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THE COW PUNCHER
Hare an up-to-date story of
the ranch country, the city and
"over there." It'e a love story
the etory of the master passion
that drives a man onward to suc
cess for the sake of the woman
he loves. The hero Is a mave
rick of the foothills. The heroine
la a city girl born to the con
ventions. As the boy was practicing
hooting with hla cayuse on the
dead run along came the first
automobile he had ever seen. It
obligingly tipped over right be
hind the ranch house and broke
the owner's leg. So there was
time for Dave and Irene to get
acquainted which was to fall In
love.
They parted with a kiss she
to go back to her city life, he to
win his way up to her.
CHAPTER I.
The shadows of the spruce trees
fell northeastward, pointing long, cool
fingers across belts of undulating
prairie or leaning lazily against the
brown foothills. And among the
trees It was cool and green, and clear
blue water rippled over beds of shin
ing gravel.
The house was of round, straight
logs; the slilncles of the squat roof
were, cupped am Mistered with the
suns of many summers. Refuse loi
tered about the open door: many
empty tins, a leaky barrel with miss
ing hoops, boxes, harness, tangled bits
of wire. Once there had been a fence,
a sort of picket fence of little sap
lings, but wild broncos had kicked it
to pieces and range steers had strag
gled unscarred across its scattered
remnants.
Forward, and to the left, was a
bid all corral, mill slabs on end or
fences of lodgepole pine; a corner
somewhat covered in, offering vague
protection from the weather. The up
per poles were worn thin with the
cribbing of many horses.
The desertion Beemed absolute; the
alienee was the silence of the unspo
ken places. But suddenly It was bro
ken by a stamping in the covered part
of the corral, and a man's voice say
ing: "Hip, there I Whoa, you caynsel
Get under your saddle! Sleepln'
against a post all day, you Sloppy
eye. Hip I Come to It I"
Horse and rider dnshed Into the
sunlight. The boy for he was no
more than a boy sat the beast as
though born to It, his lithe frame tak
ing every motion of- his mount as
softly as a good boat rides the sea.
With a yell at his horse he snatched
the hat from his head, turning to the
sun a smooth brown face and a mane
of dark hair, and slapped the horse
across the Hank with his crumpled
headgear. The animal sprang Into
The Animal Sprang Into the Air, Then
Dashed at a Gallop Down the Road
way. the air, then dashed at a gallop down
the roadway, bearing the boy as un
concerned as a flower on Us stem.
Suddenly he brought his horse to a
Btop, Bwung about, and rode back at
a gentle canter. A few yards from
the house he again spurred htm to a
gallop, and, leaning fur down by the
animal's side deftly picked a bottle
from among the grass. Then he circled
about, repeating this operation as
often as his eye fell on a bottle, until
he had half a dozen; then down the
road again, carefully setting a bottlo
on each post of the fence that sklrfcd
It to the right
Again he came back to the house,
but when he turned his eye was on
the row of posts and his right hand
lay on the grip of his revolver. Again
his sharp yell broke the silence and
the horse dashed forward as though
shot from a gun. Down the road they
went until within a rod of the first
bottle; then there was a flash in the
sunlight and to the clatter of the
horse's hoofs came the crack-crack
of the revolver. Two bottles shivered
to fragments, but four remained la-
cCowrunche
r
J
tact, and the boy rode back, muttering
and disappointed. He reasoned with
his horse as he rode:
"'Teln't no use, you ol Slop-eye;
a fellow can't get the bead If he ain't
got the flllln' cooked meals an' de
cent chuck. I could plug 'em six out
o' six you know that, you ol' flop
ears. Don't you argue about It, nei
ther. When I'm right Inside my belt
I smash 'em six out o' six, but I ain't
right, an' you know It. You don't
know nothln' about It. You never had
a father; leastways you never had to
be responsible for one. . . . Well.
it's comln' to a finish a d lame
finish, you know that. You know"
But he had reloaded his revolver
and set up two more bottles. This
time he broke four and was better
pleased with himself. As he rode back
his soliloquy was broken by a strange
sound from beyond the belt of trees.
