Overland Red Part 27

"Uhuh. That's what I christened her. She's a racer. She's sixty hoss-power, and sometimes I reckon I could handle sixty hosses easier to once than I could her. We was lopin' along out in the desert, 'bout fifty miles an hour by the leetle clock on the dashboard, when all of a sudden she lays back her ears and she bucks. I leans back and keeps her head up, but it ain't no use. She gives a jump or two and says '_Guzzuh!_' jest like that, and quits. I climbs out and looked her over.

She sure was balky. I was glad she said _somethin'_, if it was only 'Guzzuh,' instead of quittin' on me silent and scornful. Sounded like she was apologizin' for stoppin' up like that. I felt of her chest and she was pretty much het up. When she cooled off, I started her easy--sort of grazin' along pretendin' we wasn't goin' to lope again.

When she got her second wind I give her her head, and she let out and loped clean into the desert town, without makin' a stumble or castin' a shoe. Paid three thousand for her in Los. She is guaranteed to do eighty miles on the level, and she does a whole lot of other things that ain't jest on the level. She'd climb a back fence if you spoke right to her. A sand-storm ain't got nothin' on her when she gets her back up."

"Your car must be unique," suggested Walter Stone.

"Nope. She ain't a 'Yew-neck.' I forget her brand. I ain't had her very long. But I can run her now better than that little two-dollar-and-a-half excuse they lent me in Los. He loses his nerve comin' up the canon there. You see the Guzzuh got to friskin' round the turns on her hind feet. So I gives him a box of candy to keep him quiet and takes the reins myself. I got my foot in the wrong stirrup on the start--was chokin' off her wind instead of feedin' her. Then I got my foot on the giddap-dingus and we come. The speed-clock's limit is ninety miles an hour and we busted the speed clock comin' down that last grade. But we're here."

Dr. Marshall and Walter Stone gazed at each other. They laughed.

Overland smiled condescendingly. Anne Marshall had recourse to her handkerchief, but Louise did not smile.

"Does Billy ever drive your car?" asked Anne Marshall presently.

"He drives her in the desert and in the hills some. He drove her into a sand-hill once clean up to her withers. When he came back,--he kind of went ahead a spell to look over the ground, so he says,--he apologizes to her like a gent. Oh, he likes her more 'n I do. Bruck two searchlights at one hundred dollars a glim, but that's nothin'. Oh, yes, Billy's got good nerve."

Overland s.h.i.+fted his foot to his other knee and leaned back luxuriously, puffing fluently at his cigar.

"Billy did get to feelin' kind of down, a spell back. He had a argument with a Gophertown gent about our claim. I wasn't there at the time, but when I come back, I tied up Billy's leg--"

"Goodness! His leg?" exclaimed Anne.

"Yes, ma'am. The Gophertown gent snuck up and tried to stick Billy up when Billy was readin' po'try--some of mine. Billy didn't scare so easy.

He reaches for his gun. Anyhow, the Gophertown gent's bullet hit a rock, and s.h.i.+ed up and stung Billy in the leg. Billy never misses a tin can now'days, and the gent was bigger than a can. We never seen nothin' of him again."

"Gracious, it's perfectly awful!" cried Anne.

"Yes, lady. That's what Billy said. He said he didn't object to gettin'

shot at, but he did object to gettin' hit, especially when he was readin' po'try. Said it kind of bruck his strand of thought. That guy was no gent."

Walter Stone again glanced at Dr. Marshall. Aunt Eleanor rose, bidding the men good-night. Louise and Mrs. Marshall followed somewhat reluctantly. Stone disappeared to return with cigars, whiskey and seltzer, which he placed at Overland's elbow. "My friend Dr. Marshall is an Easterner," he said.

Overland waved a comprehending hand, lit another cigar, and settled back. "Now I can take the hobbles off and talk nacheral. When you gents want me to stop, just say 'Guzzuh.'"

CHAPTER XIX

"TO CUT MY TRAIL LIKE THAT!"

Overland Red was concluding his last yarn, a most amazing account of "The night the Plancher boys shot up Abilene."

It was exactly two o'clock by Dr. Marshall's watch.

"Both my guns was choked up with burnt powder. I reached down and borrowed two guns off a gent what wasn't usin' his jest then. Next day I was elected sheriff unanimous. They was seven of us left standin'. That was back in '98." Overland yawned and stood up.

