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About The Choteau Montanan (Choteau, Mont.) 1913-1925 | View This Issue
The Choteau Montanan (Choteau, Mont.), 09 May 1924, located at <http://montananewspapers.org/lccn/sn85053031/1924-05-09/ed-1/seq-2/>, image provided by MONTANA NEWSPAPERS, Montana Historical Society, Helena, Montana.
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Copyright bv ROBERT STEAD ^ “IF I HAD A GUN—\ SYNOPSIS. — Transley's hay- cutting- outfit, after stacking 2.000 tons. Is on Its way to the big Y.D. ranch headquarters. Translcy Is a m aster of men and circumstances. Linder, foreman. Is substantial, but not self-asser tive. George Drazk; one of the men. Is an Irresponsible chap who proposes to every woman he meets. Transley and Linder dine with Y.D. and his wife and daughter Zen Transley resolves to m arry Zen. Y.D. Instructs Translcy to cut the South Y.D. \spite o’ h—1 an’ high water\ and a fellow named Landson. Drazk proposes to Zen and Is neatly re buffed. Transley pitches camp on the South Y.D and finds Land- son’s outfit cutting hay. Denni son Grant. Landson’s manager, notifies Transley that he Is work ing under a lease from the legal owners and warns Transley off All of which means war. Y D. and Zen ride to the South Y.D. Zen Is a natural vamp, not yet halter-broke and ripe for mating. Y.D. has taken a liking to Trans ley. CHAPTER 111— Continued. —4— Transley was greeting them as they drew Into camp. \Glad to see you, Y.D.; honored to have a visit from you, ma’am.” be ¿aid, as he helped them from the dom- ircrat, and gave Instructions for the tare of their horses. \Supper Is wait ing, and the men won’t be ready for tome time.\ Y.D. shook hands with Transley eor- dinliy. “Zen an’ me just thought we’d ran over and see how the wind blew,” he suid. “You got a good spot here for a camp, Transley. But we won’t go In to supper just now. Let' the men eat first; I always say the work horses should be first at the barn. Weli, how’s she go In’?” “Fine,\ said Transley, “fine,\ but It was evident Ills mind was divided. He was glancing at Zen, who stood by during the conversation. “I must try and make your daugh ter at horns','\ he continued. “I allow myself tin luxury of a private tent, and as pw will be staying over night I will ask you to accept it for her.\ “But I have my own tent with me, In the democrat,\ said Zen. “If you wIP let the men pitch it under the trees where I can hear the water mur muring In the night—\ \Who’d have thought It, from the daughter of the practical 1T.D.!” Transley hantered. “All right, ma’am, but In the meantime take my tent. I’ll get water, and there’s a basin.\ He already was lending the way. \Make yourself at home—Zen. May I call you Zen?\ lie added. In a lower roice, as they left Y.D. at a distance. “Everybody calls me Zen.\ They were standing at the door of the tent, he holding back the flap that she might eateq The valley was al ready in shadow, and there was no sunlight to play on her hair, but her face and figure in the mellow dusk seemed entirely winsome and adorable. There was no taint of Y.D.’s millions In the admiration that Transley bent upon her. . . . Of course, as an adjunct, the millions were not to be despised. When the men had finished supper Transley summoned her. On the way to the chuck-wagon she passed close to George Drazk. It was evident that he had chosen a station with that re sult in view. She had passed by when she turned, whimsically. “Well, George, how’s that Pete- horse?\ she said. \Up an’ coinin’ all the time, Zen,” he answered. She bit her lip over Ills familiarity, hut she had no comeback. She had given him the opening, by calling him “George.\ “You see, I got quite well acquaint ed with Mr. Drazk when lie came back to hunt for a horse blanket which had mysteriously disappeared,\ she ex plained to Transley. They ascended the steps which led from the ground Into the wagon. The table bad been reset for four, and ns the slmtlows were now heavy In the valley, candles had been lighted. Y.D. and Ids daughter sat on one side, Transley on the other. In a moment Linder entered. lie had already had a talk with Y.D.. but bad not met Zen since their supper together In the rancher’s house. “Glad to see you again, Mr. Linder.