The Ranch at the Wolverine Read online

  CHAPTER III

  A BOOK, A BANNOCK, AND A BED

  Blue led the way straight to the low, dirt-roofed stable of logs andstopped with his nose against the closed door. Billy Louise herselfwas deceived by the whirl of snow and would have missed the stableentirely if the leadership had been hers. She patted Blue gratefullyon the shoulder when she unsaddled him. She groped with her fingersfor the wooden peg in the wall where the saddle should hang, failed tofind it, and so laid the saddle down against the logs and covered itwith the blanket.

  "Just turn your horse in loose," she directed the man shortly. "Bluewon't fight, and I think the rest of the horses are in the other part.And come on to the house."

  It pleased her a little to see that he obeyed her without protest; butshe was not so pleased at his silence, and she led the way ratherindignantly toward the winking eye which was the cabin's window.

  At the sound of their feet on the wide doorstep, her mother pulled openthe door and stood fair in the light, looking out with the anxious lookwhich had lived so long in her face that it had lines of its ownchiseled deep in her forehead and at the sides of her mouth.

  "Is that you, Billy Louise? Oh, ain't Peter Howling Dog with you?What makes you so terrible late, Billy Louise? Come right in,stranger. I don't know your name, but I don't need to know it. Astorm like this is all the interduction a fellow needs, I guess." Shesmiled, at that. She had a nice smile, with a little resemblance toBilly Louise, except that the worried, inquiring look never left hereyes; as if she had once waited long for bad news, and had met everyonewith anxious, eager questioning, and her eyes had never changedafterwards. Billy Louise glanced at her with her calm, measuring look,making the contrast very sharp between the two.

  "What about Peter?" she asked. "Isn't he here?"

  "No, and he ain't been since an hour or so after you left. He saddledup and rode off down the river--to the reservation, I reckon."

  "Then the chores aren't done, I suppose." Billy Louise went over andtook a lantern down from its nail, turning up the wick so that shecould light it with the candle. "Go up to the fire and thaw out," sheinvited the man. "We'll have supper in a few minutes."

  Instead he reached out and took the lantern from her as soon as she hadlighted it. "You go to the fire yourself," he said. "I'll do what'snecessary outside."

  "Why-y--" Billy Louise, her fingers still clinging to the lantern,looked up at him. He was staring down at her with that intent look shehad objected to on the trail, but she saw his mouth, and the littlesmile that hid just back of his lips. She smiled back without knowingit. "I'll have to go along, anyway. There are cows to milk and youcouldn't very well find the cow-stable alone."

  "Think not?"

  Billy Louise had been perfectly furious at that tone, out on the trail.Now that she could see his lips and their little twitching to keep backthe smile, she did not mind the tone at all. She had turned away toget the milk pails, and now she gave him a sidelong look, of the kindthat had been utterly wasted upon Marthy. The man met it andimmediately turned his attention to the lantern wick, which needed niceadjustment before its blaze quite pleased him; he was not a Marthy toreceive such a look unmoved.

  Together they went out again into the storm they had left so eagerly.Billy Louise showed him where was the pitchfork and the hay, and thendid the milking while he piled full the mangers. After that they wenttogether and turned the shivering work horses into the stable from thecorral where they huddled, rumps to the storm; and the man lifted greatforkfuls of hay and carried it into their stalls, while Billy Louiseheld the lantern high over her head like a western Liberty. They didnot talk much, except when there was need for speech; but they werebeginning to feel a little glow of companionship by the time they wereready to fight their way against the blizzard to the house, BillyLouise going before with the lantern, while the man followed closebehind, carrying the two pails of milk that was already freezing inlittle crystals to the tin.

  "Did you get everything done? You must be half froze--and starved intothe bargin." Mrs. MacDonald, as is the way of some women who know theweight of isolation, had a habit of talking with a nervous haste attimes, and of relapsing into long, brooding silences afterwards. Shetalked now, while she pulled a pan of hot, brown biscuits from theoven, poured the tea, and turned crisp, browned potatoes out of afrying-pan into a deep, white bowl. She wondered, over and over, whyPeter Howling Dog had left and why he did not return. She said thatwas the way, when you depended on Indians for anything. She did wishthere was a white man to be had. She asked after Marthy and Jase andgave Billy Louise no opportunity to tell her anything.

