Painted Rock/Chapter 10
X
A ROMANCE OF DOUBLE MOUNTAIN
Old Bill Higginson had the reputation of being very sudden, and there isn't the least doubt that he was sudden. He would be as sweet and mild as a southerly breeze in spring when the prairie begins to show what it can do in the way of flowers, and before any man could find out the shadow of a reason he was as bitter as a March norther with all his kindness curdled. In such cases he was apt to pull a gun on anyone, and it was only the fact that he was old, and as white-headed as young cotton, that he was not killed once a day at least.
Old Bill lived with his wife and daughter on a feeder of Double Mountain Creek, in the north-west of Texas.
"A bewtiful country, suh," said Old Bill when he was good-tempered and things well, "a bewtiful country, and the feed is just right. My steers is fat, and water's plenty. I'm a happy and contented man, suh. I ask nothin' of Prov'dence, I ask nothin' of no man, but am ready to give to all. That's me, suh."
He dressed in an antique black frock-coat, and wore a Panama hat. Both dated "from befo' the wah, suh!" there was no mistake about that. He rode about the ranges and the prairie on an ancient broncho, not quite so antique as his clothes, but so antique that the cowboys said the "pinto" had been in the ark.
"He was a fine animal," Old Bill said with a heavenly smile, when things went well. "You mayn't believe it, suh, but that pony I've refused two hundred dollahs for."
But when Bill was in trouble, when his temper got out of gear, he was a different man.
"Suh, this God-forsaken kentry of Texas is my blight and bane. It's the backwater of Nowhere River. I pine in these solitudes, and ache for my own kentry!"
His own country was Alabama.
"If I wahn't married and cussed with a family I would put the saddle on that wuthless pinto and ride Home to die, suh," was Bill's remark when he was "thataway." "Give me Alabama's flowery meads and niggers, or give me death, as the Constitution of the United States says."
His family was one daughter, and if he was "cussed" with her, there were many young men who would have thought themselves blessed if Amanda Higginson had so much as smiled on them. She was plump and fair, and very engaging, and called her mother "Maw" and her father "Paw," as they do in the Southern States. And girls were scarce around Double Mountain, while at that time cowboys were plentiful; for Texas was not yet fenced in, and sheep were not ousting cattle.
When Old Bill was happy he said "Amandy" was the apple of his eye. He said she was the finest girl between the 49th Parallel and the Mexican border. She was going to marry a rich man, said Bill. When any cowboy came round with a courting look in his eye and a new necktie on, Bill developed madness.
"I'll stand thishyer crowd off with a shotgun, Mary," he said to his wife. "Amandy is the gal to wed millions. There's no gal like Amandy. Cowboys is poison to me, and I'll make 'em food for cayoots if they kem languishin' around this raynch. You tell 'em so, d'ye hear? I'll feed 'em to the beasts of the field."
He snorted, and his white eyebrows looked very fierce. The young men in chappareros and guns fought shy of him. It is horrid to be confronted with a "gun" when one comes courting, for it is, of course, almost impossible to kill one's prospective father-in-law without discouraging the lady. That is what the boys felt, and some of the boldest of them quailed before Bill Higginson on that account.
"If we kills Ole Bill, Amandy will look sideways on us," they murmured. But they persevered, for Amandy was a daisy and a flirt, and looked at them under her eyelashes till they all felt that love for them bloomed in her tender heart. And it has to be owned that she loved them all equally, or very nearly equally, not having yet made a choice. If there was one of them rather ahead of the others in Amandy's favour it was Joyce Briggs. However, Joyce didn't know it, and Morgan Harris and Tom Galpin and Merrick Gaylord and Billy Prentiss all thought they had a look-in, and accordingly were very jealous and hopeful. And indeed there is no doubt they all had a chance, seeing the sort of man old Higginson was, and the way he went to work to keep Amandy safely corralled. As Em'ly Price said (she lived the other side of Double Mountain Creek, and had a father who did as he was told) it was a wonder Amandy "sot quiet" and endured.