\ said the girl, rising and extending her hand across the table. “You see we lost no time in rerurnlng your call.\ Linder took her hand in a frank grasp, hut could think of nothing In particular to say. \We’re glad to have you,” was nil he could manage. Zen was rather sorry that Linder had not made more of the situation. She wondered whnt quick repartee, shot, no doubt, with double meaning. Transley would have returned. It was evident that, as her father had said. Linder wns second best. And yet there wns something about his shyness that appealed to her even morp than did Transley’s superb self-confidence. The meal was spent in small talk about horses and steers and the mer- j its of the different makes of mowing machines. When it was finished Transley apologized for not offering his guests any liquor. “I never keep It about the camp,” he said. \Quite right,\ Y.D. agreed, “quite right. Booze Is like fire; a valuable ’¿ling in careful hands, but mighty langernus when everybody gets playin’ with it. I reckon the grass Is gettin’ pretty dry, Transley?\ “Mighty dry, all right, but we’re taking every precaution.\ “I’m sure you are, but you can’t take precautions for other people. Has anybody been puttin’ you up to any trouble here?\ “Well, no. r can’t exactly say trou ble,\ said Transley, “but we’ve got notice it’s coming. A chap named Grant, foreman, I think, for Landson. down the valley, rode over last night, and invited us not to cut any hay here abouts. He wns very courteous, and all that, but he had the mnnner of a man wlio’d go quite a dlstunce in a pinch.\ “What did you tell him?” “Toid him I was working for Y.D., and tiien asked him to stay for sup per.\ “Did he stay?” Zen asked. “He did no! He cantered off hack, courteous as he came. And this morn ing we went out on the job, and have cut nil day, and nothing has hap pened.\ “I guess he found you were not to he bluffed,” said Zen. and Transley could not prevent a flush of pleasure at her compliment. “Of course Land- son has no real claim to the hay, has he. Dad?\ \Of course not. I reckon them’ll he his stacks we saw down the valley. Weft, I’m not wantin’ to rob him of the fruit of his labor, an’ If he keeps calm perhaps we’ll let him have wnat he has cut. but’ if he don't—’’ Y.D.’s face hardened with the set of a man accustomed to fight, and win, his own battles. \I think we’ll just stick around a day of two in case he tries to start anythin’.” he continued. “Well, five o'clock conies early,” said Transley, \nnd you folks must be tired with your long drive. We've had your tent pitched down by the water, Zen, so that its murmurs nmy sing you to sleep. You see, I have some of the poetic In me, too. Mr. Linder will show you down, nnd I will see that your father is made com fortable. And remember—five o'clock does not apply to %*Jsitors.” The camp now lay in complete dnrk- ness, save where a lantern threw its “The Truth Is, Mr. Linder, You’re Not Ghy, You’re Frightened.” light from a tent by the river. Zen walked by Linder’s side. Presently she reached out and took his arm. “I beg your pardon,\ suid Linder. \I should have offered—” ‘ \Of course you should. Mr. Trans ley would not have waited to lie told. Dad thinks that anythlngs that’s worth having in this work’ Is worth going after, nnd going after hard. I guess I’m Dad’s daughter In mcra ways than one.’’ “I suppose he’s right,\ I.'nder con fessed, “but I’ve always been shy. I get along all right with men.’ “The truth is, Mr. Linder, you’re not shy—you're frightened. Now I can well believe that no man eoukl frighten you. Consequently you get along all right with men. Do I need to tell you the rest?” “I never thought of myself as be ing afraid of women,” he replied. “It has always seemed that thov were, well, he replied, just out of my line.\ They lmd reached the tent hut the gfrl made no sign of going ¡n. In* the silence the sibilant lisp of the stream rose loud about them. “Mr. Linder,\ she said at length, “do you know why Mr. Transley sent you down here with me?” “I’m sure I don’t except to show you to your tent.