Chapter II: Part 2

“He would. Say, you ain’t aimin’ to marry no cowpuncher, are you, Marion?”

“Good gracious, no! What ever put that notion in your head, Ma Cooper?”

“Are you plumb ag’in’ the notion of marryin’?”

“Well, I’m certainly not thinking about such a thing.”

“That’s all I wanted to know. As soon as some of these punchers around here see you, there’s goin’ to be a lot of punchers accidentally droppin’ in at my place, and I want a talkin’ point.”

“Don’t they think of anything but marriage?”

“They won’t—not when they see you. I hope you’ll like Pineville. It’s a rough, tough place, my dear; but we don’t have to lock our doors. This is my house. Them’s what is left of my twelve rose bushes. Soil ain’t so good. Hootie calls ’em the twelve apostles. A cow ate Matthew, Mark, Luke and John the first night they was set out. C’mon in and be at home.”

“I just love it,” sighed Marion. “Every one is so kind and so pleasant I could just cry.”

“Go ahead. Tears don’t hurt nobody. Half a glass of water will put all the moisture back in your system.”

Windy met them at the door.

“I carried the trunk upstairs, Mrs. Cooper,” he said.

“That’s fine, Windy.”

“Thank you, Mr. March,” said Marion.

“You’re shore welcome, ma’am.”

He hurried through the gate and out to his team. Mrs. Cooper shook her head.

“He’s plumb ruined,” she said sadly. “Roped and hawgtied. That’s the first trunk he ever carried farther than the front porch in his whole life.”

* * * * *

“I tell you this TD outfit is goin’ to the dawgs,” declared Luke Jones, as he served a belated dinner to Eddie Grimes and Bud Hough.

“What’s eatin’ you, Luke?” queried Eddie, eying a fork suspiciously. “Hey! Why don’tcha wash the soap off these implements once in a while? I got a whole chunk of soap in my mouth.”

“Little soap won’t hurt you. You’d think it was strychnine! Nobody told you to swaller it, did they?”

“Well, you ought to clean things better than that, Luke.”

“Why is this outfit goin’ to the dogs?” asked Bud.

“’Cause why?” Luke struck a belligerent attitude, punctuating his statement with swordlike jabs of a long-tined fork. “’Cause Cleve Tolman appointed Shorty Gallup foreman this mornin’—that’s why.”

“Aw, he didn’t do that!” exclaimed Eddie.

“The hell he didn’t! I tell you he did. You two was gone, when Cleve called the gang together and made the announcement. Shorty swelled up like a pizened pup.”

Eddie smiled faintly and shook his head, as he helped himself to some baked beans.

“Aw, I suppose Shorty will make a good foreman,” he said.

“If you say yes to him all the time,” admitted Bud.

“Well, here’s one who won’t say it to him,” declared Luke. “Me and him never did hitch, and if he tries to give me any orders, this here TD will be short a cook and a foreman, ’cause he’ll be runnin’ to beat hell, with me after him.”

Eddie laughed at Luke’s serious statement.

“Don’t rub him wrong, Luke. We like you and your cookin’ so well we don’t want to lose you. Anyway, Cleve won’t let him interfere with the kitchen.”

“By golly, he better not. I’m strong for peace, but when I’ve got any fightin’ to do, I do it right now. Shorty don’t like me.”

“You speak to Cleve,” advised Bud. “Jist tell him to have Shorty lay off your end of the job.”

“Lotsa good that would do me. If Cleve ain’t got no more brains than to make Shorty foreman, talkin’ wouldn’t do me any good. I liked Buck Dennig. By grab, he knowed how to run this ranch.”

“He shore did,” said Eddie thoughtfully. “We lost a good man when we lost Buck. I wonder if Tex Blanco had anythin’ to do with it. I hate to believe he did.”

“I’d hate to say one way or the other,” replied Luke. “Mebby it’s best to let her lie the way she is. Ain’t nothin’ goin’ to bring Buck back, and the money—well, it was Buck’s own money, and he don’t need it now.”

Eddie looked closely at Luke, his blue eyes quizzical.

“Just what do you know about it, Luke?” he asked.

“I don’t know anythin’.”

Luke turned back to the stove and began cleaning up the dishes, while Eddie rolled a cigaret.

“Where’s the new foreman?” asked Bud.

Luke shook his head violently.

“I dunno, Bud. Prob’ly gone to Pineville to get a hat that’ll fit him. I was just thinkin’ that it won’t be so nice for you, Eddie.”

“It’s all right with me,” smiled Eddie. “I’m just a common puncher, and I ain’t wedded to no job.”

“Well, don’t let him run you off.”

Eddie laughed and got up from the table.

“Forty a month ain’t worth fightin’ over, Luke; but I think Cleve will have somethin’ to say about it.”

“You’re leanin’ on a weak reed,” said Luke.

* * * * *

Shorty Gallup celebrated his new job by going to town with Cleve Tolman. Cleve had business with a lawyer, so Shorty centered his attentions on the Stormy River Saloon, where he found Frank Judd, from Blanco’s ranch, talking with Oscar Johnson and Windy March. Frank Judd was Tex Blanco’s right hand man. He was about Shorty’s height, but weighed a few pounds less.

“Hyah, Shorty,” greeted Windy. “Have a shot?”

“Mebby,” said Shorty, looking sharply at Frank.

“How’s the TD these days?” asked Oscar expansively.

He had imbibed considerable liquor and was looking upon a rose colored world.

“Pretty good,” grinned Shorty. “I’m foreman now.”

“You are?” exploded Windy. “Whatcha know about that? Are they goin’ to quit raisin’ cattle?”

Shorty didn’t appreciate the humor of Windy’s question, but passed it off with a forced grin.

“I suppose,” drawled Oscar, “we’ll see some big changes in things around the TD.”

“You might,” grunted Shorty. “F’r instance, there might be less rustlin’ goin’ on.”

“Oh, is that so?” queried Windy. “Kinda reformin’, eh?”

“You go to hell!” snapped Shorty. “You know what I meant.”

