin'right on top the gravel, and I been in Mex., too. We liked it and westayed over last night, expectin' to be gone by now."

  "And when you leave here?" queried Louise.

  "Same old thing," replied Overland cheerfully. "I know the ropes. Collieworks by spells. Oh, we're livin', and that's all you need to do inCalifornia."

  "And that is all--now that you have found the road?"

  "Oh, the road is like all of them dreams," said Overland. "Such thingsare good for keepin' people interested in somethin' till it's done,that's all. It was fun at first, lookin' up every arroyo and slit in thehills, till we found it. Same as them marriages on the desert, afterthat."

  "Marriages?"

  "Uhuh. Seein' water what ain't there, like."

  "Oh, mirages!" And Louise laughed joyfully.

  "I don't see no joke," said Overland, aggrieved.

  "I really beg your pardon."

  "That's all right, Miss. But what would you call it?"

  "Oh, an illusion, a mirage, something that seems to be
, but that isnot."

  "I don't see where it's got anything on marriages, then, do you? But Iain't generally peppermistic. I believe in folks and things, althoughI'm old enough to know better."

  "I'm glad you believe in folks," said Louise. "So do I."

  "It's account of bein' a pote, I guess," sighed the tramp. "'Course Iain't a professional. They got to have a license. I never took out one,not havin' the money. Anyway, if I did have enough money for a regularlicense, I'd start a saloon and live respectable."

  "Won't you quote something?" And the girl smiled bewitchingly. "Boyarand I must go soon. It's getting hot."

  "I'm mighty sorry you're goin', Miss. You're real California stock.Knowed it the minute I set eyes on you. Besides, you passed us thesmokes."

  "Red, you shut up!"

  Overland turned a blue, astonished eye on Collie. "Why, kiddo, what'sbitin' _you_?"

  "Because the lady give us the makings don't say _she_ smokes, does it?"

  Overland grunted. "Because you're foolish with the heat, don't say I am,does it? Them sandwiches has gone to your head, Chico. Who said she didsmoke?"

  Louise, grave-eyed, watched the two men, Overland sullen and scowling,Collie fierce and flaming.

  "We ain't used to--to real ladies," apologized Overland. "We could dobetter if we practiced up."

  "Of course!" said Louise, smiling. "But the poetry."

  "U-m-m, yes. The po'try. What'll I give her, Collie?"

  "I don't care," replied the boy. "You might try 'Casey Jones.' It'sbetter'n anything _you_ ever wrote."

  "That? I guess not! That ain't her style. I mean one of my_own_--somethin' _good_."

  "Oh, I don't know. 'Toledo Blake,'" mumbled Collie.

  "Nope! But I guess the 'Grand Old Privilege' will do for a starter."

  "Oh, good!" And Louise clapped her hands. "The title is splendid. Is thepoem original?"

  The tramp bowed a trifle haughtily. "Original? Me life's work, lady."And he awkwardly essayed to button a buttonless coat, coughed, waved hishalf-consumed cigarette toward the skies, and began:--

  "Folks say we got no morals--that they all fell in the soup; And no conscience--so the would-be goodies say; And I guess our good intentions _did_ jest up and flew the coop, While we stood around and watched 'em fade away.

  "But there's one thing that we're lovin' more than money, grub, or booze, Or even decent folks that speaks us fair; And that's the Grand Old Privilege to chuck our luck and choose, _Any_ road at _any_ time for _any_ where."

  And Overland, his hand above his heart, bowed effusively.

  "I like 'would-be goodies,'" said Louise. "Sounds just like a mussy,sticky cookie that's too sweet. And 'Any road at any time for anywhere--' I think that is real."

  Overland puffed his chest and cleared his throat. "I can't help it,Miss. Born that way. Cut my first tooth on a book of pomes ma got for apremium with Mustang Liniment."

  "Well, thank you." And Louise nodded gayly. "Keep the tobacco and papersto remember me by. I must go."

  "We don't need them to remember you by," said Overland gallantly. Thenthe smile suddenly left his face.