"I ain't hankerin' to wed none of 'em, Em'ly," said Amandy, tossing her pretty head. "They worries me wuss than a hoss in fly-time. I cayn't go out but I find one of the boys hid behind a mesquite."
"You reckon, as your Dad says, that you'll merry a millionaire?" said Em'ly.
"I don't reckon to merry at all, yet," said Amandy. But she didn't understand her father, or the ways of Providence, or the nature of Billy Prentiss. Nor did she know that her uncle, who lived over on the Salt Fort of the Brazos, took an interest in her doings, and knew so much scandal that he actually knew more than ever occurred, in spite of having been once badly "shot up" for talking slander of a prominent citizen of Painted Rock. Indeed there was much that Amandy didn't know, and perhaps she knew as little of her pretty self as she did of anything or anyone else.
Now it happened one bright day in the later spring, when northers were over and the prairie flowers were out, and all things were heavenly, and the cattle were lively and the wind sweet, she put on her sun-bonnet to keep her skin from freckling and took a little walk on the prairie away from the creek. And as she might have expected, and perhaps did expect, she presently saw someone loping towards her, and presently she saw it was Billy Prentiss, and she lifted up her nose, so to speak, and prepared to be "some haughty," as the boys said she often was. And Bill being a good, gentle boy, weighing two hundred pounds at least, and fair as day and as blushing as rosy dawn, feared her terribly, but came on all the same, and prepared to tell her again that he loved the "perairie" she walked on.
"Good-day, Amandy," said Billy.
"Oh, it's you?" said the ungracious Amandy. "’Pears to me s'if I warn't allowed to walk the perairies o' Texas free and without guards. Whar did you spring from?"
"I wuz jest a-ridin' by" began Billy.
"You allers is jest a-ridin' by," said Amandy. "An' if you ain't jest a-ridin' by it's Mr. Galpin is, or Mr. Gaylord, or Morgan Harris."
"Waal, I knowed as your Paw wuz away to Painted Rock, Amandy, and I tho't as it wuz a good time to hev a talk with you and clear things up some. For I'm gettin' fair desprit, Amandy, and I owns it."
"That's what Morgan says, and Merrick, and Tom. You all says it; and what I've got to dew with you bein' desprit beats me, Billy Prentiss. Cayn't a girl go a-walkin' on the perairie owned by her own father without bein' confronted with cowboys sayin' they're desprit, and doin' nothin' but sayin' they're desprit?"
So fair an invitation to do more than merely "say" would have inspired a knowing citizen of Painted Rock to immediate attack, but Billy Prentiss didn't recognise the invitation. Nor could he know that he looked just then exceedingly engaging, and very handsome, even better-looking than Joyce Briggs, whom Amandy had reckoned to see instead of him.
"’Tis you're fault I'm desprit," urged Billy. "You know I loves you more than I loves my own life, and I've said it repeated."
Amandy tossed her head.
"So's Joyce and Merrick and Morgan, and the lot o' you; an' if I payssed my word to one the others would be desprit. And I don't love no one, and if I did 'twould be no good, for Paw allows, ez you know well, Mr. Prentiss, that he'll blow a hole threw any cowboy as he kethes sight of within a hundred rods of me. And to-day he's very mad about everything, and was outrageous in denouncin' you and Joyce before he pulled out for the Rock. So it ain't my fault, thar!"
"I don' care the snap of my finger for your Paw and his gun," said Billy. "If you says you love me I'll merry you right off, and he cayn't shoot his son-in-law 'thout bein' reckoned a mean man. An' he won't neither; for I kin take care o' myself, and he knows it."
Amandy fired up.
"I suppose you reckons if he came arter you, then, you'd shoot him?" she asked.
"I'd hev to, maybe," declared Billy.
"What, shoot my ole Paw?"
"Not 'less he pulled on me, Amandy."
"The idee o' my merryin' a man that allows he'd shoot my Paw," said Amandy. "The idee's rediklus, Billy Prentiss, and you knows it. I ain't a-goin' to expose my Paw to danger. Not but that the danger 'ud be of bein' tried for killin' you, for he's deadly with weepons."