  Billy Louise glanced often at the man, who did not look in the least asshe had fancied, except that he really did have a high nose andterribly keen eyes with something behind the keenness that baffled her.And his mouth was pleasant, especially when that smile hid just behindhis lips; also, she liked his hair, which was thick and brown, withhints of red in it here and there, and a strong inclination to curlwhere it was longest. She had known he was tall when he stepped intothe light of the door; now she saw that he was slim to the point ofleanness, with square shoulders and a nervous quickness when he moved.His fingers were never idle; when he was not eating, he rolled bits ofbiscuit into tiny, soggy balls beside his plate, or played a softtattoo with his fork.

  "I didn't quite catch your name, mister," her mother said finally."But take another biscuit, anyway."

  "Warren is my name," returned the man, with that hidden smile becauseshe had never before given him any opportunity to tell it. "WardWarren. I've got a claim over on Mill Creek."

  Billy Louise gave a little gasp and distractedly poured two spoons ofsugar in her tea, although she hated it sweetened.

  I've got to tell you why, even at the price of digression. Long ago,when Billy Louise was twelve or so, and lived largely in a dream worldof her own with Minervy for her "pretend" playmate, she had one daychanced upon a paragraph in a paper that had come from town wrappedaround a package of matches. It was all about Ward Warren. The namecaught her fancy, and the text of the paragraph seized upon herimagination. Until school filled her mind with other things, she hadbuilt adventures without end in which Ward Warren was the centralfigure. Up the canyon at the caves, she sometimes pretended that WardWarren had abducted Minervy and that she must lead the rescue.Sometimes, when she rode in the hills, Ward Warren abducted her and ledher into strange places where she tried to shiver in honest dread.Often and often, however, Ward Warren was a fugitive who came to herfor help; then she would take him to Minervy's cave and hide him,perhaps; or she would mount her horse and lead him, by devious ways, tosafety, and upon some hilltop from which she could point out the routehe must follow, she would bid him a touching adieu and beseech him, inthe impossible language of some old romancer, to go and lead ablameless life. Sitting there at the table opposite him, stirring thesugar heedlessly into her tea, one favorite exhortation returned fromher dream-world, clear as if she had just spoken it aloud. "Go, andsin no more; and if perchance you will in some distant far land send mea kind thought, that will be reward enough for what I have done thisday. Farewell, Ward Warren--Kismet."

  The lips of Billy Louise smiled and stopped just short of laughter, andshe looked across at Ward Warren as if she expected him to laugh alsoat that frightfully virtuous though stilted adieu. She found himlooking straight at her in that intent fashion that seemed as if hewould see through and all around her and her thoughts. He was notsmiling at all. His mouth was pulled into a certain bitterunderstanding; indeed, he looked exactly as if Billy Louise had dealthim a deliberate affront which he could neither parry nor fling back ather, but must endure with what stoicism he might.

  Billy Louise blushed guiltily, took an unpremeditated swallow of tea,and grimaced over the sickish sweetness of it. She got up and emptiedthe tea into the slop bucket, and loitered over the refilling of thecup so that when she returned to the table she was at least outwardlyca
lm. She felt another quick, keen glance from across the table, butshe helped herself composedly to the cream and listened to her motherwith flattering attention.

  "Jase has got all-gone feelings now, mommie," she remarked irrelevantlyduring a brief pause and relapsed into silence again. She knew thatwas good for at least five minutes of straight monologue, with hermother in that talking mood. She finished her supper while Warrenlistened abstractedly to a complete biography of the Meilkes andlearned all about Marthy's energy and Jase's shiftlessness.

  "Ward Warren!" Billy Louise was saying to herself. "Did you ever inyour life--it's exactly as if Minervy should come to life and walk in.Ward Warren! There couldn't possibly be two Ward Warrens; it's such anodd name. Well!"

  Then she went mentally over that paragraph. She wished she did notremember every single word of it, but she did. And she was afraid tolook at him after that. And she wanted to, dreadfully. She felt asthough he belonged to her. Why, he was her old playmate! And she hadsaved his life hundreds of times, at immense risks to herself; and hehad always been her devoted slave afterwards, and never failed toappear at the precise moment when she was beset by Indians or robbersor something, and in dire need. The blood he had shed in her behalf!At that point Billy Louise startled herself and the others by suddenlylaughing out loud at the memory of one time when Ward Warren had killedenough Indians to fill a deep washout so that he might carry her acrossto the other side!

  "Is there anything funny about Jase Meilke dying, Billy Louise?" hermother asked her in a perfectly shocked tone.