The horse pricked up his ears and
the boy turned In the saddle to listen.
"Jumpin' crickets 1 What's loose?" he
ejaculated. He knew every sound of
the foothill country, but this was
strange to him. A kind of snort, a
sort of hiss, mechanical In Its regu
larity, startling In Its strangeness, It
came across the valley with the un
broken rhythm of a watch tick.
"Well, I guess It won't eat us," he
ventured at last. "We'll just run It
down and perhaps poke a hole In It."
So saying, he cantered along the road,
crossed the little stream, and swung
up the hill on the farther side.
He was half way up when a turn In
the road brought him into sudden
sight of the strange visitor. It was
the first he had seen, but he knew It
at once, for the fame of the automo
bile, then In Its single-cylinder Btage,
had already spread Into the farthest
ranching country. The horse was less
well informed. He bucked and kicked
In rage and terror. But the boy was
conscious not so much of the horse as
of two bright eyes turned on him In
frank and surprised admiration.
"What horsemanship 1" she ex
claimed. But the words had scarce
left her lips when they were followed
by a cry of alarm. For the car had
taken a sudden turn from the road
and plunged into a growth of young
poplars that fringed the hillside. It
half slid, half plowed Its way Into a
seml-vertlcal position among the young
trees. The two occupants were
thrown from their seat; the girl fell
clear but her father was less fortu
nate. In an Instant the boy had flung him
self from his horse, dropping the reins
to the grotnd, and the animal, al
though snorting and shivering, had no
thought of disgracing his training "by
breaking his parole. With quick, un
gulnly strides the boy brought himself
to the upturned machine. It was cu
rious that he should appear to such
disadvantage on his feet. In the
saddle he was grace personified.
For a moment he looked somewhat
stupidly upon the wreck. Had It been
a horse or a steer he would have
known the procedure, but this experi
ence was new to his life. Besides
there were strangers here. He had no
fear of strangers when they wore
chaps and colored handkerchiefs, but
a girl In a brown sweater and an
oldish man with a white collar were
creatures to be approached with cau
tion. The oldish man was lying on
the ground, with a leg pinned under
the car, and Brown Sweater raised
his head against her knee and pressed
his cheeks with Bmall white fingers,
and looked at the boy with bright
gray eyes and said:
"Aren't you going to do anything?"
That brought him back. "Sure," he
said, springing to her side. "Whada ye
want me to do?"
"I am afraid my leg Is broken," said
the man, speaking calmly notwith
standing his pain. "Can you get the
jack out of the toolbox and raise the
car?"
The girl pointed to the box, and In
a moment he had the jack In his
hand. But it was a new tool to him
and he fumbled with It stupidly. The
handle would not fit, and when It did
fit It operated the wrong way.
"Oh, let me have it," she cried Im
patiently. In a moment she had it set under
the frame of the car and was plying
the' handle up and down with rapid
strokes. The boy looked on, helpless
and mortified. He was beginning to
realize that there were more things
In the world than riding a horse and
shooting bottles. Ho felt a sudden
desire to be of great service. And
Just now he could be of no service
whatever.
But the foot of the Jack began to
sink lu the soft earth, and the girl
looked up helplessly.
"It won't lift It." ahe said. "What
shall we do?"
It was his chance. He was eighteen,
and his wild, open life had given him
muscles of steel. "Here," he said
roughly, "move his leg when I get It
clear." He turned his back to the
machine and crouched down until he
could get Ills hands under the steel
frame. Then he lifted. The car was
lu a somewhat poised position, and he
was able to awing It up far enough
to release the injured leg.
Robert J. C Stead
Author of
V Kitchener and
Other Poems"
Illustration fry
IRWIN MYERS
"Very good, my boy," said the man.
"That was a wonderful lift The leg
Is broken compound. Can you get
some way of moving me to shelter?
I will pay you well."
The last words were unfortunate.
Hospitality In the ranching country Is
not bought and sold.