"The boys are all asleep now," said Walter Stone. "We have plenty of room here. You'll not object to taking one of the guest-rooms as you find it, I'm sure."

"For better or for worse, as the pote says." And Overland grinned. "But I got to put that little chaffer to roost somewhere."

"That's so."

"I'll go wake him up." And Overland strode to the racing-car. The "chaffer" had departed for parts unknown.

"I guess he was scared at that last grade," said Overland, returning to the house. "He's gone. He must 'a' been scared, to beat it back down the road afoot."

"Perhaps he has gone to the stables," said Stone. "Well, we'll take care of you here. You can see Collie in the morning."

Overland, closing the door of the s.p.a.cious, cool guest-room, glanced about curiously. What was it made the place seem so different from even the most expensive hotel suites? The furniture was very plain. The decorations were soft-toned and simple. "It's--it's because the Rose Girl lives here, I guess," he soliloquized. "Now this kind of a roost would jest suit Billy, but it makes me feel like walkin' on eggs. This here grazin' is too good for me."

He undressed slowly, folding his unaccustomed garments with great care.

He placed his automatic pistol on the chair by the bed. Then he crept beneath the sheets, forgetting to turn out the light. "Huh! Gettin'

absent-minded like the old perfessor what picked up a hairbrush instead of a lookin'-gla.s.s to see if he needed shavin'. He was dum' near scared to death to see how his beard was growin'." And Overland chuckled as he turned out the lights.

He could not go to sleep at once. He missed the desert night--the s.p.a.ces and the stars. "I left here in a hurry once," he muttered. "'Bout three years ago. Then I was kiddin' Collie about wearin' silk pejammies. Now I got 'em--got 'em on, by thunder! Don't know as I feel any heftier in the intellec'. And I can't show 'em to n.o.body. What's the good of havin' 'em if n.o.body knows it? But I can hang 'em on the bedpost in the mornin', careless like, jest like I was raised to it. Them pejammies cost four dollars a leg. Some cla.s.s...." And he drifted to sleep.

After breakfast Dr. Marshall, who had taken a fancy to Overland, strolled with him over to the bunk-house. Most of the men were on the range. Collie was a.s.sembling bits and bridles, saddles, cinchas, and spurs, to complete an equipment for the proposed camping trip in the hills. He was astounded at Overland's appearance. However, he had absorbed Western ideals rapidly. He was sincerely glad, overjoyed, to see his old friend, but he showed little of it in voice and manner. He shook hands with a brief, "How, Red!" and went on with his work.

Dr. Marshall, after expressing interest in the equipment, excused himself and wandered over to the corrals, where he admired the horses.

"Where did you get 'em?" queried Collie, adjusting the length of a pair of stirrup-leathers.

"These?" And Overland spread his coat-tails and ruffled. "Why, out of the old Mojave. Dug 'em up with a little pick and shovel."

"You said in your letter you found the claim."

"Uhuh. Almost fell over it before I did, though. We never found the other things, by the track. New ties. No mark. Say, that Billy Winthrop I writ about is the brother of them folks stayin' here! What do you think!"

"Wish I was out there with you fellows," said Collie.

"You're doin' pretty good right here, kiddo. The boss don't think you're the worst that ever came acrost, and I expect the ladies can put up with havin' you on the same ranch by the way they talk. Got a hoss of your own yet?"

"Nope. I got my eye on one, though. Say, Red, this is the best place to work. The boss is fine. I'm getting forty a month now, and savin' it.

The boys are all right, too. Brand Williams, the foreman--"

"Brand who?"

"Williams. He came from Wyoming."

"Well, this here's gettin' like a story and not like real livin'. Why, I knowed old Brand in Mex. in the old days when a hoss and a gun was about all a guy needed to set up housekeepin'. We was pals. So he's foreman here, eh? Well, you follow his trail close about cattle or hosses and you'll win out."

"I been doing that," said Collie. "The other day he told me to keep my eye on one of the boys. Silent Saunders, he's called. Kind of funny. I don't know anything about Saunders."

"Well, you bank on it. Stack 'em up chin-high on it, Collie, if Brand says that. He knows some-thin' or he would never talk. Brand is a particular friend of yours?"

"You bet!"

"Well, tie to him. What he says is better than fine gold as the pote says. I reckon coa.r.s.e gold suits me better, outside of po'try. How does the Saunders insec' wear his clothes?"