  "No--I was thinking of something else." She glanced at the man eyeingher so distrustfully from across the table and gurgled again. It wasterribly silly, but she simply could not help seeing Ward Warren calmlyfilling that washout with dead Indians so that he might carry heracross it in his arms. The more she tried to forget that, the funnierit became. She ended by leaving the table and retiring precipitatelyto her own tiny room in the lean-to where she buried her face as deepas it would go in a puffy pillow of wild duck feathers.

  He, poor devil, could not be expected to know just what had amused herso; he did know that it somehow concerned himself, however. He took uphis position--mentally--behind the wall of aloofness which stoodbetween himself and an unfriendly world, and when Billy Louise came outlater to help with the dishes, he was sitting absorbed in a book.

  Billy Louise got out her algebra and a slate and began to ponder theproblem of a much-handicapped goat's feeding-ground. Ward Warren readand read and read and never looked up from the pages. Never in herlife had she seen a man read as he read; hungrily, as a starved maneats; rapidly, his eyes traveling like a shuttle across the page; down,down--flip a leaf quickly and let the shuttle-glance go on. BillyLouise let her slate, with the goat problem unsolved, lie in her lapwhile she watched him. When she finally became curious enough todecipher the name of the book--she had three or four in that dull,brown binding--and saw that he was reading _The Ring and the Book_, shefelt stunned. She read Browning just as she drank sage tea; it wassupposed to be good for her. Her English teacher had given her thatbook. She never would have believed that any living human could readit as Ward Warren was reading it now; avidly, absorbedly, lost to hissurroundings--to her own presence, if you please! Billy Louise glancedat her mother. That lady, having discovered that her guest's glovesneeded mending, was working over them with pieces of Indian-tannedbuckskin and beeswaxed thread, the picture of domestic content.

  Billy Louise sighed. She shifted her chair. She got up and put aheavy chunk of wood on the fire and glanced over her shoulder at theman to see if he were going to take the hint and offer to help. Shecame back and stood close to him while she selected, with greatdeliberation, a book from the shelf beside his head. And Ward Warren,perfectly normal and not over twenty-five or so, pushed his chair outof her way with a purely mechanical movement, and read and read, andactually was too absorbed to feel her nearness. And he really wasreading _The Ring and the Book_; Billy Louise was rude enough to lookover his shoulder to make sure of that. She gave up, then, and thoughshe picked a book at random from the shelf, she did not attempt to readit. She went to her room and made it ready for their guest, and afterthat she went to bed in her mother's room; and she thought and thoughtand did a lot of wondering about Life and about Ward Warren. She heardhim go to bed, after a long while, and she wondered if he had finishedthe book first.

  The next morning the blizzard raged so that he stayed as a matter ofcourse. Peter Howling Dog had not returned, so Warren did the choresand would not let Billy Louise help with anything. He filled thewood-box, piled great chunks of wood by the fireplace, and saw that thewater-pails were full to the icy brims. He talked a little, and BillyLouise discovered that he was quick to see a joke, and that he simplycould not be caught napping, but had always a retort ready for her.That was true until after dinner, when he picked up a book again. Whenthat happened, he was dead to the world bounded by the coulee walls,and he did not show any symptoms of consciousness until he had reachedthe last page, just when the light was growing dim and blurring thelines so that he must hold the pages within six inches of his eyes. Heclosed the book with a long breath, placed it accurately upon the shelfwhere it had stood since Billy Louise came home from school, and pickedup his hat and gloves. It was time to wade out through the snow andfeed the stock and bring in more wood.

  "I wish we could get him to stay all winter, instead of that PeterHowling Dog," Mrs. MacDonald said anxiously, after he had gone out. "Ijust know Peter's off drinking. I don't think he's a safe man to havearound, Billy Louise. I didn't when you hired him. I haven't felteasy a minute with him on the place. I wish you'd hire Mr. Warren,Billy Louise. He's nice and quiet--"

  "And he's got a ranch of his own. He doesn't strike me as a man whowants a job milking two cows and carrying slop to the pigs, mommie."

  "Well, I'd feel a lot easier if we had him instead of that breed; onlywe ain't even got the breed, half the time. This is the third timehe's disappeared, in the two months we've had him. I really think youought to speak to Mr. Warren, Billy Louise."

  "Speak to him yourself. You're the one that wants him," Billy Louiseanswered somewhat sharply. She adored her mother; but if she had torun the ranch, she did wish her mother would not interfere and giveadvice just at the wrong time.