He looked straight at Frank Judd as he finished his sentence.

“Was you speakin’ to me?” asked Frank coldly.

“If the shoe fits you, wear it, Judd.”

“It don’t fit me, Gallup; nor it don’t fit any of the B Arrow outfit.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, that’s so!”

Frank swayed away from the bar, facing Shorty, and Oscar stepped quickly between them.

“Go easy,” he warned them. “Keep your hand away from your gun, Shorty. No use killin’ each other. You ort to be ashamed of yourselves.”

“I’ll knock his head off!” growled Shorty. “I don’t need any gun.”

“Then give it to me.”

Reluctantly Shorty drew out his gun and gave it to the deputy, who turned and accepted Frank’s gun. He shoved both guns inside the waistband of his overalls.

Then he stepped from between them, and without any warning, Shorty rushed at Frank, slamming him against the bar, smashing at him with his free hand.

It was so unexpected that Frank had no chance to defend himself for several moments, but Shorty’s blows were too wild to do more than bounce off Frank’s head. Then they clinched and staggered to the middle of the room.

Shorty was mouthing curses, wearing himself out, trying to hammer Frank down, with a volley of blows to the elbows and shoulders, while the cooler Frank took plenty of time to adjust himself for the work at hand.

Suddenly he lashed out with a straight right that caused Shorty to part with two front teeth. It almost floored the new foreman of the TD. But Shorty was game. He came back with a rush, both arms working like pistons, and Frank broke ground, letting Shorty do all the fighting. But as soon as Shorty’s flurry was over, and before he realized that he had done little damage, Frank’s left hook caught him flush on the right ear, knocking him to his knees.

Frank stepped back, playing the game on the square, and Shorty should have stayed down long enough to allow the shower of stars to disappear; but he sprang back to his feet, still dazed, and rushed in again. But this time Frank did not retreat. In fact, he came ahead, smashing with both hands, sharpshooting at Shorty’s jaw. It was all over in a moment.

Shorty was sprawled half under a card table, flat on his back, while Frank leaned against the bar, breathing heavily, unmarked, except for a skinned elbow.

“Lasted jist one round,” said Windy disgustedly. “I thought it was goin’ to be a fight.”

“Lasted long enough to suit me,” panted Frank.

“Aw, you can whip him any day in the week,” assured Windy.

“That’s danged little satisfaction, Windy. I didn’t want to fight him.”

“Well, you whipped him, didn’t you?”

“I suppose that’s what you’d call it.”

“It shore looked thataway to me,” grinned Oscar. “Mebby we better sluice him with some cold water.”

* * * * *

Cleve Tolman didn’t find the lawyer at his office, so he went on down to Cooper’s store. Marion was there with Mrs. Cooper, and Hootie hurried to introduce them.

“I heard you was here,” said Tolman. “One of the boys said that the new teacher had arrived.”

“Yes, I arrived yesterday,” smiled Marion.

Tolman frowned slightly as he looked at her. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her if he hadn’t met her before. There was a great resemblance to someone he had known.

“You’re a stranger in this part of the country?” he asked.

“Yes. I came from Chicago to Cheyenne, where I learned about this position. It was my first time west of Chicago.”

“I hope you’ll like it here, Miss Evans. It’s a little rough, of course, but you’ll get used to it.”

“Well, we’re goin’ to make her like it,” laughed Mrs. Cooper.

Tolman nodded quickly and glanced toward the doorway, as Tex Blanco came in. He was wearing a pair of wide batwing chaps, flashing with silver conchos and a vermilion-colored silk shirt and a blue handkerchief. He flashed a smile at Marion as he removed his gray sombrero and walked past them to the rear of the store.

Marion’s eyes followed him, and Tolman scowled darkly. Mrs. Cooper smiled softly, and Marion flushed slightly, as she turned back and saw them looking at her.

Mrs. Cooper had told Marion all about the murder of Buck Dennig and the suspicions against Tex Blanco.

For several moments none of them spoke. They could hear Tex giving an order to Hootie at the rear of the store.

“You better put in about four boxes of forty-fives,” they heard Tex saying. “I got them new guns yesterday, Hootie—pearl handles and all. I dunno whether I’m goin’ to like ’em, but they’re shore pretty.”

“Pretty!” snorted Tolman, beneath his breath.

“He shore loves pretty clothes and things,” whispered Mrs. Cooper. “Sends to Cheyenne and has his shirts made to order.”

“Hummin’ bird!” said Tolman.

“Scarlet tanager,” said Marion, smiling.

* * * * *

A cowboy came across the wooden sidewalk, rasping his spurs, and struck the side of the doorway with his shoulder, as he came in. It was Shorty Gallup, his wet hair still dripping water that mixed with trickles of blood from each side of his mouth.

He stopped at the doorway and looked at Cleve Tolman.

“Lemme have your gun, will you, Cleve?” he asked thickly, trying to talk without opening his mouth very far. His own holster hung empty on his right thigh.

“Let you have my gun?” queried Tolman. “What’s wrong, Shorty?”

Shorty’s eyes blazed as he saw Tex Blanco, who came from the rear of the store and was looking at him.

“Johnson took m’ gun away from me,” said Shorty, and his voice shook with anger.

“Took your gun away from you?”

“Yeah, the dirty pup! And then Frank Judd smashed me in the mouth. Gimme a gun, Cleve. I want to go back.”

“Take it easy,” said Tolman. “Why did Frank Judd hit you?”

Shorty wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He was both mad and hurt, and when he glanced at Tex, who was leaning lazily against the counter, a half smile on his face, Shorty almost exploded.

“Gimme a gun, Cleve,” he begged. “Gimme a chance to clean up that damn B Arrow outfit.”

Marion glanced at Tex and their glances met. He was still smiling. Tolman stepped over to Shorty and led him outside, where they stood together, while Shorty showed him where Frank had removed two of his teeth. Mrs. Cooper sighed deeply and shook her head.

“It looks t’ me as though Shorty had found somebody he couldn’t whip,” observed Hootie.