\ “That was the least of his purposes. He wanted to show you that he wasn’t afraid of you, and he wanted to show me that he wasn’t nfraid of you. Mr, Transley is a very self-confident In dividual. There Is such a thing ns being too* self-confident, Mr. Linder, just as there is such a thing as being too shy. Do you get me? Good night!” And with a little rush she was in her tent. Linder walked slowly down to the water’s edge, and stood there, think ing, until Zen’s light went out. His brain was in a whirl with a sensation entirely strange to it. A wind, laden with snow-smell from the mountains, pressed gently against his features, and presently Linder took deeper breaths thun he had ever known be fore “By Jove!” he said. ‘-‘Who’d huve thought it possible?” CHAPTER IV When Zen awoke next morning the mowing machines of Transley’s outfit were already singing their syrtiphony in the meadows; she could hear the metallic rhythm as It came borne on the early breeze. She lay awake on her camp cot for a few minutes, stretching her fingers to the canvas celling and feeling that It wns good to be alive. And It was. The ripple of water came from almost underneath the walls of her tpnt; the smell of spruce trees and balm-o’-Gllead and new-mown hay was In the air. She could feel the warmth of the sunshine already pouring upon her white roof; she could trace the gentie sway of the trees by the leafy patterns gliding forward and back. A cheeky gopher, exploring about the door of her tent, ventured In, and, sitting bolt upright, sent his shrill whistle boldly forth. She watched his fine bravery for a minute, then clapped her hands to gether, and laughed as he fled. \Therein we nave the figures of both Transley and Linder.” she mused to herself. “Upright, Transley; horizon tal, Linder. I doubt if the poor fel low slept Inst night after the fright I gave him.” Slowly and clnmly she turned the Incident over in her mind. She won dered a little if she had been quite fair with Linder. Her words and con duct were capable of very broad in terpretations. She was not at all in love with Linder; of that Zen was sure. She was equally sure that she was not at all in love with Transley. She ad mitted that she admired Transley for his calm assumptions, but they nettled hero little nevertheless. If this should develop into a love affair—if It should —she had no intention that it was to be a pleusnnt afternoon’s canter. It was to be a race—a race, mind you —nnd may the best man win! She had a feeling, amounting almost to a conviction, that Transley underrated his foreman’s possibilities in such a contest. She had seen many a dark liorSe, less promising than Linder, gal lop home with the stokes. Then Zen smiled her own quiet, self- confident smile. The idea of either Translev or Linder thinking he could gallop home with her! For the mo ment she forgot to do Linder the jus tice of remembering that nothing was further from his thoughts. She would show them. She would make a race of it—almost to the wire. In the home stretch she would make the leap, out and over the fence. She was in it for the race, not for the finish. Zen contemplated for some minutes the possibilities of that race; then,’ as the imagination threatened to become involved, she sprang from her cot and thrust a cautious head through the door of her tent. The gang had long since gone to the fields, and friendly bushes sheltered her from view from the cook ear. She drew on her boots, shook out her hair, threw a towel across her shoulders, and, soap In hand, walked boldly the few steps to the stream rippling over its shiny gravel bed. She stopped and tested the water with her fingers; then brought it in fresh, cool handfuls about her face nnd neck. \Mornin’ Zen 1” said a familiar voice. “’Scuse me for happenin’ to be here. I was jus’ waterin’ that Pete- horse after a hard ride.” “Now look here, Mr. Drazk!’’ said the girl, whipping her scanty clothing about her, “if I had a gun—! I won’t have you spying about !’’ \Aw don’ he cross.