  "Well, you needn't be cross about it; you know yourself that Petercan't be depended on a minute. There he went off yesterday and neverfed the pigs their noon slop, and I had to carry it out myself. And mylumbago has bothered me ever since, just like it was going to give meanother spell. You can't be here all the time, Billy Louise--leastwaysyou ain't; and Peter--"

  "Oh, good gracious, mommie! I told you to hire the man if you wanthim. Only Ward Warren isn't--"

  Ward Warren pushed open the door and looked from one to the other, hiseyes two question marks. "Isn't--what?" he asked and shut the doorbehind him with the air of one who is ready for anything.

  "Isn't the kind of man who wants to hire out to do chores," BillyLouise finished and looked at him straight. "Are you? Mommie wants tohire you."

  "Oh. Well, I was just about to ask for the job, anyway." He laughed,and the distrust left his eyes. "As a matter of fact, I was going overto Jim Larson's to hang out for the rest of the winter and get awayfrom the lonesomeness of the hills. The old Turk's a pretty goodfriend of mine. But it looks to me as if you two needed somethingaround that looks like a man a heap more than Jim does. I know PeterHowling Dog to a fare-you-well; you'll be all to the good if he forgetsto come back. So if you'll stake me to a meal now and then, and aplace to sleep, I'll be glad to see you through the winter--or untilyou get some white man to take my place." He took up the twowater-pails and waited, glancing from one to the other with thatrepressed smile which Billy Louise was beginning to look for in hisface.

  Now that matters had approached the point of decision, her mother stoodlooking at her helplessly, waiting for her t
o speak. Billy Louise drewherself up primly and ended by contradicting the action. She gave himthe sidelong glance which he was least prepared to withstand--though injustice to Billy Louise, she was absolutely unconscious of its generaleffectiveness--and twisted her lips whimsically.

  "We'll stake you to a book, a bannock, and a bed if you want to stay,Mr. Warren," she said quite soberly. "Also to a pitchfork and an axe,if you like, and regular wages."

  His eyes went to her and steadied there with the intent expression inthem. "Thanks. Cut out the wages, and I'll take the offer just as itstands," he told her and pulled his hat farther down on his head."She's going to be one stormy night, lay-dees," he added in quiteanother tone, on his way to the door. "Five o'clock by the town clock,and al-ll's well!" This last in still another tone, as he pushed outagainst the swooping wind and pulled the door shut with a slam. Theyheard him whistling a shrill, rollicking air on his way to the creek;at least, it sounded rollicking, the way he whistled it.

  "That's _The Old Chisholm Trail_ he's whistling," Billy Louise observedunder her breath, smiling reminiscently. "The very song I used topretend he always sang when he came down the canyon to rescue Minervyand me! But of course--I knew all the time he's a cowboy; it said so--"

  The whistling broke and he began to sing at the top of a clear,strong-lunged voice, that old, old trail song beloved of punchers theWest over:

  "Oh, it's cloudy in the West and a-lookin' like rain, And my damned old slicker's in the wagon again, Coma ti yi youpy, youpy-a, youpy-a, Coma ti yi youpy, youpy-a!"

  "What did you say, Billy Louise? I'm sure it's a comfort to have himhere, and you see he was glad and willing--"

  But Billy Louise was holding the door open half an inch, listening andslipping back into the child-world wherein Ward Warren came singingdown the canyon to rescue her and Minervy. The words came gustily fromthe creek down the slope:

  "No chaps, no slicker, and a-pourin' down rain, And I swear by the Lord I'll never night-herd again, Coma ti yi youpy, youpy-a, youpy-a, Coma ti yi youpy, youpy-a!

  "Feet in the stirrups and seat in the saddle, I hung and rattled with them long-horn cattle, Coma ti yi--"

  "Do shut the door, Billy Louise! What you want to stand there likethat for? And the wind freezing everything inside! I can feel aterrible draught on my feet and ankles, and you know what that leadsto."

  So Billy Louise closed the door and laid another alder root on thecoals in the fireplace, the while her mind was given over to dreamyspeculations, and the words of that old trail song ran on in her memorythough she could no longer hear him singing. Her mother talked onabout Peter and the storm and this man who had ridden straight from theland of daydreams to her door, but the girl was not listening.

  "Now ain't you relieved, yourself, that he's going to stay?"

  Billy Louise, kneeling on the hearth and staring abstractedly into thefire, came back with a jerk to reality. The little smile that had beenin her eyes and on her lips fled back with the dreams that had broughtit. She gave her shoulders an impatient twitch and got up.

  "Oh--I guess he'll be more agreeable to have around than Peter," sheadmitted taciturnly; which was as close to her real opinion of the manas a mere mother might hope to come.