“It may do him a lot of good,” said Tex seriously. “They are about the same size, and I’m shore Frank didn’t hit him first. It’s too bad this happened in front of Miss Evans. It gives her a bad impression of things.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t bother me in the least, Mr. Blanco.”

“Well, that’s fine. You’ll get along out here.”

“Thank you.”

“Here comes Frank and Oscar,” said Hootie.

The two men came across from the saloon and stepped up on the sidewalk near Tolman and Shorty. Oscar handed Tolman Shorty’s gun.

“You better keep this until your foreman cools off, Cleve.”

“Kinda takin’ things in your own hands, ain’t you?” asked Tolman coldly.

“Would you rather have him dead than alive, Cleve?”

“Hell, I can take care of myself!” rasped Shorty.

“The evidence is all ag’in’ you, cowboy,” grinned Oscar.

Frank Judd said nothing. His holster was still empty.

“Who started this trouble?” asked Tolman.

“Shorty did,” said Oscar quickly. “He started the conversational fight, and then he started the fist fight. And he shore got what he asked for. He jist the same as accused Frank of bein’ a rustler.”

Tolman laughed shortly, turned and handed Shorty his gun. Almost at the same instant, Oscar jerked out the other gun and handed it to Frank, who dropped it in his holster, without looking at Shorty.

Tex stepped quickly to the doorway. His smile was gone now. He shot a glance at Frank, but centered his attention on Tolman and Shorty. The foreman held the gun in his right hand, gripping it tightly, but he was looking at Tex now.

Slowly he lifted the gun and socked it down in his holster. He was mad enough to bite a rattler, but he did not care to start trouble with Tex Blanco.

“Well, that’s over,” sighed Oscar.

“You jist think it is,” growled Shorty.

“I guess you better go with me,” said Tolman. “At least you’ll get an even break, Shorty.”

They turned and went up the street together. Blanco smiled at Judd, who acted rather sheepish about the whole matter.

“He got an even break, didn’t he, Frank?” asked Tex.

“Little better than an even break,” said Frank.

“And a whole lot better!” snorted Oscar. “Shorty hit a dozen times before Frank hit once.”

“I don’t think that Mr. Tolman should ’a’ taken Shorty’s part in somethin’ that was his own fault,” declared Mrs. Cooper.

“Well, he’s one of Tolman’s men,” said Tex slowly. “You got to stick with your own men, Mrs. Cooper.”

“I thought it was goin’ to mean some shootin’,” said Hootie. “Shorty was goshawful mad, I’ll tell you. He was mad at you, too, Tex.”

“Naturally,” smiled Tex. He lifted his hat to Marion and Mrs. Cooper. “I’m shore sorry this happened in front of you ladies, and I’m glad it didn’t go any further. Pleased to have met you again, Miss Evans. C’mon, Frank.”

They went down the sidewalk together to the next hitching post, where they mounted and rode away.

“Tex is allus like that,” said Oscar. “Nothin’ ever ruffles his feathers. I reckon it’s ’cause he ain’t scared of nobody. A feller’s got to have nerve to wear colors like Tex does.”

“They are very becoming,” said Marion. “He looks well in red and all that silver.”

“But he ain’t tryin’ to be no dude,” declared Oscar. “His father was a Spaniard and his mother is Irish. Didn’t you ever hear her talk, Hootie? She’s Irish, you betcha. And Tex can sling Spanish like a greaser.”

“Do you suppose there will be trouble between him and Mr. Tolman?” asked Marion.

“Is trouble,” corrected Hootie. “The TD swear that—well, no, they don’t swear it, but they shore hint that Blanco and his men are stealin’ TD cattle. That’s what started the trouble today, wasn’t it, Oscar?”

“Shore, same old complaint.”

“Why don’t they settle it in the courts?”

Oscar looked at her thoughtfully.

“You’re new to this here country, ma’am. Rustlin’ is somethin’ that ain’t exactly on the law books of this country. Most cases are handled by the coroner.”

“Do you suppose Mr. Blanco knows how every one feels toward him?” asked Marion. “It must be terrible to know that every one thinks him a murderer.”

“It don’t seem to bother him,” said Oscar. “Tex is pretty salty, ma’am. He had a reputation as a killer, down in the Panhandle country. Got three men down in that country, they say. Folks kinda sidestep Tex up here. He downed a gunman over in Garnet two years ago, and they tell me it was the fastest piece of gunplay you ever seen. But he never picks a fight. Takes a drink once in awhile, but never more than a couple. Shorty Gallup was achin’ to take a pop at Tex awhile ago, but he was afraid. Even with the gun in his hand, he was scared.”

“It looked to me as though Tolman was sort of givin’ Shorty a chance to start somethin’,” said Hootie slowly. “He shore took a chance, handin’ Shorty the gun thataway. And then you hands the other gun to Judd, Oscar. You’d ’a’ felt kinda mean, if they’d started throwin’ lead into each other.”

“Yea-a-ah, and I’d have been plumb mystified, too,” said Oscar slowly. “You see, I took the shells out of them guns over in the saloon. I wasn’t takin’ no chances.”

* * * * *

The Pineville school opened on the following Monday. The trustees had hired a swamper from the Stormy River Saloon to clean up the place, but it was far from Marion’s idea of what a schoolhouse should be. It was a one-story frame building, thirty feet long by twenty-five feet wide, of rough lumber walls, and with a blackboard across one end wall.

Each homemade seat was large enough to accommodate two pupils, with a two-by-six separating them. The teacher occupied an old weatherbeaten desk on a slightly raised platform, which gave her a teacher’s-eye view of the whole room. The walls were undecorated, except for an old clock that refused to run longer than an hour at a time.

The board of trustees did not require Marion to pass an examination. They were only too glad to hire her. Sam Hall, the blacksmith, who talked through his nose, wanted to have an examination, but the other two vetoed such a thing.

“Well, it’s all right,” said Sam. “I jist wanted to ask her a problem in arithmetic to see how fast she is.”

“What is it?” asked Hootie.

“There’s a room with eight corners in it, Hootie. In each corner sets a cat, and each cat is lookin’ at seven cats. How many cats in the room?”