"You can't pay me nothln'," he said
rudely. "But I can bring a light
wagon, if you can ride In that, and
put you up at the ranch. The old
man's soused," he added, as an after
thought, "but It's better than sleepln'
out. I won't be long."
He was back at his horse, and In
a moment they heard the clatter of
hoofs galloping down the hillside.
The girl rested her father's head In
her lop. Tears made her bright eyes
brighter still.
"Don't cry, Beenlc," he said gently.
"We are very lucky to be so close to
help. Of course I'll be laid up for a
while, but It will give you a chance
to see ranch life as It really is." He
winced with pain but continued: "I
fancy we shall find It plain and un
veneered. What a horseman I If I
could run an automobile like he does
a horse we should not be here."
"He's strong," she said. "But he's
rude."
"The best fields for muscle are often
poor schools for manners," he an
swered. The boy was soon back with a
wagon and a stretcher. He avoided
the eyes of his guests, but quickly
and gently enough he placed the In
jured man on the stretcher. "I guess
you'll have to take the feet," he said.
The words were for the girl although
he did not look at her. "I could
hustle him myself but it might hurt
'Im."
But the Injured man Interrupted.
"I beg your pardon," he said, "that I
did not Introduce my daughter. I am
Doctor Hardy; this is my daughter
Irene, Mr.?"
"They don't call me mister," said
the boy. "Misters Is scarce in these
woods. My name Is Elden Dave
Elden."
The girl came up with extended
hand. He took It shyly, but it made
him curiously bold.
"I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Elden,"
she said.
"I'm glad to meet you, too," he an
swered. "Misses Is scarcer than mis
ters In this neck o' the woods."
Carefully they lifted the injured
man into the wagon, and Dave drove
to the ranch building with an un
wonted caution that must have caused
strange misgivings in the hearts of
his team.
"It ain't much of a place," he said,
as they pulled up at the door. "I
guess you can see that for yourself,"
he added, with a grin. 'Yon see
there's Just dad and me, and he's
soused most of the time, and I handle
a lasso better'n a scrubbln' brush."
He was already losing his shyness.
"Now you take the feet again. Steady I
Look out for that barrel hoop. This
way now."
He led Into the old ranch house,
kicking the door wider open with his
heel as he passed. A partition from
east to west divided the house, and
another partition from north to south
divided the northern half. In the
northeast room they set the stretcher
on the floor.
"Now," said the boy, "I'm goin' for
the doctor. It's forty miles to town,
and It'll likely be mornln' before I'm
back, but I'll sure burn the trail.
There's grub In the house, and you
won't starve that Is If you can cook."
(This was evidently for Irene. There
was a note In It that suggested the
girl might have her limitations.) "Dig
into anythln' in sight And I hope
your father's leg won't hurt very
much."
"Oh, I'll stand It," said Doctor
Hardy, with some cheerfulness. "We
medical men become accustomed to
suffering In other people. You are
very kind. My daughter may remain
in this room, I suppose? There Is
no one else?"
"No one but the old man," he an
swered. "He's asleep in the next
room, safe till mornln'. I'll be back
by that time. That's my bed," Indi
cating a corner. "Make yourselves at
home." He lounged through the door,
and they heard bis spurs clanking
across the hard earth.
The girl's first thought was for her
father. She removed his boot and
stocking, and, under his direction, slit
the leg of his trousers above the In
jury. It was bleeding a little. In the
large room of the house she found a
pail of water, and Bhe bathed the
wound, wiping It with her handker
chief and mingling a tear or two with
the warm blood that dripped from 4t
"You're good stuff," her father said,
pressing the fingers of her unoccupied
hand, "Now If you could find a clean
cloth to bandage It"
"Is that you, Dave?"
"Yes, Reenle, and the doc
tor, too."
(TO BS CONTINUED
C0
"HE'S A WONDERFUL BOY."
Synopsis Dave Elden, son of a
drunken ranch ljian and almost a
maverick of the foothills, Is break
ing bottles with his pistol from his
running cayuse when the first au
tomobile he has ever seen arrives
and tips over, breaking the leg ot
Doctor Hardy but not Injuring his
beautiful daughter Irene. Dave
rescues the Injured man and starts
for the nearest doctor, 40 miles
away.
