Jasper County Democrat, Volume 10, Number 49, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 March 1908 — IN LITTLE SPRINGS CANYON [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

IN LITTLE SPRINGS CANYON

By Addison Howard Gibson.

Copyrighted, 1907. by M. M. Cunningham.

As the pony picked Its way up the wild, rock bordered canyon Ivy Norris took In great breaths of the ozone of the Arizona foothills. “This Is living!” she cried, throwing out her arms. “The folks back hontA would not know me. These three months spent In this wonderful cKmate have made me strong and young again. And this weather! Back In New Hampshire they are having snow, while out here It Is golden sunshine all day long. My heart Is full of the day —Thanksgiving! When I write' back home that I spent my Thanksgiving out in the foothills all alone the folks won’t believe me. They’ll simply say I’m learning western ways fast—to manufacture some big ones to boom the country.” The last of August Ivy Norris, pale, thin and thirty, had arrived from the east to teach the Lone Mesa school. The cowboys on Mr. Tower’s ranch, where she boarded and lodged, treated the coming of the cultivated little woman as a great Joke. Her short skirts, the boots and the handsome little revolver and cartridge belt furnished them material for comment for weeks. Even Warde Hughes, the/oreman, was amused at her first attempts to mount and ride Pilot, the gentlest pony on the ranch, but he equally enjoyed the pluck with which she persisted in learning to ride and the use of the little revolver that looked so comically dangerous in her small white hand. On this Thanksgiving morning the handsome foreman had reined In his cow pony behind a thicket of mesquite trees and was watching faithful old Pilot carefully bear his fair rider up the trail of Little Springs canyon. All at onee he became aware-es the fact that a few months had wrought a great transformation in the schoolteacher of Lone Mesa. The thin form had rounded out into graceful curves, the pale face had become plump and rosy, and her awkwardness in the saddle bad given place to an easy manner that could no longer be ascribed to a novice. “She’s like a girl of twenty,” he soliloquized. “By Jove, she’s the neat-

eet edition of her species that ever struck these foothills. I wonder if she knows where she is going. She’s a good ten miles from the ranch house now and still going on. Well, she’s a pretty interesting stray, and I’m going to see that she doesn’t get entirely lost” With this thought Warde Hughes entered another trail, then cautiously made a detour, coming back to the canyon just above Little Springs. Still concealed back of some manzanlta bushes, he watched Ivy Norris come on up the rugged trail. She was singing a stanza of an old school song that he remembered, and the notes floated up to him on the warm November air sweet and clear as an angel’s song. Suddenly she ceased, and she glanced quickly up the slope. Then, catching up her revolver,-she sent a shot whlzzlng off into the chaparral. A tawny form dropped out of sight down the ravine. “Ah,” exclaimed the foreman admiringly, “she made Mr. Coyote bit the dirt as well as a soldier could have done it” Guiding the pony to the springs, Ivy dismounted. While Pilot drank in long, satisfying quaffs from one of the little springs the young woman looked about her, noting the steep granite walls that surrounded her, the deep azure of the sky and the golden glow of the sunshine enveloping everything like a loving mother keeping a winter’s chill at bay. Then she saw Wards Hughes approaching from an opposite direction. “May I join you, Miss Norris?” he asked. “Certainly, Mr. Hughes,” she answered. “It is noon, isn’t it?*’ giving an odd little squint at the sun as if she were already enough of a plainswoman to estimate the time by its elevation. “It is about 1230,” said Hughes, with the old timer’s accuracy. “Then it is time for my lunch, and

I’m as hungry is that wretched coyote I shot at It is Thanksgiving day, Mr. Hughes. I have beef sandwiches, olives, cheese, crackers and some fig wafers In my saddlebags. With New England hospitality I ask you to help me eat them.” “While It is not the custom of us cattlemen to take a lunch at noon,” be returned, looking* into the bright eyes of the little woman before him, “I am glad to break the custom on this occasion by accepting your invitation.” Under a live oak they spread the paper napkins which Ivy had brought and arranged the lunch upon them. Hughes soon caught the happy spirit of his companion, and, throwing his mask of conscious restraint aside, he talked and laughed w’itb her with the pleasure of a boy. “The spring must furnish us tea,” she said, banding Hughes her pretty silver folding cup. He quickly filled it from the spring near by. Then he passed the cup to her. “I did not think of having company,” she said apologetically, touching the rim daintily with her pretty lips. “I wish I had another.” “I’m glad you haven’t,” protested Hughes heartily. “I like this one best” 'taking the cup from her hands and drinking. For a minute Ivy made no reply. Then she looked at the man sitting opposite her as if in doubt of his meaning. The next instant she smiled frankly and said: “Well, I think I do too.” The half serious simplicity of her speech amused Hughes, and, throwing back his head, he laughed in real enjoyment. “I’m sure we’ll get on all right,” he said, still laughing. Hughes declared there never was such a lunch. The greatest Thanksgiving feast in the land was nothing compared with this. The cold, pure water which they sipped in such good comradeship from the one cup he was sure outrivaled the nectar of all the gods. All too soon it was finished, and they sat back under the live oak silent, but happy. Suddenly Ivy realized it was midafternoon and she had twelve miles to ride back to the ranch. Tomorrow there would be school and the old routine of duties. Today held sunshine, laughter, Joy; the next would be filled with the daily grind and hard tasks. Watching her from under the wide rim of his hat, Warde Hughes saw the weary expression begin to settle over Ivy Norris’ face, and he understood. Left an orphan after finishing school, his loneliness had driven him west Here temperate habits and sterling principles had won him success. Now a woman, loving the freedom of his hills as he loved it, had entered his life. Suddenly he beheld a vision—a vision of liberty for both. Immediately he felt an Intuition that the loneliness of both was at an end. The new life of sunshine, the sunshine of a wonderful lote, was glowing for them. He yearned to tell her, to lift the shadows from the patient face, but the moment of realization was too blissful for speech. “Come,” he said at last, springing up to meet the. new life and claim it for them. Gently he took her hand and lifted her to her feet Then, looking into her beautiful eyes, he said eagerly, “Little woman, I want you to let me make every day of your life a Thanksgiving like today.” A soft flush stole Into her face, but she did not leave the strong arms which held her.

HE WATCHBD IVY NORRIS COME ON UP THE BUGGED TRAIL.