Hootie took a pencil and figured laboriously.

“Four hundred and forty-eight cats, Sam.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I’m not. There’s eight cats, ain’t there? One cat sees seven cats, and seven times eight is—no-o-o, that ain’t right. Each cat sees—”

“I’ve got it,” exclaimed Henry Goff. “Each cat sees seven cats. That makes eight cats, don’t it. And there’s eight cats, all seein’ the same. Eight times eight is ninety-six.”

“Seventy-two,” corrected Hootie.

“That’s right.”

“I dunno,” said Sam dubiously. “I’ve heard so danged many answers that I’m kinda confused.”

“Seventy-two is the answer,” insisted Goff.

“Ye-e-es and no,” said Sam diplomatically. “You’re part wrong and part right, Hennery. I’ll tell you what let’s do. We’ll go up to the schoolhouse and have her work it on the board. I’d like to git it straight myself.”

“All right,” agreed Goff. “I’d like to prove my figures. It’s twenty minutes yet before the school bell rings.”

And while the board of trustees, bringing their weighty question, were preparing to advance, Marion was meeting the young ideas of Pineville and the Stormy River range.

They came on horseback, on foot, in wagons, until at least forty of them had invaded the little schoolhouse. And they were of all ages, from big lumbering, sixteen year old boys to six year olds, attending for the first time. Lunch pails were stacked along the window ledges. The big boys eyed the teacher speculatively, wondering just how strict she might be, and talked loudly, as if trying to attract her attention to them.

But Marion paid no attention to them. It was all as new to her as it was to many of them. Suddenly the room was hushed, and then she heard one of the big boys say—

“What do you suppose Tex Blanco wants here?”

Marion walked to the front of the room and stepped outside. Tex Blanco had ridden up close to the porch carrying a little boy in front of him on the big saddle. Tex slowly removed his hat, a smile on his lips.

“’Mornin’, ma’am,” he said slowly and, leaning over, he gently deposited the wide-eyed youngster on the porch beside Marion.

The little, freckled boy looked up at her, his blue eyes very serious.

“You remember Windy March sayin’ that I was probably sorry I didn’t have a kid to send to your school?” asked Tex slowly, his eyes on Marion.

“I remember it,” she said.

“Well, I brought one, ma’am. Now, I ain’t sorry.”

“This is—is not your boy, Mr. Blanco?”

“No, ma’am. His name’s Jimmy Hastings. He belongs to one of my men. His ma died a couple of years ago, you see. Jimmy ain’t never been to school before.”

“But why didn’t his father bring him?” asked Marion severely. “It is the duty of a parent, you know.”

“Tha’so.”

“I—I want to know the parents, you see,” she said rather lamely.

“Well, I’m sorry he ain’t mine, ma’am.”

“His father was busy, I suppose.”

“Nope, unlucky.”

“What do you mean, Mr. Blanco?”

“You see, ma’am—” Tex leaned forward, resting an elbow on his saddle horn—“me and Hastings gambled on it. I put up fifty dollars against the kid, you might say. If I won, I took the kid to school, and if Hastings won, he took the fifty and the kid.”

Marion flushed quickly. She realized that Tex Blanco had risked fifty dollars for a chance to bring little Jimmy to school, to meet her.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

“Well, I didn’t want to be sorry, you know. And I think a lot of Jimmy, don’t I, Jimmy?”

“Yes, Uncle Tex,” said Jimmy gravely.

“Shake hands with Miss Evans, Jimmy.”

The little boy solemnly shook hands with her.

“Pleased to meetcha,” he said.

“And I’m pleased to meet you, Jimmy.”

“’At’s good. Uncle Tex says I’ve gotta learn a lot so I won’t have to be no cowpuncher all my life.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will learn very fast, Jimmy.”

“’At’s good.”

“Well, here comes the board of trustees,” laughed Tex. “I’ll leave Jimmy to you, Miss Evans—and gladly.”

* * * * *

Tex swung his horse around, waved a gloved hand at Jimmy and rode away from town. Marion stood there with Jimmy, waiting for the three trustees, and again the children began their noise inside the schoolhouse. Marion realized that they were quiet while Tex Blanco had been there.

The three men came up to the porch, and she knew that they had been discussing the reasons for Tex Blanco’s being there.

“Good mornin’,” greeted Hootie. “How’s everythin’ comin’?”

“Oh, just fine. This little boy is from Mr. Blanco’s ranch. His name is Jimmy Hastings.”

“Oh, that’s why Tex was here, eh? We wondered.”

“You hadn’t ought to have much to do with him, ma’am,” advised Henry Goff, the postmaster.

“Them things,” pronounced Hootie coldly, “is personal matters, Hennery. We hired this lady to teach school, you must remember.”

“I know, but—”

“Drop it, Henry,” advised Sam Hall. “Any old time you start preachin’ morals, I’ll tell about the time you slick-eared a branded calf.”

“Never did! By golly, I—I—”

“Yore loop’s draggin’,” cautioned Hootie. “We never came up here to recite our pasts to Miss Evans, but to have her prove a problem. Here it is, Miss Evans: There’s a room with eight corners, and in each corner sets a cat. Each cat looks at seven cats. How many cats in the room?”

Marion laughed outright.

“Why, eight, of course.”

“Eight?” wondered Henry. “But there’s eight to start with.”

“Of course, and each one looks at the other seven.”

“Seventy-two!” exploded Sam Hall. “Seventy-two!”

“You didn’t know, you animated jew’s-harp!” snapped Henry.

“I admit it,” laughed Sam, “but I knowed it wasn’t seventy-two.”

“Well, we better go back and let the lady start her school,” said Hootie. “It’s a cinch she knows more than we do.”

“About cats,” amended Sam Hall.

“Come any time,” said Marion, laughing.

“Any time Sam Hall gets a problem,” laughed Hootie.

Marion spent the entire day in trying to get the grades separated and some semblance of order in the place. There was no chance for study, and her mind was in a whirl when the day was over, and the children went whooping out doors; all except little Jimmy, who stayed in his seat.