"Deadly be—consarned," said Prentiss. "The ole galoot cayn't shoot for sour apples. The only gun he's any good with is his mouth."
"That lets me out," said Amandy furiously; "don' you speak disrespectful of my Paw. You and me has finished, Mr. Prentiss, not that we ever begun" (here she tossed her head) "as I knows of. You cayn't be insultin' to Paw and stay in with me"
"Oh, I ain't intendin' to insult him any," protested Billy in distress; "all I allowed wuz as he cayn't shoot any, and that he's gay and free with his tongue, as everyone knows."
But Amandy wouldn't listen.
"If you ain't civil to Paw, you cayn't get me to talk," she declared; "and I'll be thankful if, when we meets, you'll payss me by, Mr. Prentiss. I'm fair sick of desperation mixed with oncivility to my parents, for you never even so much as payss the time of day with my pore mother."
Billy exploded.
"Why, Amandy, Lord's sake, how kin I? when your Paw sits outside with his hair a-bristlin' and a gun ready to shoot if we kems within hayf a mile? It's fair rediklus to speak so."
But at that Amandy turned about and walked towards the house.
"Oh, Amandy!" said Billy.
She paid no attention.
"Oh, Amandy, Amandy!" he repeated.
"Miss Higginson, if you please," said Amandy coldly.
"Miss Higginson, then," implored Billy, leading his horse after her.
"Nor 'Miss Higginson' don't work neither," said Amandy triumphantly.
And then Billy stayed in his tracks and said no more. When he had recovered himself a little Amandy was entering her "Paw's" house without a look in his direction.
"I'm fair desprit," said Billy Prentiss.
He was then aware of a horseman coming up behind him at an easy walk. As he mounted they met face to face, and though Billy did not know who the man was, he felt that he was strangely like Old Bill Higginson.
"Mout be his brother," said the cowboy. "And I dew believe he hez a brother the other side o' Double Mounting."
"Good-day," said the stranger. He looked at Billy rather too curiously, and Billy was in no mood to be looked at.
"Day to you," he said sulkily. "Will you know me agin, stranger?"
The stranger started, and said hastily that he "warn't" looking for anything but Bill Higginson's place.
"Waal, thet's it, and you're welcome to it," said Billy, as he put spurs to his broncho and loped off. The stranger pulled his own horse round and stared after him.
"I b'lieve that was Amandy with him, and that he was a-kissin' her, or my eyes deceived me," said Bill Higginson's brother. "He sure looked frightable s'if he suspicioned some I'd c'ot him. This must be told to Bill. It will make Bill mad."
He rode to the house and alighted. Mis' Higginson and Amandy came out.
"Mary, my dear, and Amandy, how air you?" asked George Higginson. "And wheer's Bill?"
"You're welcome, brother-in-law," said Mis' Higginson, "but Bill's to Painted Rock, and won't be hum till to-night. Kem in out o' the sun and set daown. Amandy will look arter your hoss."
And George Higginson went in.
"I'm right glad to see you," he said; "and I've all sorts o' news for Bill. Bless me, I ain't bin hyar for nigh on to a year, and how Amandy rises up, and I dew reckon the cowboys kems araound after her some, don't they, Mary? Oh yep, you bet. And Bill, is he as dead sot on standin' of 'em off with a Winchester or a double-pronged scatter gun as he was? Waal, to be sure, to be sure. Gawd bless you, Amandy. You're a good gal to look arter your old uncle's boss, and as spry and pretty a gal as I've set eyes on in Texas thess year payst. And if you say 'eat,' Mary, I'm with you, for I'm as hungry as a buzzard and could eat onything."
By all this it may be judged that George was very full of himself, and had a tongue balanced in the middle which was easy to set clacking. He certainly loved to talk, and as he talked he couldn't help congratulating himself on the sad news he had for Bill. He watched Amandy like a cat.
"Sly pussy-cat she ez, to bee sure," he said. "To look et her you'd never suspicion that a large and powerful cowboy hed been puttin' heavy and lovin' pressure on her short ribs, and a-kissin' her fit to bust, as I see with these eyes of mine."
He was sure of it, and the detail of the love-scene grew on him every moment.