  Down the Old Meadow Trail, unseen by the girl and the boy, rode a singlehorseman, and something at his hip glinted in the sun. Overland's handwent to his own hip. Then he shrugged his shoulders, and slowlyrecovered himself. "What's the use?" he muttered.

  But there was that in his tone which brought Collie's head up. The ladpushed back his battered felt hat and ran his fingers through his wavyblack hair, perplexedly. "What's the matter, Red? What's the matter?"

  "Nothin'. Jest thinkin'." Yet the tramp's eyes narrowed as he glancedfurtively past the girl to where Boyar, the black pony, grazed in themeadow.

  Louise, puzzled by something familiar in the boy's upturned, questioningface, raised one gauntleted hand to her lips. "Why, you're the boy Isaw, out on the desert, two years ago. Weren't you lying by a water-tankwhen our train stopped and a man was kneeling beside you pouring wateron your face? Aren't you that boy?"

  "Yes!" exclaimed Collie, getting to his feet. "Red told me about _you_,too."

  "Yes, it's her," muttered Overland, nodding to himself.

  "And you chucked a rose out of the window to us?" said the boy."Overland said _she_ did."

  "Yes. It's her, the Rose-Lady Girl," said Overland. "Some of the folksin the train laughed when I picked up the rose. I remember. Some oneelse says, 'They're only tramps.' I recollect that, too."

  "But those men were arrested at Barstow, for murder, Uncle Walter said."

  Again Overland Red nodded. "They was, Miss. But they couldn't provenothin', so they let us go."

  "We always was goin' to say thanks to the girl with the rose if we everseen her," said the boy Collie. "We ain't had such a lot of roses giveto us."

  "So we says it now," said Overland quickly. "Or mebby we wouldn't neverhave another chance." Then he slowly rolled another cigarette.

  Just then the black pony Boyar nickered. He recognized a friend enteringthe meadow.

  Overland lighted his cigarette. As he straightened up, Louise wassurprised to see him thrust both hands above his head while he continuedsmoking placidly. "Excuse me, Miss," he said, turning the cigaretteround with his lips; "but the gent behind you with the gun has got thedrop on me. I guess he's waitin' for you to step out of range."

  Louise turned swiftly. Dick Tenlow, deputy sheriff, nodded good-morningto her, but kept his gun trained on the tramp.

  "Just step out from behind that rock," said Tenlow, addressingOverland.

  "Don't know as I will," replied the tramp. "You're no gentleman; youdidn't say 'please.'"

  "Come on! No bluff like that goes here," said the deputy.

  "Can't you see I ain't finished smokin' yet?" queried Overland.

  "Come on! Step along!"

  "No way to address a gent, you Johnny. Say, I'll tell you _now_ beforeyou fall down and shoot yourself. Do you think you got me because yourode up while I was talkin' to a lady, and butted into politeconversation like a drunk Swede at a dance? Say, you think I'd 'a' everlet you got this far if there hadn't been a lady present? Why, youlittle nickle-plated, rubber-eared policeman, I was doin' the doubleroll with a pair of Colts .45's when you was learnin' the taste ofmilk!"

  "That'll be about all for _you_," said the sheriff, grinning.

  "No, it ain't. You ain't takin' me serious, and there's where you'remakin' your mistake. I'm touchy about some things, Mr. Pussy-foot. Icould 'a' got you three times while you was ridin' down that trail, andI wouldn't 'a' had to stop talkin' to do it. And you with that littleold gun out before you even seen me!"

  "Why didn't you, then?" asked Tenlow, restraining his anger; for Louise,in spite of herself, had smiled at Overland's somewhat picturesqueresentment. "Why didn't you, then?"

  "Huh!" snorted Overland scornfully. "Do you suppose I'd start anythingwith a _lady_ around? That ain't my style. You're a kid. You'll get hurtsome day."

  Deputy Tenlow scowled. He was a big man, slow of tongue, ordinarilygenial, and proverbially stupid. He knew the tramp was endeavoring toanger him. The deputy turned to Louise. "Sorry, Miss Lacharme, but I gotto take him."

  "There's really nothing to hinder, is there?" Louise asked sweetly.