Evening Republican, Volume 15, Number 128, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 31 May 1911 — Where Romance Is [ARTICLE]

Where Romance Is

By M. J. PHILLIPS

(CoKrricht. ton. by Associated Literary Press.)

"Blouse me, ma’am, but was you lookin' tor somebody 1* The trim, little ’ eastern person looked up at th» representative of the un trammeled west "Yes,” she replied; "I am looking for the conveyance to Mr. X>anforth’s ranch.” “That’s me, ma’am. Least ways Ido the drivln’ of the conveyance. Where Is your check?" * While the man was securing her trunk and strapping It to the back end of the backboard near the little station. Otle Pierson looked about her disapprovingly. So this was the west she had dreamed about! It was all very disappointing and she turned to the vanishing train, which could again llnlrher with civilisation, almost wistfully. Her mental picture of cowboys was of tall. Intellectual young men, with Greek profiles, who wore becoming broad-brimmed hats and two revolvers, the balance of their makedp to match. But even her guide—he was quite presentable looking so far as features went —was weakly conventional, like the rest He wore a vest —and suspenders! “The west Isn’t as I imagined it,” she said, with a touch of severity, when they had started on their 15-mlle drive to the Danforth ranch. "No, ma’am?” encouraged her companion. "No. In all that crowd at the station there wasn’t a real cowboy." "Oh, ma’am!” said the pained driver. "Well, not over two, anyway. There was a tall man, with a blonde mustache, and a beautiful, fit-brimmed gray hat—” "Wiley Piatt,” broke In the other; “he’s no cowman; he’s a tin-horn.” "A whatr “A tin-horn, ma’am—a gambler. He wore that rig to catch the tenderfeet Wiley couldn't ride a clo’eshorse.” “But that shorter man, with a leather band on his bat and leather trousers— ’’ The driver shook his head sadly. "His name’s Coon; he lives in Brooklyn. Sells blankets to the Injuns.” "That’s what I said,” declared Otle, switching back to her original assertion. "Here we are, in the midst of the west, and not a cowboy in eight” "The platform was full of cowboys,” returned the other, stoutly. "Did you happen to notice that tat citisen with the hard-boiled hat—_ "The whatr “The derby hat and red undershirt? That’s old Pap Withers. He’s punched cows for 30 year; take you a day to ride around his ranch. Most of the boys back there work for him. Didn’t, you see their ponies?" “You haven't told me your name,” she suggested presently. “William H. Brown,” he answered, with a touch of self-consciousness. "The ‘H’ standing for Henry, ma’am.” "There!” cried Miss Pierson, turning a pretty face upon him; “could there be any better proof that the romance of the west has gone? A few years ago everybody had nicknames out here; didn't they V' “Yes, ma'am." said William Henry. “Really this western country is disappearing. If it wasn’t for seeing Nellie —Mrs. Danforth is my cousin—l’d be sorry I came!" Mr. Brown, who was known and respected in half a dozen counties as ®ad River Bill, smiled discreetly. Miss Pierson’s opinion of the west did not .Improve with time. There was no beauty and no Interest, and, worst of all, no romance about it. Her search for romance was professional. no personal. She was a shortstory writer who believed that she had exhausted eastern types. She had followed the setting sun to find a stimulus to her imagination and creative powers; but they remained dormant. Even the wooing of Willfkm Henry Brown did not move her —or at least she would not admit to herself that It did. “He's been lovely, Nellie,” she complained afterwards to Mrs. Danforth. "He’s as thoughtful as a man can be. And really he’s clever. But I can’t marry him, can I?” “Why not?” asked Mrs. Danforth, a trifle sharply. “Why, because he's neither one thing nor the other. If he were dressed In eastern clothes, like the men back east, really I should love him. And If he’d wear one of those nice flatbrimmed hats Instead of that old slouch thing, and a flannel shirt open at the neck, and corduroy trousers and a belt, and throw away that borrod old vest, he’d be a perfect western type. I wouldn't let him out of my sight. “But he dresses like a tramp, even on Sunday. I don’t believe the man ever owned a white shirt in his life." The moon was low as Bad River BUI rode home in leisurely fashion from town. Ever and anon he raised his voice in the nasal strains of "The Cowboy’s Lament” There is a ridge a mile or so from the Danforth ranch buildings. Just before reaching It the foreman ceased his vocal efforts to seek the solace of tobacco. He rolled a cigarette deftly and was searching the pockets of the despised vest for a match, when the pony, ears pricked forward, topped rlfion " * a-»s~ i .«.