CHAPTER I Continued.
She looked about the place some
what hopelessly. Her father read her
perplexity.
"It seems as though you would be
In charge here for a while, Keenle,"
he said, "so you will save time by
getting acquainted at once with your
equipment. Look the house over and
see what you have to work with."
"Well, I can commence here," she
answered. "This is Dave's room. I
suppose I should say Mr. Elden's,
but what was It he said about 'mis
tering'? It would be splendid If It
were cleaned up," she continued, with
kindling enthusiasm. "These bare
logs, bare floors, bare rafters we've
got back to essentials, anyway. And
that's his bed." She surveyed a
framework of spruce poles, on which
lay an old straw mattress and some
very gray blankets: "I suppose he
Is very tired when he goes to bed,"
she said, drolly, as though that could
be the only explanation of sleep amid
such surroundings.
In the south end of the larger room
stood a ifireplace, crudely made of
slabs of native rock. The fires of
many winters had crumbled the rock,
so that It had fallen in in places and
was no longer employed for Its origi
nal purpose. A very rusty and greasy
stove now occupied the space Imme
diately lu front of the fireplace, the
stovepipe lending into the ample but
tottering chimney. Near . the stove
was a bench supporting a tin wash
basin, a wooden pail and certain frag
ments of soap evidently all the equip
ment necessnry for the simple ablu
tions of the Elden household. The
remnant of a grain-bag, with many evi
dences of use and abuse, performed
the functions of a towel, and a broken
piece of looking-glass gave the faintest
intimation that a strain of fundamen
tal relationship links the sexes. By
the western wall was a table, with nu
merous dishes, and to the wall Itself
had been nailed wooden boxes salmon
and tomato cases now containing an
assortment of culinary supplies. A
partially used sack of flour and an
other of rolled oats leaned against the
wall, and a trapdoor In the floor gave
promise of further resources beneath.
There was a window in the east and
another In the west, both open and
unscreened ; myriads of flies gave the
only touch of life to the dismal scene.
Irene looked it all over, then leaned
against the window sill and: laughed.
Her father had brought her west for
holidays, with the promise of changed
surroundings and new experiences, but
he had promised her no such delight
as this. With the Elden kitchen still
photographed In her mind she called up
the picture of her own city home the
order; the precision; the fixedness;
the thls-stts-here-and-that-stands-there-ness;
the flatness and emptiness and
formality of it all; and she turned
again to the Elden kitchen and laughed
a soft rippling, irrepressible laugh,
as Irrepressible as the laughter of the
mountain stream amid the evergreens.
Then she looked again from the open
window, this time with eyes that saw
the vista of valley and woodland and
foothill that stretched down Into the
opening prairie. Suddenly she realized
that she was looking down upon a pic
ture one of nature's obscure master
pieces painted in brown and green
and saffron against an opal canvas. It
was beautiful, not with the solemnity
of the great mountains, nor the sol
emnity of the great plains, but with
that nearer, more intimate relationship
which Is the peculiar property of the
foothill country. The girl drew a
great breath of the pure air and was
about to dream a new daydream when
the voice of her father brought her to
earth.
"Can't you find anything that will do
for a bandage?" he asked.
"Oh, you dear Daddykinsl" she re
plied, her voice tremulous with self
reproach. "I had forgotten. There
was a spell, or something ; it just came
down upon me in the window. The
bandage? Dear, not The only cloth I
see Is the kitchen towel, and I can't
recommend it But -hat a goose I
am I Our grips are In the car, or un
der It, or somewhere. I'll be back in
a Jiffy." And she was off at a sharp
trot down the trail along which she
bad so recently come in Dave Elden's
wagon.
The grips were duly found, and Irene
congratulated herself that she and her
father were In the habit of traveling
with equipment for overnight Arrived
at the house, ahe deftly wrapped a
bandage about her father's Injury and
set to work at the preparation of sup
pera task not strange to her, as her
PUNCHER
By Robeff JC.Siead
tS CliMarat
Kitchener, and other poems
mother considered It correct that her
daughter should have a working knowl
edge of kitchen affairs.