“Aren’t you going out, too, Jimmy?” she asked.

“Gotta wait for Uncle Tex.”

“Oh, is he coming after you, Jimmy?”

“He won me for a month.”

“Won you for a month?”

“That’s what he said,” said Jimmy solemnly, “and he squeezed me so hard he almost busted a rib. Did anybody ever squeeze you that hard?”

“I’m afraid not, Jimmy,” she answered, laughing.

“Uncle Tex is awful strong; I like to ride with him.”

“You seem to like your Uncle Tex, Jimmy.”

“’At’s right. He told me he was takin’ me to learn somethin’ from a beautiful lady. I guess he meant you.”

“But I’m not beautiful, Jimmy.”

“Well—”

Jimmy frowned thoughtfully. He was trying to remember something he had heard one of the cowboys say about a girl.

“Well, you ain’t hard to look at.”

“Where in the world did you ever hear such a thing? Did your Uncle Tex say that?”

“No’m, I guess it was Kit Carson. He’s pretty tough.”

“And who is Kit Carson, Jimmy?”

“Oh, he’s one of Uncle Tex’s saddle slickers.”

A noise at the front of the building caused Marion to look up, and she saw Tex Blanco stepping up to the door. He was wearing that flame colored shirt again, and the sun sparkled on his silver-trimmed chaps. He stopped in the doorway and smiled widely as he doffed his wide hat.

“I came to get my winnings,” he said to Marion, as he came inside. “Was he a good boy, ma’am?”

“Just lovely,” smiled Marion.

Jimmy slid out of his seat and stood beside Tex. His tousled head just reached Tex’s holster, from which peeped the butt of a pearl-handled revolver that flashed like fire-opal in the beam of sunlight through the window.

“I understand you have won him for a month,” said Marion seriously.

Tex looked steadily at her for several moments, before he looked down at Jimmy.

“Yea-a-h,” he said slowly. “Jimmy told you, ma’am?”

“Well, you did,” declared Jimmy. “You told me, Uncle Tex.”

“That’s right, old pardner, I did tell yuh.”

Tex looked up at Marion.

“You don’t mind, do you, ma’am?”

“If you bring Jimmy to school?”

“Yeah.”

“That is your business, Mr. Blanco.”

“I’m awful glad to meet somebody who concedes me some rights, ma’am. You’ll hear lots of things about me. After you hear all of it, mebby you won’t concede me the right to bring Jimmy to school.”

“I have already heard many things,” she said slowly. “Still I don’t understand why you should gamble for the chance to bring the little boy to school.”

“Don’tcha, ma’am? Well—” Tex took a deep breath and patted Jimmy fondly on the head—“you prob’ly learned a lot from books. A lady must be pretty smart to teach a school, but there’s some things that you don’t know yet. C’mon, Jimmy.”

They turned and walked straight through the doorway, and Marion saw Tex toss Jimmy to the saddle, before climbing on. She bowed her head on her arms and tried to laugh, but the laugh did not come. It was ridiculous for Tex Blanco, the killer, to come to the school twice a day, merely to see her. She knew what the people would say. She didn’t want to see him. He was nothing to her, never would be.

She arranged her desk and put on her hat, but she sat there quite a while, her eyes fixed on the spot beside little Jimmy’s desk, where the sunlight glinted through a window, like a spotlight trained on the floor. She could still visualize Tex Blanco’s white-toothed smile above the flame color of his shirt, and the sunlight flashing back from the pearl handle of his big revolver.

Finally she got to her feet and walked out, locking the door behind her. It was nearly a quarter of a mile walk to Hootie Cooper’s house, but she did not hurry. Cleve Tolman and two of his men rode past her on the gallop, almost blinding her in a cloud of dust.

“They might at least have slowed down,” she told herself angrily. “I’ll bet Tex Blanco wouldn’t have done it.”

And then she grew angry with herself for thinking of Tex Blanco.

* * * * *

Marion was still flushed when she reached home, where she found Mrs. Cooper on the wide porch, fanning herself with a huge straw hat.

“I been wonderin’ how you was gettin’ along, Marion,” said Mrs. Cooper. “Sit down and tell me all about it.”

Marion was only too glad to sink down in one of their easy chairs and remove her hat.

“Well, I suppose everything went as it usually does on the opening day of school, Ma Cooper. It is quite a task to get them all placed.”

“I’ll betcha, I’d use a barrel stave m’self.”

Mrs. Cooper fanned herself industriously for a moment.

“Hootie was tellin’ me that Tex Blanco brought the little Hastings boy to school.”

“And came after him a while ago,” said Marion.

“Yea-a-ah?” Mrs. Cooper turned her head and looked at Marion closely. “Came and got him, eh? Is Andy Hastings crippled or somethin’?”

“Tex Blanco gambled with little Jimmy’s father, and Tex Blanco won the right to bring Jimmy to school for one whole month.”

“For one whole month?”

Mrs. Cooper’s face slowly dissolved into a smile, the smile into a chuckling laugh.

“Mamma mine!” she chuckled. “Oh, can you beat that? For one whole month. That’s shore a new one. Gambled for a chance to see you twice a day.”

“But I don’t want to see him,” declared Marion.

Mrs. Cooper looked closely at Marion.

“Of course you don’t, dearie. I’ll speak to Hootie about it tonight. He’ll see that Tex don’t bother you. Hootie likes Tex and all that, but he’ll jist explain it to Tex in a nice way, and I’ll bet he quits annoyin’ you.”

“But he—he wasn’t annoying me. It is just the fact that he—that he comes to the school, you see.”

“I see. Well, we can stop that. Just you quit worryin’ about Tex Blanco. I don’t think he ever had a girl before.”

“But I’m not his girl, don’t you see?”

“That’s right. You’ve probably got a feller in the East.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well,” smiled Mrs. Cooper, “we’ll have Hootie tell Tex that you have.”

“But that would be lying.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, lyin’.”

Mrs. Cooper smiled broadly and shook her head.