"Yes, Amandy, my love. I'll hev another wedge o' thet pie. My indigestion don't permit me to eat your aunt's pie, but thess pie ez pie, and I kin consciously declare it is pie, and not rock, nor a door-mat, nor last yeer's mud, nor onythin' unwholesome. In the matter o' pie me and yur aunt has trouble, but I minimises friction now I'm older by never tacklin' it."
And as he ate the pie he saw Amandy and the large and powerful cowboy.
"Her a-lookin' up at him so confidin' and lovin', with tears in her eyes, pore dear, and a-liftin' up thet rose-bud of a mouth to his large and powerful one, and all the time her knowin' how useless it was to buck up agin' Ole Bill's firm and judishus intention to wed her by force to a millinaire when one kems along. 'Oh, how sad, but how trew!' as Brother White says exhortin'."
He told Mis' Higginson and Amandy all about everything on his ranch over his side of the country, and said how Seth Smith was supposed to be dead on account of horse-stealing. But how he died he wouldn't say. And he further said that the feed on the ranges wasn't what it had been, and that he hated sheep, and that life was a burden, and his wife's pie hideous (for he loved good pie), and he then went into politics, and said what he thought of McKinley and Queen Victoria and the Germans and the Mexicans and all the world.
But all the time his very fertile imagination was working on the subject of Amandy and the large cowboy. His talk presently followed his mind.
"You ain't merried yet, Amandy?" he said, with a nervous laugh.
"I ain't a-thinkin' o' merriage," returned Amandy.
"’Pears to me you should think of it," said her uncle; "there's sad dangers in this world for the unmerried, specially unmerried gals. Ain't there, Mary?"
"Mebbe, George," said Mis' Higginson, who was very weary of her brother-in-law and troubled little about Amandy's "merriage." She had heard too much of it from Bill.
"I'd like to see you merried right off," mused George, who was sadly afraid he'd seen more than he had known at first. He got surer of it every minute.
"I ain't reckonin' to be merried," said Amandy angrily.
"You ain't, Amandy?"
"No, I ain't."
George shook his head. Evidently the bad and wicked and large cowboy wouldn't marry her!
"I'll speak to Bill. We'll see if he won't," said George to himself. "No cowboy kin insult and destroy any o' our fam'ly without invitin' deestruction."
By now he was absolutely sure he had seen dreadful things.
"Pore little gal!" said George; "but I'll see her righted. Oh, won't I, jest?"
He went on to explain some of the dangers of the "unmerried" state, and denounced gay seducers until Amandy fled and Mis' Higginson yawned. She hadn't seen any gay seducers around her neighbourhood, and wasn't troublin' none about 'em, she said.
"Pore woman!" said George; and then at sundown Bill returned in his Studebaker wagon drawn by two mules, and he found his brother with his mouth open, while Amandy and her mother were horribly exhausted.
"Thank the Lord, here's Paw," said Amandy, as she flew out to greet him, when he came trotting up to the door.
"In the mawnin', when he's quiet and rested, I'll get him on one side and reelate thess disaster to him," said George. "But I'll hev another drap o' tea, Mary. Tellin' the noos makes one dry, so it does, though I'm not one to talk 'cept on occasion."
That evening George and Bill talked against each other, but George kept on dropping hints as to coming trouble. He said he'd have to ask advice on a "p'int" in the morning, and when Bill desired to hear it now, he said he had to think of it.
"Oh, you're too melancholy and suspicious to live," said Bill, who was in a jovial mood. "Bless me, with a nice little raynch and a few head o' good steers, and a wife like my Mary and a gal like my Amandy, and a hoss to ride like my pinto, I'm all hunky, and I find Texas pleasant, and the people joyous, and it's a good world, George, so cheer up some and let up on your gloomy hints o' trouble, for you've nothing to worry you."
And poor George said his own troubles were nothing.
"My natur' is sech, Bill, that I worry not at all about my own woes, but the woes of other ignorant and innocent people fills me with the intensest grief. It done so from a child, and many's the time I've wept sore to see our old dad wallop thunder out o' yur pore little carcass, and you know it."