Once during the evening she took a
glance Into the other room. It was
even less Inviting than Dave's, with
walls bare of any adornment save dirty
garments that hung from nails driven
In the logs. On the rude bed lay an
old man. She could see only a part of
his face a gray mustache drooping
over an open mouth, and a florid cheek
turned to the glow of the setting sun.
On a chair beside the bed sat a bottle
and the room reeked with the smell of
breath charged with alcohol. She
gently closed the door and busied her
self through the long evening with re
forms in the kitchen and with little
ministrations designed to relieve the
sufferings of her father.
The sun sank behind the Rockies
and a darkness, soft and mystical and
silent, stole up the valley, hushing even
the noiseless day. The girl stood
framed in the open window and the
moonl'st.t painted her face to the pur
est ivory and toyed with the rich
brown fastness of her hair and gleamed
from a single ornament at her throat.
She was under a spell. She was In a
new world, where were manhood, and
silence, and the realities of being, and
moonlight, and great gulfs of shadow
between the hills, and large, friendly
stars, and soft breezes pushing this
way and that without definite direc
tion, and strange, quiet noises from
out of the depths, and the incense of
the evergreens,- and a young horseman
galloping into the night. And conven
tions had been swept away, and it was
correct to live, and to live !
The first flush of dawn was mellow
ing the eastern sky when the girl was
awakened from uneasy sleep by sounds
in the yard In front of the ranch
house. The stars were still sblning bright
ly through the cold air. In the faint
light she could distinguish a team and
wagon and men unhitching. She ap
proached and, In a voice that sounded
strangely distant in the vastness of the
calm night, called :
"Is that you, Dave?"
And In a moment she wondered how
she had dared call him Dave. But she
soon had other cause for wonder, for
the boy replied from near beside her,
The Girl Stood Framed In the Open
Window, and the Moonlight Painted
Her Face to the Purest Ivory.
In that tone of friendly confidence
which springs so spontaneously in the
darkness :
"Yes, Reenle, and the doctor, too.
We'll have Mr. Hardy fixed up in no
time. How did he stand the night?"
How dared he call her Reenle? A
flush of resentment rose In her breast,
only to be submerged In the sudden re
membrance that she had first called
him Dave. That surely gave him the
right to address her as he had done.
Then she remembered she was In the
ranch country, in the. foothills, where
the conventions the conventions she
hated had not yet become rooted, and
where the souls of men and women
stood bare in the clear light of frank
acceptance of the "fact. It would be
idle dangerous to trifle with this boy
by any attempt at concealment or de
ception. She could see bis form now as he led
the horses toward the corral. How
straight he was, and how bravely his
footsteps fell on the hard earth 1
"He's a wonderful boy," said the doe
tor, of whose presence she had been
unconscious. "Oat's eyes. Full gallop
through the dark ; side-hills, mountain
streams, up and down; breakneck.
Well, here we are." The doctor
breathed deeply, as though this last
fact was one to occasion some won
derment. "Your brother tells me you
have an injured man here. Accident.
Stranger, I believe? Well, shall we go
in?"
Brother 1 But why should she explain?
Dave hadn't bothered. Why hadn't he?
He had told about the stranger. Why
had he not told about both strangers?
Why had he ignored her altogether?
This time came another flush, born of
that keen womanly Intuition which un
derstands. With a commonplace she led the doc
tor into the house and to the bedside
of her father. When the operation
was completed the girl turned ber at
tention to the kitchen, where she
found Dave, sweating In vicarious suf
fering. He had helped to draw the
limb into place and It had been his
first close contact with human pain.
It was different from branding calves
and he had slipped out of the room as
soon as possible. The morning sun
was now pouring through the window
and the distraught look on the boy's
face touched her even more than the
frankness of the words spoken in the
darkness. She suddenly remembered
that he had been up all night for her.