“You’re funny. I try to get you out of bein’ embarrassed, and you won’t let me. Just between me and you, we’ve got to stop Tex from comin’ to see you, even at the school. Folks might talk, don’tcha see? You don’t realize that Tex is sort of an outcast around here—a man with a bad reputation. You can’t afford to have your name linked with his, can you?”

“Certainly not.”

“I should say you couldn’t,” sighed Mrs. Cooper. “But ain’t he good lookin’, Marion? He’s the kind of a man I used to dream about—and look what I got. Dreams shore go by contraries. Hootie’s got a heart as big as an ox, and I reckon the rest of his internal organs are in the right place, but as a specimen he shore don’t stack up beside Tex Blanco. I love Hootie, but my love ain’t blind.”

Marion laughed softly.

“Looks are not everything.”

“Well, they’re quite a lot, Marion. Your looks made Tex Blanco gamble for the chance to see you.”

“From what I hear, that is not much to brag about.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re level-headed. Some girls might fall for his looks. You’ll meet the right man some day. Can’t teach school all your life. Probably get one with bow-legs—and a mole on his nose. Cleve Tolman asked me quite a lot about you. He’s interested. Asked me about your family, but I didn’t know anythin’ to tell him. Tex didn’t ask. He’s the kind that would take you, even if you never had any folks.”

Marion flushed and grew interested in a broken stitch on her glove.

“There isn’t much to tell about my family,” she said slowly. “Father died a few months after I was born, and I guess mother had a hard time making a living for my brother and me. He was older than me. We got along, somehow, back there in Chicago. We all worked, and I went to night school, after my brother left home and my mother died.”

“Well, you had a hard time, didn’t you? Mother and father both dead, eh?”

“Yes—both gone.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“Who knows? He left home when I was fourteen.”

“And never told you where he went?”

“No. You see, he—he had to leave. Oh, we’re not so good,” she said bitterly.

“He was suspected of a robbery. The police came for him, but he got away. It killed mother. She just sort of faded away after that, and a year later she died. I was fifteen then and getting five dollars a week in a department store. But I managed to live, and I went to night school until I got my diploma. I kept on working, saving what little I could. I knew I could never qualify as a teacher in a big city, so I came to Cheyenne. I don’t know why I ever selected Cheyenne. There I learned about Pineville and their need of a teacher for this term of school. Oh, it was a godsend to me. I just had one silver dollar when I arrived.”

Marion was on the verge of tears when she finished her story.

“I didn’t intend to tell any one my story,” she said, “but I just had to tell you, Ma Cooper.”

“Well, I’m glad you did, honey. It seems as though I’ve known you all your life. Your face was familiar the first time I ever seen you. Now, you go in and clean up, while I start mixin’ a flock of biscuits. Hootie likes ’em and, if I do say it myself, I mingle a good one. Mebby we better let things go as they lie for awhile—about Tex Blanco.”

“Perhaps it would be best, Ma Cooper. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

“Shore, you don’t. Some folks say he hasn’t any, but they’re crazy.”

“Little Jimmy Hastings certainly loves him.”

“And I’ve seen dogs follerin’ him. You run along, Honey.”

Marion kissed Mrs. Cooper and went into the house. The fat lady dropped the straw hat in a chair, took a deep breath and grinned widely at nothing at all. Then she went in and began mixing biscuits.

* * * * *

It was several days later that five men sat in the sheriff’s office, with the front door closed. There were Pat Lynch, the sheriff, Mort Heffner, prosecuting attorney, Cleve Tolman, Shorty Gallup and a detective named Sears, from the cattle association.

Sears was a slender man, about forty years of age and rather grim. He had arrived that day from Cheyenne, and wanted a few details. Tolman and Gallup happened to be in from the TD ranch; so the sheriff asked them to talk with Sears.

“How did you happen to get a detective?” asked Tolman, after Sears had been introduced.

“I sent for him,” replied Heffner. “We talked it over, the sheriff and myself. As far as I could see, we were not getting anywhere in the solving of Buck Dennig’s murder; so we decided to appeal to the association. Of course, the county will pay part of the expenses. We thought a range detective would be better than one from a private bureau.”

“And I’m going to need help,” smiled Sears. “Coming in on a case so late in the day, when all evidence is stale, I am going to need a lot of information. The sheriff has outlined things to me, of course, but only the bare facts. Mr. Dennig was your partner, was he not?”

“Yeah, he was my pardner,” said Tolman.

“You understood his financial condition, I take it.”

“What do you mean?”

“As I understand it, Mr. Dennig drew ten thousand dollars from the bank on the afternoon of his murder.”

“He did,” said Tolman shortly.

“Have you any idea why he drew all this money?”

“No idea at all. Didn’t know he drew it, until after the murder.”

“I believe he had the sum of one hundred and sixty dollars on his body. Doesn’t it seem that someone knew he had this money, and robbed him?”

“You’d naturally think so.”

“Was he in the habit of carrying a big sum on his person?”

“I don’t think he was.”

“Was this partnership money, or his own?”

“His own. We didn’t have any partnership account.”

“I see. You don’t know that he owed any such a sum?”

Tolman smiled shortly.

“Not that I knew anythin’ about.”

“Do you know how much money he had left in the bank, after drawing this sum?”

“About five thousand, I understand.”

“Mr. Tolman, do you think Dennig was killed for his money, or for revenge?”

“How would I know?”

“I understand that Mr. Dennig had no relatives, no one to leave his share of the ranch. Is that true?”

“That’s true.”

“And you naturally receive his share.”

“Well?”

“Have you done anything personally to try and find out who killed him, Mr. Tolman?”

“That’s the law’s business, Mr. Sears—not mine.”

“And yet you profit greatly, do you not?”

Tolman got to his feet quickly, facing the detective.

“That’s about all of that,” he said harshly. “It’s no fault of mine that Buck Dennig had no relatives. Was it my fault that he had no will? You talk as though I had somethin’ to do with his murder. You can go to hell with the rest of your questions. C’mon, Shorty.”

Tolman kicked the door open and strode out, followed by Shorty, who was grinning foolishly. Sears watched them cross the street to the Stormy River Saloon.