"So you did, but that's all over," replied Bill; "and there's no need to weep none here, for I don't wallop Amandy none, for she's the apple o' my eye."
And George wept a little, and said he'd go to bed and think over things. And to bed he went, after a drink or two. As he turned in he solemnly cursed the cowboy, who was, he felt sure, a gay seducer.
"My gallant cowboy o' the Circle X outfit—for I reckon to hev seen the brand on your pony—your time will kem to-morrow. Bill and me will round you up, and don't you forget it. To think pretty Amandy is the prey of a villain, when Bill reckons her 'll wed a millionaire!"
Now in the morning Bill got up and sang, for he still felt "all hunky," as he hadn't drunk too much in Painted Rock, and when George heard him singing he was amazingly sad, for the poor victim Amandy was all his mind. He dressed slowly, and went out to find Bill having a smoke before breakfast.
"Mornin', George," said Bill. "Hope's you're brighter thess mornin'?"
"No, I ain't brighter, not a cent's worth brighter. For now the time has kem for me to speak to you on a sad p'int, and one I'd rather perish miserable in a blizzard on the perairie than mention," said George.
"Jerusalem, what's wrong with the man?" inquired Bill, with sudden testiness. "Here am I as happy as a chipmunk, and he kems out like a corp for sadness, and spiles the very momin' air. What is it, George?"
George shook his head.
"Let us take a little walk, and let me beg you to be ca'm, while I reelates the suspicious events to which I was a sad and horrified witness yesterday," replied George.
"What events?" roared Bill furiously.
"Events that are now as clear as day in my mind," said George, "horrid events, but nat'ral enough, for innocence is innocence wherever you find it, and wicked men are pisin wherever seen."
Bill's face turned crimson, and his white hair stood on end.
"Brother George," he remarked in a strangled whistle, "if you don't want me to apoplex sudden you'll be jest a trifle clearer and not so long-winded. What's it all abaout, before I shoots you for alarmin' me?"
"Be ca'm," said George.
"I am ca'm!" roared Bill.
"It's abaout our dear pore little Amandy" began George.
"A word agin Amandy and"
"No, no, brother, you won't. Would I say it was her fault? And if it warn't with such as the villain I'm a-goin' to mention you cayn't shoot me, your sad brother!"
Bill choked. But he put on an air of "ca'mness."
"Speak, what is it?"
"It's Amandy. You reckon she'll marry a millionaire?"
Bill made alarming noises, but nodded his head.
"It'll be well if she marries a large cowboy roamin' thess neighbourhood," said George mournfully.
"A cowboy, my Gawd"
Bill could say no more.
"I seen the pore innocent with him, Bill. Oh, I'm sad to say I surprised 'em. She ran, and he looked at me very fightable and mad, but I kept ca'm so's not to let him know what I seen, and I out-faced him."
"What did you see?" whispered Bill.
"Her and him kissin', and him huggin' her, and—but I'll say no more. You and me will hunt him up and make him merry her right off!"
Bill didn't "apoplex," but he looked alarmingly near it.
"What was he like?"
"Large and powerful, weighin' some two hundred pounds or thereabouts," said George, "and he'd an ivory butt to his gun and mesquite leggin's and a red shirt, and his eyes was blue, and he warn't bad-lookin', and he rode a big sorrel pony branded Circle X on the near shoulder."
"That's Billy Prentiss," said Bill Higginson; "sure as death that's Billy Prentiss, who is thess minute—lookin' forward a little—as dead as ever any man was."
But George grabbed his arm.
"No, Bill, make him merry her. If you kill him, whar'll she be, if so be things is the wust?"
"Oh, they cayn't be!" roared Bill.
"I suspicion some they allers is," said George. "But say you'll make him merry her, and on'y kill him arterwards."
"I—I will," said Bill. He marched towards the house in which Amandy and her mother were. They were quite happy, because they had heard him singing, and when he sang before breakfast it usually meant a happy day. Now he came in like a whirlwind.
"Amandy, to your room, gal!" he yelled.
"Oh, Paw!"