\ Drazk protest ed. He wns sitting on Ms horse in the ford a dozen yards away. “I jus’ happened along. I guess the outside belongs to all of us. Say, Zen. if I wns to get properly interduced. what’s the chances?\ “Not one in a million, nnd if that isn’t odds enough I’ll double it.\ \You’re not goln’ to hitch up with Linder, are you?” “Linder? Who said anything about Linder?\ “Gee, but ain’t she innereent?\ Drazk stepped ids horse up a few feet to facilitate conversation. “I alus take an Interest in innereent gals away from home, so I kinda kep’ my angel eye on you las’ night. An’ T see Linder stalkin’ aroun’ here an’ sighin’ out over the water when he should 'ave been in bed. But, of course, he’s been Interduced.” \George Drazk, if you speak to me again I’ll horsewhip you out of the camp at noon before all the men. Now, beat It I” “Jus, as yon say, ma’am,\ he re turned, with mock courtesy. “But you don’t need to be scared. That’s one thing I never do—I never squeal on a. friend.\ She was burning with his insults^ and if she had had a gun at hand she undoubtedly would have used it. But she had none. Drazk very deliberately turned his horse and Pode away to ward the meadows. “Oh, won’t I fix him!\ she said, as she continued her toilet in a fury. She had not the faintest idea what re venge she would take, but she proD.- ised herself that It would leave noth ing to be desired. Then, because she was young and healthy and an op timist, nnd did not know what it meant to be afraid, she dismissed the inci dent from her mind to consider the more urgent matter of breakfast. Tompkins, the cook, lmd not needed Transley’s suggestion to out his best foot forward when catering to Y.D. and his daughter. Tompkins’ soul yearned for a cooking berth that could be oc cupied the year round. Work in the railway camps had always left him high and dry at the freeze-up—dry, particularly, and a few nights in Cal gary or Edmonton saw the end of ills season’s earnings. Then came a pre carious existence for Tompkins until the scrapers were hack on the dump the following spring. A steady job, cooking on a rarien like the Y.D.; ;f Tompkins had wrliren the Apocalypse tnat would have been his picture of heaven. So he had left nothing un done, even to despatching a courier over night to a railway station thirty miles away for fresh fruit nnd other delicacies. Another of the gang had been impressed into a trip up the river to a squatter who was suspected of keeping one or two milch cows and sundry hens. “This way, ma’am.” Tompkins was waving ns Zen emerged from the grove. “Another of our usual mornings. Hope you slep’ well, ma’am.” He stood def erentially aside while she ascended the three steps that led into the covered wagon. Zen gave a littie shriek of delight, and Tompkins felt that all his efforts had been well rennid. One end of the table—it wns with a sore heart Tomp kins had realized that he could not cut down the big table—one end of the table was set with » clean linen cloth and granite dishware scoured un til It shone. Besides Zen’s plate were grapefruit and sliced oranges and real cream. \However did you manage it?” she gasped. “Nothing’s too good for Y.D.’s daugh ter,’’ was the only explanation Tomp kins would offer, but, as Zen after wards said, the smile on his face was ns good as another breakfast. After the fruit came porridge, nnd more cream; then fresh boiled eggs with toast; then fresh ripe strawberries with more cream. “Mr.—Mr—\ \Tompkins ma’am; Cyrus Tomp kins,\ he supplied. “Well, Mr. Tompkins, you’re a won der, and when there’s a new cook to be engaged for- the Y.D. I shall think of you.’’ “Indeed I wish you would,*ma’am.” he said, earnestly. “This road work’s all right, and nobotly ever cooked for n better boss than Mr. Transley—sav in’ it would be your father, ma’am— but I’m a man of family, an’ its pret ty hard—” “Family, did you say, Mr. Tompkins? How many of a family have you?” \Well it’s seven years since I heard from them—I haven’t corresponded very reg’lar of late, but they was six—” The story of Tompkins’ family wns cut short by the arrival of a team and mowing machine. \What’s up, Fred?