Partners of Chance Part 18

"You think I didn't see you was ridin' different hosses!" said Jimmy.

"Mebby you think I don't know where Josh and Filaree are."

"You quit jos.h.i.+n' your dad," said Cheyenne.

"I ain't jos.h.i.+n' _n.o.body_. Ole 'Clubfoot' Sneed, over by the re'savation's got Josh and Filaree. I seen 'em in his corral, yesterday.

I was up there, huntin'."

"Did you talk to him?" queried Cheyenne.

"Nope. He just come out of his cabin an' told me to fan it. I wasn't doin' nothin'. He said it was against the law to be huntin' up there.

Mebby he don't hunt when he feels like it!"

"Did you tell Uncle Frank?"

"Yep. Wish I hadn't. He says for me to stay away from the high country--and not to ride by Sneed's place any more."

Cheyenne turned to Bartley. "I done made one guess right," he said.

"You goin' to kill Sneed?" queried young Jim enthusiastically.

"n.o.body's goin' to get killed. But I aim to git my hosses."

Cheyenne turned to Jimmy. "You ride over and tell Uncle Frank and Aunt Jane that me and Mr. Bartley'll be over after we eat."

"Will you sing that 'Git Along' song for me, dad?"

"You bet!"

"But why don't you come over and eat to our place? You always stop by, every time you ride down this way," said Jimmy.

"You ride right along, like I told you, or you'll be late for your supper."

Little Jim climbed into the saddle, and, turning to cast a lingering and hopeful glance at Bartley,--a glance which suggested the possibilities of further practice with the Luger gun,--he rode away, a manful figure, despite his size.

"They're bringin' my kid up right," said Cheyenne, as though in explanation of something about which he did not care to talk.

CHAPTER XIII

AT AUNT JANE'S

Aunt Jane Lawrence was popular with the young folks of the district, not alone because she was a good cook, but because she was a sort of foster mother to the entire community. The young ladies of the community brought to Aunt Jane their old hats and dresses, along with their love affairs, petty quarrels, and youthful longings. A clever woman at needlework, she was often able to remodel the hats and "turn" the dresses so that they would serve a second season or maybe a third.

The love affairs, petty quarrels, and youthful longings were not always so easy to remodel, even when they needed it: but Aunt Jane managed well. She had much patience and sympathy. She knew the community, and so was often able to help her young friends without conflicting with paternal or maternal views. Hat-tr.i.m.m.i.n.g and dressmaking were really only incidental to her real purpose in life, which was to help young folks realize their ideals, when such ideals did not lead too far from everyday responsibilities.

Yet, with all her capabilities, her gentle wisdom, and her un.o.btrusive sympathy, she was unable to influence her Brother Jim--known by every one as "Cheyenne"--toward a settled habit of life. So it became her fondest desire to see that Cheyenne's boy, Little Jim, should be brought up in a home that he would always cherish and respect. Aunt Jane's husband Frank Lawrence, had no patience with Cheyenne's aimless meanderings. Frank Lawrence was a hard-working, silent nonent.i.ty. Aunt Jane was the real manager of the ranch, and incidentally of Little Jim, and her husband was more than content that it should be so.

Occasionally Aunt Jane gave a dance at her home. The young folks of the valley came, had a jolly time, and departed, some of them on horseback, some in buckboards, and one or two of the more well-to-do in that small but aggressive vehicle which has since become a universal odor in the nostrils of the world.

Little Jim detested these functions which entailed his best clothes and his best behavior. He did not like girls, and looked down with scorn upon young men who showed any preference for the s.e.x feminine. He made but two exceptions to this hard-baked rule: his Aunt Jane, and her young friend who lived on the neighboring ranch, Dorothy. Little Jim called her Dorry because it sounded like a boy's name. And he liked Dorry because she could ride, and shoot with a twenty-two rifle almost as well as he could. Then, she didn't have a beau, which was the main thing.

Once he told her frankly that if she ever got a beau, he--Jimmy--was going to quit.

"Quit what?" asked Dorothy, smiling.

Little Jim did not know just what he was going to quit, but he had imagination.

"Why, quit takin' you out huntin' and campin' and showin' you how to tell deer tracks from goat's tracks--and everything."

"But I have a beau," said Dorothy teasingly.

"Who is he?" demanded Little Jim.

"Promise you won't tell?"

Little Jim hesitated. He did not consider it quite the thing to promise a girl anything. But he was curious. "Uh-huh," he said.

"Jimmy Hastings!" said Dorothy, laughing at his expression.

"That ain't fair!" blurted Little Jim. "I ain't n.o.body's beau. Shucks!

Now you gone and spoiled all the fun."

"I was only teasing you, Jimmy." And she patted Little Jim's tousled head. He wriggled away and smoothed down his hair.

"I can beat you shootin' at tin cans," he said suddenly, to change the subject.

Shooting at tin cans was much more interesting than talking about beaux.

"I have to help Aunt Jane get supper," said Dorothy, who had been invited to stay for supper that evening. In fact, she was often at the Hastings ranch, a more than welcome guest.

Jimmy scowled. Dorry was always helping Aunt Jane make dresses or trim hats, or get supper. A few minutes later Little Jim was out back of the barn, scowling over the sights of his twenty-two at a tomato can a few yards away. He fired and punctured the can.

"Plumb center!" he exclaimed. "You think you're her beau, do you? Well, that's what you get. And if I see you around this here ranch, just even _lookin'_ at her, I'll plug you again." Jimmy was romancing, with the recently discussed subject of beaux in mind.

When Little Jim informed the household that his father and another man were coming over, that evening, Uncle Frank asked who the other man was.

Little Jim described Bartley and told about the wonderful Luger gun.

"My dad is huntin' his hosses," he said. "And I know who's got 'em!"

"Was the other man a deputy?" queried Uncle Frank.

"He didn't have a badge on him. He kind of acted like everything was a joke--shootin' at that stump, and everything. He wasn't mad at n.o.body.

And he looked kind of like a dude."