"To your room, gal!" he repeated.
"Lord sakes, William!" said his wife.
"Silence, woman! Amandy, to your room!"
And Amandy fled like a lamb before a blizzard, while her father made horrid noises in his throat.
"George, that batten there," he said.
George brought him a short piece of wood.
"The hammer and nails, woman," said Bill. His wife brought them. He nailed Amandy's door up. Then he went outside and did the same to the window.
"George, get your horse up, and I'll get the pinto," he said. Mis' Higginson exploded.
"What's the pore gal done?" she cried.
"Don't ask me!" cried Amandy's father. "If you let her out till I return I'll kill all my family and the pinto, and fire the house, and kill George, and blow my own head off. Are you ready, George?"
"To bee sure," said George in a shaking voice. It seemed to him that he wasn't now so sure that Billy Prentiss was a gay seducer. Bill was terrible. But when Bill got on his hind legs, George was nowhere. Bill was now commander.
"I've made a plan," he said, when he got outside and had the pinto saddled up. "You will ride over to Williams' raynch, ten miles to the north-west, George. They've Brother Brandram stayin' with 'em. Tell him to kem over at once to see someone in imminent danger o' death. If he won't come, make him at the p'int o' your gun. I'll seek Billy Prentiss with thess shot-gun. I'll either bring him or a part of him, or perish. Go!"
And George went. He wondered if he had seen anything after all. It seemed as if he had, and yet he wasn't sure. But what a terror Bill was!
"Pore little Amandy looked some scared," said George, as he rode north-west. "I'm a'most sorry I spoke. Perhaps thess cowboy will be some down on me for takin' a hand in merrying him by force. But now I cayn't help myself. Bill ez that mad he'd chase me to the Pacific if I don't help his notion. I'll hev to fetch Brother Brandram."
And in an hour and a half he found the Williams' ranch. He inquired for Brother Brandram, and a portly gentleman in black came out.
"You desire to see me, sir?" said the minister.
"I dew," said George. "Would you oblige me and my brother Bill Higginson by kemmin' over to our raynch, ten miles south-east o' this spot, to see someone in imminent danger of immediate decease?"
"Dear me, of course I will," said Mr. Brandram. "I can get a horse here, and will be ready in a minute. Is it a case of disease?"
"Not infectious," said George hastily. "I'll explain it as we go along."
And Brandram, having got a pony saddled, came away at once.
"In the midst of life we are in death," said Brother Brandram cheerfully. "Is the sick man a relation of yours, sir?"
"Not yet," said George. "I mean he ain't."
"Is he looking very bad?" asked the minister.
"He looks the strongest man hereabouts," said George.
"How sad!" said Brandram. "Can you say what's the matter?"
"No, that I cayn't. Bill said it was caunfidential."
"Confidential!" said Brandram. "Bless me! You don't mean it's crime?"
"Oh, by no means, not at all," said George. "There ain't no one killed. But Amandy's locked up."
"Amandy?"
"She's my niece," said George.
"But why's she locked up, and what has she to do with the sick man?"
"My brother is goin' to hev thet explained or perish," replied George.
The minister shook his head.
"Somehow I don't quite understand," he said. "Is the girl ill?"
"Cryin' fit to bust!"
"About the dying man?"
"She don't know he's dyin', and he ain't ezackly dyin', but only like to die," said George in confusion. "My brother's fetchin' him along."
"Fetching him along! In a wagon?"
"I reckon he'll ride," said George, "and with Bill behind him he'll ride fast."
"Humph," said the minister. He pulled up.
"Kem along, sir," said George.
"Not before I understand," said Brandram firmly. "You say the man's not exactly dying but likely to die, and that he'll ride fast with your brother—if I apprehend you rightly, he's your brother—behind him. Now why is your brother behind him?"
"Why, to fetch him surely," said George; "he wouldn't kem else. But with Bill behind him with a shot-gun he'll come, and no fatal error."
"This seems strange treatment for a sick man," said Brandram.
"I never let on he was sick," said George sulkily.
"Then why do you want me?"
"I don't want you none. It's Bill wants you," said George.