“You got under his hide,” grinned the sheriff. “Now you’ll get no more information from Cleve Tolman.”

“Didn’t get anything worth while, anyway, Sheriff.”

“You don’t think he had anything to do with it, do you?” asked Heffner.

“Well, he got mad, didn’t he? You were in that poker game when Dennig and Blanco quarreled, weren’t you, Heffner?”

“Yes, I was there.”

“Dennig accused Blanco of stealing, didn’t he?”

“He did. They were both mad, and I really believe there would have been a killing right there, if we hadn’t interfered.”

“And it was only an hour or so after that, I understand, that Dennig started home. He didn’t exhibit a lot of money in the saloon that night, did he?”

“Not over a couple hundred dollars. He came to town early in the afternoon. Buck wasn’t a heavy drinker, but this time he had quite a few. No, he wasn’t drunk, but he just had enough to make him rather savage. He certainly called Tex Blanco a lot of fighting names that night.”

“Did Blanco have much to say back to him?”

“Not so much. Tex isn’t foul mouthed, you know; but he was mad. I don’t blame him. The things Buck Dennig called him would make a jackrabbit bite a grizzly bear.”

“Blanco has rather a sinister reputation, I understand.”

“I suppose he has.”

“And there has been hard feelings between the TD and the Blanco outfits for quite awhile, I understand.”

“The TD claim they lost cattle,” said the sheriff. “They never came right out and accused Blanco, of course, and they never asked my help in the matter.”

Sears nodded thoughtfully.

“Don’t seem to be much to work on in this case, but I’ll do what I can.”

* * * * *

Sears met with little success in his investigations. Always the suspicion pointed at Tex Blanco, but there was no evidence. Sears did not go out to see Tex. He rode out to the TD ranch, but learned nothing. In fact, Tolman gave him to understand that a detective was not welcome on the TD.

He had been in Pineville three days when a letter was sent to him in care of the sheriff. It had been posted in Pineville and read:

We will give you eight hours to leave this valley.

—THE BUNCH.

“I guess that settles it,” said Sears nervously.

“Looks thataway,” agreed the sheriff grimly, studying the penciled note.

He sent Oscar after Heffner, who came immediately, and they discussed the note seriously.

“What would you do, Heffner?” asked Sears.

“I’d leave here,” said Heffner. “I guess you’ve found that you can’t do us any good, and there’s no use of getting killed, Sears. The Bunch mean business, I guess. The stage leaves for Garnet at one o’clock, so you better slide out gracefully.”

And Sears slid. He went to the Pineville Hotel to pack his bags, leaving the note with Heffner, who put it in his pocket.

“Let’s go and find out something, Pat,” he suggested.

They walked up to the bank and called Shearer aside.

“Have you a copy of Tex Blanco’s signature, Shearer?” asked Heffner.

“Certainly.”

“Let us look at it, please.”

Shearer produced the card with Blanco’s signature, and went to wait on a customer while Heffner compared it with the writing on the penciled note.

“Look at that B,” whispered Heffner.

A comparison of the B in Bunch and the B in Blanco showed them to be nearly alike.

They gave the card back to Shearer and returned to the office.

“Goin’ to show it to Sears?” asked the sheriff.

“No, I don’t think I will. We’ve got to move slow in this, Pat. It would require a handwriting expert to prove that Tex Blanco made that B—and then you’d have a hard job proving it to a cow jury. No, we’ve got to have more than that, but it sure gives us plenty of reasons for keeping an eye on Tex Blanco.”

“Well, he’s in town twice a day,” smiled the sheriff. “He brings Andy Hastings’ little boy to school every morning and comes after him at four o’clock.”

“What’s the idea, Pat?”

“The new teacher.”

“Miss Evans? You don’t mean to say he’s stuck on her?”

“Nothin’ strange about that, is there? If I was twenty years younger I’d find some kid to take to school.”

“But Tex Blanco—that’s different,” laughed Heffner. “Somebody ought to talk to the lady about it.”

“Suppose you try it, Mort.”

“Not me. I’m happily married, and somebody might think I was jealous.”

That afternoon Sears left Pineville, riding on the seat with Windy March, having accomplished nothing. He believed implicitly in warnings, and had no hankering for a bullet in his back. They met Tex Blanco between town and the B Arrow ranch, and Sears felt a contraction of the spine, until a curve in the road hid him from view.

“Do you think Tex Blanco killed Dennig?” he asked Windy.

“Well, I’ll tell you,” said Windy seriously, “The road is most always dusty this time of year. We need rain.”

“That seems to be the general opinion,” replied Sears, and added quickly, “that we need rain.”

Windy spat over the wheel and cleared his throat.

“You through detectin’?”

“I’m leaving the valley.”

“I didn’t think you would stay long. I allus had an idea that a detective was kinda sneakin’.”

“You mean, he didn’t let anybody know who he was?”

“Yeah, wore whiskers and looked for nicks on the furniture.”

Sears laughed.

“Well, I suppose that is one way. I was warned to get out inside of eight hours.”

“Yea-a-ah? Well, well! Warned, eh? When didja get this here warnin’?”

“About eleven o’clock this morning.”

“Well—” Windy squinted at the sun—“I’ll say you gave yourself leeway.”

* * * * *

It did not require many days for every one in Pineville to know that Tex Blanco was coming to the school twice a day, and the gossips had plenty of material. Marion heard none of the talk. She was too busy. But Ma Cooper heard it. Hootie heard it, too, and was worried. He talked it over with his wife.

“They’re talkin’ too much,” declared Hootie. “It’ll hurt Marion, hurt the school. Puts me in an awful hole, Ma. Sam and Henry both talked with me today about it.”

“I’ll speak to Marion, Hootie. She ain’t to blame. Darn the whole bunch of old forked tongues around here, anyway!”

But Marion did not need to be told. That morning, after she had called the roll, she discovered that Joe and Mary Beebee were not present. She asked little Ella Hall, who lived next door to Beebee, if she knew why they were absent.