out against Bad River’s fingers. There was the glow of a fire to astonish his eyes, and a volley of short, sharp yelps, punctuated by rifle shots to assail his ears. The foreman put both “hooks” Into operation at once; and the urgent rowels nearly lifted the cow pony out of his skin. He leaped into the air like a surprised cat; and then, belly to the ground, he fairly flew toward the scene of the disturbance. In Bad River Bill’s cool brain cause and effect fitted themselves together like a scroll saw puzzle. Danforth and every employe of the ranch were away. Mrs. Danforth and Otle were there alone. Coon of Brooklyn, In addition to hla blanket trade, carried firewater as a side line and sold to the Indians on the sly. Hs had been at the reservation only yesterday and here were the results of hla visit. — U—-

Wily old Ponto, In whom liquor bred craft, had prtSbably slipped away with a half-score cronies to attack the ranch, knowing the women were unprotected. It was a trick that Ponto had played before when drunk. The Indians had no guns; but they did have bows and arrows, made for souvenirs and dangerous in skelled hands. - No doubt it was Mrs. Danforth using the rifle; be was still in time. So engrossed were the Indians In their pastime that they neither saw nor heard the charge until the pony and itß vengeful rider were among them. The foreman leaped clear off the saddle while the sweating horse was still under motion. He had no weapons, and he needed none. Directly in front, his squat form turned away from the raging Bad River, was Ponto himself. The cowboy look three prodigious bounds and brought his right foot Into play with a viciousness and energy remarkable. Ponto fell forward on his hands and knees from the force of It, uttering a loud grunt of surprise and anguish as he did so. Still In this undignified position, he peered over his shoulder, just as Bad River kicked him again, zestfully. The second assault rooted the chiefs aqualine nose Into the soil. He did not stay longer. Scrambling to his feet he dashed away, like the arrant old coward he was. Bad River turned his attention to the demoralised braves that were left He fought like a catamount The Indians tried to rally and fight back, but the white man’s civilisation had robbed them of courage and endurance, and they had neither gun nor knife. In three brisk minutes it was all over and the besiegers were hurrying back to the reservation, much more silently than they had come. Bad River BUI walked up to the front door and entered the living room. The unlighted cigarette was hanging from his nether Up. Nellie Danforth, clutching the rifle, stood by the window, a veritable Mollie Pitcher, Otie was beside her, frightened hut courageous. “Bad River, you sure can fight!” said Mrs. Danforth. "Thanks,” he drawled. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your party, but I guess they’ve plumb gone. You Btood ’em off well. Mis’ Danforth.” “I hope she hit some of them!” cried Otie, spiritedly. Bad River shook his head. " ’Frald not; they all seemed able to run.” He grinned at the recollection of the panic-stricken retreat “Would you mind gettin’ the butcher knife and cuttin’ out this arrow?” he continued, extending his right arm. "One of ’em let me have it as he skipped.” His tone changed suddenly. "Catch her —quick!’’ Otie had fainted.

Bad River Bill and Otie sat on chairs very near each other on the verandah. Bill’s right arm was bandaged; but he seemed to have retained the use of his hand, since it had closed comfortably about both of Otie’s. Punctuating the pastime by frequent osculation, they were planning the roseate future. "I have a hundred and sixty-five acres over by the new irrigation ditch," said William Henry. “When the water comes it’ll sure be a bonanza. We could put up a shack and live there, if we stay^ Insensibly his accent and his grammar changed. “I don’t imagine you care much about the west, though. We can go back eaat and do practically as well. "Father and my oldest brother are architects In Rochester, and there’s e place waiting for me In the firm. I tried the game for a year after I finished college, and liked It Then my health gave out and I came west. "But there’s nothing to keep me here, now, If you don’t want to stay. I can sell that quartef-section tomorrow for good money. So, honey, we can go back eaat to be married.” , "Go back east?” Otie looked at him out of Indignant and reproachful eyes . “Go hack eaat! We’ll do nothing df the kind! Well live on that quartereectlon. t.. - % “Why, there’s no excitement and no room and no true friends is the east And there's no love or romance, e§* ther! Well stay right here in our own west!”