"Unless you explain I will not go a step farther," said Brandram.
"Won't you?" said George. "Oh yes, you will."
And he pulled his gun.
"You kem or be killed," said George.
"You surely can't mean to threaten a minister?" said Brandram, in great alarm.
"All I want is to save my own life," said George firmly; "and if I don't fetch you Bill will kill me, and I'm sorry I was fool enough to say a word about it."
"About what, man?" demanded the minister.
"About Amandy," said George. "Now are you kemmin' along, or will you compel me to kill you in your tracks?"
"I think I'll come," said Brandram rather weakly. "This is very remarkable treatment, sir."
George put up his gun.
"I cayn't help it, and when you've done it, I'll apologise," he said. "But when you see Bill he'll explain it to you, and you'll understand that what Bill says goes every time. He's a terror, he is."
They rode on in silence.
"I wish I understood," said the unfortunate captive,—"I wish I understood."
Now, about this time, Bill, armed with his deadly shot-gun and mounted on the antique pinto, was just about to come across Billy Prentiss. They told him at the Circle X outfit that Billy was over to Salt Creek, and when Bill got there he found him sure enough.
"Why, thess is Ole Higginson," said Prentiss. "What's he a-doin' a-riding araound hyar? If he was dead I'd be pleased, and mebbe Amandy would be none too sad neither."
Old Bill rode up. He pointed his shot-gun straight at the cowboy.
"Don't do that," said Prentiss angrily. "The dern ole thing might go off!"
But Old Bill looked mighty serious. He spoke, and Prentiss knew this was business.
"Unbuckle thet belt o' yours and let yur gun fall into the ground," said Old Bill, "or I'll put a double handful of shot into your stummick 'thout another word!"
The cowboy looked at him steadily.
"D'ye mean it, Mr. Higginson? I own you've got the drop on me."
"I mean it," said Higginson. His fierce old eyes said so too.
So Prentiss unbuckled his belt and let it and the gun fall on the ground.
"Walk away some," said Old BiU. When Prentiss was twenty yards away, Higginson alighted and picked up the weapon. He belted himself with it and mounted again.
"You'll walk ahead o' me to my raynch," said Old Bill in the same awful voice.
"Cayn't I ride, Mr. Higginson?" asked Prentiss, looking at his pony tied up to a near mesquite.
"You cayn't."
"If I cayn't, I cayn't," said Prentiss calmly. "But while I walk I'd like to hev some explanation of why you're doin' thess."
"You'll get it by and by," said Higginson.
Now it's not at all a pleasant thing to walk with an infuriated madman with a shot-gun just behind one, and Billy Prentiss found it wasn't pleasant. However, Higginson had "the deadwood" on him, and there was no choice. It was "walk" or "die," and he knew it. There are times when a man knows this easily, and Old Bill was plain print to read.
"It's sure somethin' about Amandy," thought Prentiss as he marched. "Pore little Amandy! But I'm some surprised! What'll he do? I reckon he'll likely kill me."
It looked very like it. But after half an hour's steady walk the ranch was just ahead of them. Prentiss owned that he had a pain in his back.
"Now we'll hear what's the difficulty," he said. And then he saw two horsemen coming from the north-west. The four of them met just outside the door.
"Thess is the minister, Brother Brandram," said George Higginson.
"Glad to see you, suh," said Bill grimly. "I've got some business for you, suh."
"I shall be glad to know why" began Brandram, but Bill cut him short.
"You'll know soon enough.—Mary!"
His wife came to the door.
"Let out Amandy," said her husband.
"Them as shut her up kin let my da'ter out," said old Mary angrily.
"I'll speak to you later on, woman," said Bill. "George, get off your horse and let Amandy out."
George did as he was told. He broke down the nailed batten, and found Amandy with red eyes.
"You're to kem out," said George nervously.
"I won't come out," said Amandy, who was a woman.
"You won't?"
"I won't."
"Your Paw says you are to."
"Tell him them as shut me up kin fetch me out," said Amandy.
George repeated this to the father.
"Amandy!" said the old man.
There was no answer.
"Amandy!" he roared.