“Their ma took ’em out, Miss Evans,” piped the little girl. “She told my ma this morning that she wasn’t never going to let them come to this school any more.”

“My gracious. And why not, Ella?”

“She said it was because Tex Blanco came here. She said to my ma—”

“That will do, Ella. Thank you so much.”

Marion looked blankly down at the litter of papers on her desk, her mind in a whirl.

“My ma said—” began little Ella, but Marion stopped her.

“That will be all, Ella. We—will dispense with the singing this morning.”

“What did she say about my Uncle Tex?” piped little Jimmy Hastings.

“Nothing, Jimmy. Go right ahead with your studies.”

“’At’s good.”

Jimmy glared at the back of Ella’s head, but finally subsided behind a book, held tightly in his chubby hands.

That day was long to Marion. She did not go home to lunch. At recess and noon the children talked in whispers, with Ella Hall the center of their conversation.

Marion dismissed school fifteen minutes early. She wanted time to plan what to say to Tex Blanco. She did not know that he was there until she happened to lift her eyes and see him standing in the doorway. Jimmy was drawing a picture on his slate, and the only sound was the creak and scratch of his slate pencil.

“Hello,” said Tex softly.

Jimmy turned his head and looked at him.

“C’m’ere, Uncle Tex,” he piped. “See what I drawed of Ella Hall.”

Tex came slowly up to him, looking at the slate.

“You shore gave her plenty mouth, pardner,” said Tex.

“She’s mouthy,” declared Jimmy.

Tex looked at Marion and laughed. But Marion was not laughing. Tex sobered quickly and walked toward her.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“You must not come here any more,” she said wearily.

“Not come here, ma’am?”

“Not any more, Mr. Blanco.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Old lady Beebee took her two kids out of school, ’cause you come here,” said Jimmy. “I heard Ella Hall tell all the kids outdoors. She said you was stuck on Miss Evans; and that you wasn’t fit for much, and that she wouldn’t let her kids come to school. By golly, I shore told her somethin’. Ella said her pa was a trustee and she’d have me throwed out. Can she, Miss Evans?”

For several moments Tex and Marion looked at each other. The eyes of the big cowboy were clouded, his lips tightly shut. He turned from Marion and stared at the blackboard.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t know. I was a fool to do this. I might have known all the time. I’m just not fit. With the reputation I’ve got, I should never have looked at you; but I’m human.

“No matter what they say about me, I’m just human. The happiest week of my life has been in bringin’ little pardner down here to school and seein’ you twice a day. But I didn’t know it would turn out like this. I used to sing, a long time ago. I’ve been singin’ for a week now. Mother said she’d like to meet you, to meet the girl who brought back her singin’ cowboy.

“But that’s all past now. I’m sorry I hurt you, ma’am. I won’t come any more. You can tell ’em that for me. Jimmy’s pa will bring him in the mornin’. Goodby.”

He took little Jimmy by the hand and they walked out, without a backward glance, the tall cowboy in the flame colored shirt, his fine shoulders drooped just a little, and the little boy, his head tilted as he looked up at his big partner.

“I shore told Ella Hall where to head in at, Uncle Tex,” she heard him say.

“Thank you, little pardner.”

And then they rode away—the little boy who did not quite understand and the singing cowboy who had lost his song.

Marion leaned forward on her desk, chin in her hands, her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, why don’t people mind their own business?” she asked herself. “Why don’t they? But they never have, not since time began, so what can you expect?”

She did not say anything to Ma Cooper about it that night, not even after she heard that the trustees were to have a meeting at Sam Hall’s house.

It was a rare occasion when Hootie Cooper took a drink, but this night he came home partly saturated. From her room, Marion heard some of the conversation between Hootie and Ma Cooper.

“I ain’t drunk, Ma,” she heard him tell her. “But I came within about three swallers of it. I offered to lick old Sam and Hennery, with one hand tied behind me. Darn ’em! Old lady Beebee was there. Yea-a-ah, shore! I told ’em what I thought of the whole danged works, resigned as a trustee and drank straight whisky to celebrate m’ return from bondage.”

“But what did they decide to do, Hootie?”

“They’ve appointed Old Man Beebee to fill my place, and they’re goin’ to plant the seats of their pants on the schoolhouse steps in the mornin’, and when Tex shows up they’re goin’ to tell him what for.”

“Ain’t you goin’ to undress before you go to bed, Hootie?”

“Oh, yeah. Ma, if they say anythin’ to hurt Marion, I’ll whip the whole works.”

“You couldn’t whip anythin’.”

“I might s’prise you.”

“You shore would. If I was you I’d unbutton that shirt before I tried to take it off.”

“The dern thing has shrunk, Ma.”

“No such a thing. You take them suspenders off your shoulders and it’ll come off all right.”

* * * * *

The following morning the three trustees were there. They did not come in the schoolhouse, but sat on the edge of the porch—Old Man Beebee, possibly fifty, but looking seventy, with a thin crop of whiskers, bald head, sour face; Sam Hall, nasal-voiced, red-tipped nose; Henry Goff, querulous, argumentative—three old buzzards waiting for the kill.

And they waited, too, until five minutes of nine, while the blacksmith shop remained unopened and folks wondered why the post office was still closed.

Then came Andy Hastings and Jimmy. He put Jimmy on the schoolhouse steps and rode away, as the bell rang and the children trooped in.

“Reckon I better git to the shop,” drawled Sam Hall.

“Same here,” said Henry. “Folks’ll wonder where I am.”

“Somebody,” said Beebee seriously, “must have told Tex Blanco.”

“Probably was Hootie Cooper,” growled Henry. “That man ain’t got a bit of civic pride.”

They went tramping back down along the dusty road, while Marion watched them from the window, a half smile on her face. Little Jimmy sat very straight in his seat, his eyes on the Beebee children and at Ella Hall, who stuck out her tongue at the teacher’s back.

_Crash!_ Marion whirled in time to see a pencil box rebound off the top of Ella’s desk, scattering pencils in every direction. Jimmy was on his feet, his eyes snapping.