\ called Tomp kins through a window' of ills dining car to the driver. \Breakfast is Just over, an’ dinner ain't begun ” For answer the man addressed as Fred slowly produced an iron stake about eighteen Inches long and some what less than an inch in diameter. \What kind of shrubbery do you call that, Tompkins?” he demanded. “Well, it ain’t buffalo grass, an’ it ain’t brome grass, on’ I don’t Agger it’s alfalfa,” said Tompkins, medita tively. \No nnd it ain’t a grab stake,” Fred replied, with some sarcasm. “It’s a Iron stake, growin’ right in a nice little clump of grass, nnd I ran on to it and bust ray cuttin’-bar all to— that Is, all to pieces,\ he completed rather lamely, taking Zen into his glance. “I think I follow you,\ she said, witb a smile. “Can you fix it here?\ “Nope. Have to go to town for a new one. Two days’ lost time, when every hour counts. Hello! Here comes someone else.” Another of the teninsters wns draw ing into camp. “Hello., Fred!’’ he said, upon coming up with his fellow workman, “you In too? I had a bit of bad luck. I ran smash on to an iron stake right there in the ground and crumpled my knife like so much soap.” “I did worse,” said Fred, with a grin. “I bust my cuttin’-bar.” The two men exchanged a steady glance for half a minute. Then the newcomer gave vent to a long, low whistle. This means war, of course, be tween Y.D. and Landson. What’s your guess about It? And who wins? (TO B £ CONTINUED.) Chew it a fter I every m eal It stim u lates a p p e t i t e . a n d aids digestion. It m a k e s your ’ !' food d o yon more good. Note how It relieves that stufiy feeling alter hearty eating. ^Whitens teeth, i w e e t e n n breath and it’s the goody that tr a - c - i - s If Y gh Like Good Music You can receive a good song every month (12 songs In all) for $2.00. W rite at once for our free catalogue or send 16c In stam ps for trial copy of first issue. AMCO MUSIC PU B L ISH E R S 30 E v 5 5 t h St. N e w Y o rk BOSCHEE’S SYRUP Allays irritation, soothes and heals throat and lung inflammation. The constant irritation of a cough keeps the delicate mucus membrane of the throat and lungs ina congested condition,which BOSCHEE’S SYRUP gently and quickly heals. For this reason it has been a favorite household remedy for colds, coughs, bronchitis and especially for lung troubles in millions of homes all over the world for the last fifty- seven years, enabling the patient to obtain a‘good night’s rest, free from coughing with easy expectoration in the morning. You can buy BOSCHEE’S SYRUP wherever medicines are sold. The Very Thing The man entered the store and looked around with a rather puzzled manner. “Is there something you wish?” a clerk asked. “Well—er—yes,” the man replied. “I am—that, is, I would like to get a book suitable for a man—er—about to get married.\ ‘Yes, sir,” the clerk answered. “Here, Mr. Buford, show this gentle man some of our large-size pocket- books 1” WOMEN CAN DYE ANY GARMENT, DRAPERY Dye or Tint Worn, Faded Thing« New for 15 Cents. or’ tint successfully, because perfect home dyeing is guaranteed with “Dia mond Dyes” even if you have never dyed before. Druggists have all colors. Directions in, each package.—Adver tisement. The V/rong Retort Mrs. C. was reading the newspaper. “Listen, John,\ she began excitedly. “Here is a story that begins ‘Young soldier finds wife he lost in war.’\ \Yes Mr. C. replied, \it does seem that those soldier fellows never will stop having bad luck.” Now there are strained relations in that family.—Indianapolis News. No ugly, grimy streaks on the clothes when Red Cross Ball Blue is used. Good bluing gets good results. All grocers carry It.—Advertisement. Because a man jokes about his little superstitions is no sign he will give them up. Do you owe anyone gratitude? Pay interest on the debt. Kind words, we mean. Lift O ff-Nò Pain! “Freezone” on an aching corn, instant ly that corn stops hurting, then short ly you lift It right off with fingers. Your druggist sells a tiny bottle of “Freezone” for a few cents,'sufficient to remove every hard corn, soft corn, or corn between the toes, and the foot calluses, without soreness or Irritation. W .'N. U., B¡LUNGS,- NO. 18—1924.~~