She would not deceive herself with the
thought that it was for her father's
sake Dave had galloped to town, found
a doctor, secured a fresh team and
driven back along the little-used foot
hill trails. No doubt Dave would have
done It all for her father, had her fa
ther been there alone, but as things
were she had a deep conviction that
he had done It for her. And It was
with a greater effort than seemed rea
sonable that she laid her fingers on his
arm and said :
"Thank you, Dave."
"What for?" he asked, and she could
not doubt the genuineness of his ques-.
tlon.
"Why, for bringing the doctor, and
all that I am sure I can't father
won't be able to"
"Oh, shucks I" he interrupted, with a
manner which, on the previous after
noon, she would have called rudeness.
"That's nothln'. But, say, I brought
home some grub. The chuck here was
pretty tame. Guess you found that
out last night." He looked about the
room and she knew that he was taking
note of her house-cleaning, but he
made no remark on the subject
"Well, let's get breakfast," she said,
after a moment's pause and for lack
of other conversation. "You must be
hungry."
Dave's purchases had been liberal.
They Included fresh meat and vegeta
bles, canned goods, coffee, rice and
raisins. He laid the last three Items
on the table with a great dissembling
of Indifference, for he was Immensely
proud of them. They were unwonted
Items on the Elden bill of fare ; he had
bought them especially for her. But
she busied herself at the breakfast
without a thought of the epoch-marking
nature of these purchases.
The doctor, who had been resting In
the room with his patient, entered the
kitchen. During the setting of the limb
ho had gradually become aware of the
position of Irene In the household;
but had that not been so, one glance
at the boy and girl as they now stood
In the bright morning sunshine, he
with his big, wiry frame, his brown
face, his dark eyes, his black hair, she,
round and knit and smooth, with the
pink shining through her fair skin and
the light of youth dancing In her gray
eves and the light of day glancing on
her brown hair, must have told him
they had sprung from widely separat
ed stock. For one perilous moment he
was about to apologize for the mistake
made in the darkness, but some wise
instinct closed his lips. But he won
dered why she had not corrected him.
They were seated at breakfast when
the senior Elden made his appearance.
He had slept off his debauch and was
as sober'as a man in the throes of al
coholic appetite may be. Seeing the
strangers, he hesitated in his lurch to
ward the water pall, steadied hlm'self
on wide-spread feet, very flat on the
floor, and waved his right hand slowly
in the air. Whether this was to be un
derstood as a form of salutation or a
gesture of defiance was a matter of In
terpretation. "VIshltors," said the old man, at
length. "Alwaysh welcome, 'm sure.
Sh-scush me." He made his uncertain
way to the water-bench, took a great
drink and set about washing his face
and hands, while the breakfast pro
ceeded In silence. As his preparations
neared completion Irene set a place at
the table.
"Won't you sit down here, Mr. El
den?" she said.
There had been no introductions.
Dave ate on In silence.
"Thank you," said the old man, and
there was something In his voice which
may have been emotion or may have
been the husklness of the heavy drink
er's throat The girl gave it the for
mer explanation. As he took the prof
fered chair she saw in this old man
shreds of dignity which the less refined
eye of his son had not distinguished.
To Dave his father was an affliction to
be borne ; an unfair load laid on a boy
who had done nothing to deserve this
punishment. The miseries associated
with his parentage had gone far to
make him sour and moody. Irene at
first had thought Jilm rude and gloomy;
flashes of humor had modified that
opinion, but she had not yet learned
that his disposition was naturally a
buoyant one, weighed down by an en
vironment which had made it soggy
and unresponsive. In years to come
she was to know what unguessed
depths of character were to be re
vealed when that stole nature was
'cross-sectioned by the blade of a keen
and defiant passion.
Mr. Elden promptly engaged the doc
tor In conversation, and In a few mo
ments had gleaned the main facts in
connection with the accident and the
father and daughter which it bad
brought so momentarily under his
roof. He was quite sober now and his
speech, although slovenly, was not In
delicate. He was still able to pay to
woman that respect which curbs the
coarseness of a tongue for years sub
jected to little discipline.
Irene takes the first of
many rides with Dave.
(TO BB CONTINUED.!