"Ye-es, Paw," said the poor girl.
"Ef you don't come out before a minute's gone I'll kill Billy Prentiss right here!"
The last person in Amandy's mind was Billy Prentiss. Why should he kill Billy? It was very strange.
"Oh, kem out, Amandy," said her mother.
"Don't you kem out if you don't want to, Amandy," roared Billy Prentiss. "If he wants to kill me, let him."
But Amandy crept out.
"I—I don't want you killed, Mr. Prentiss," said Amandy. "What hev you done?"
Bill Higginson, still on the pinto, and with his shot-gun covering the group, roared, "Silence!" Then he turned to the minister.
"Merry them two, suh, and do it immejit," he said.
"Oh, Paw!" said Amandy.
"Silence, gal," said her father.
"I won't merry him," said Amandy.
"Don't you if you don't want to, Amandy," said Billy.
Brother Brandram intervened.
"If the young lady doesn't want to marry this young man, I can't do it," said he.
Bill lifted his gun.
"You kin and you will, or I'll kill you all and fire the raynch and kill the pinto and blow my head off," said Bill.
"Steady," said Billy Prentiss. "I'm ready to merry her, and Amandy knows it, for I've bin askin' her this twelve months, but I'd far ruther perish here in my tracks than merry her agin' her will."
"Then you kin hev five minutes to preepare," said Higginson. "Mr. Brandram, say your prayers with him or indooce him to merry her. My last word is said."
It looked as if it was. He took out his watch. There was a long silence.
"Good-bye, Amandy; I always loved you," said the cowboy.
Amandy burst into tears.
"Oh, it's shameful!" she sobbed. "Oh, Paw, you shame me awful."
"One minute gone," said Old Bill.
"If you don't love me, don't you merry me," said Prentiss.
Amandy wept bitterly.
"I—like you some," said Amandy, with her eyes to the ground.
"Two minutes," said Bill.
"If you'd rather merry Joyce or Morgan, don't you mind me," said the cowboy. "I kin die, Amandy."
George spoke.
"Bill, mebbe I was wrong" he began.
"Silence," said his brother; "’tis too late for you to be wrong. 'Tis marriage or immejit death."
"Oh, mother!" sobbed Amandy. But Mis' Higginson sat down with an apron over her head so as to avoid seeing anyone killed.
"Merry him, Amandy," said George. He whispered in her ear. "Merry him, and you kin come and live on my raynch, and I'll leave it to you when I die."
"Three minutes wasted," said Bill.
"I'll marry you, Mr. Prentiss," said Amandy.
"Do your duty, Brother Brandram," said Bill, as he returned his watch to his pocket.
And Brandram did his duty in rather a shaky voice.
"You're now man and wife," said he when he had done.
Bill took up his parable again.
"And now, hevin' merried her, Prentiss, you kin pull out and never see her no more. For you ain't goin' to reap no advantage threw your wickedness. And Amandy, though she bears your name, will hate you evermore. Git up and git!"
"But she's my wife," said the cowboy in great surprise. "She'll kem away with me."
Bill smiled an awful smile.
"You think so; but you're off it, away off it, Prentiss. If you don't clear out I'll kill you!"
Amandy felt that she was a married woman and had new duties. Mr. Prentiss had behaved nobly. She went up to Billy shyly and stood in front of him.
"He ain't goin' 'thout me, and if you kills him you'll hev to kill me too. You've made me merry him, Paw, and now I'm merried, I'm merried."
"That's so," said Brother Brandram.
"So it is," said George.
"It's gawspel trewth," said Mis' Higginson, coming from under her apron; "and if you kill the boy or Amandy I'll curse you. Bill Higginson, and drownd myself."
"If you do I'll kill everyone and burn the raynch and shoot the pinto and blow my head off," said Bill, who was now coming to the end of his powers of rage.
"I will for sewer, in the crick, deep," said Mis' Higginson; "and you'll find your old wife dead and wet where you draw the water."
"I'll give you five minutes to say you won't," said Bill irresolutely.
"Five or ten won't alter me," said Mis' Higginson. "I'd ruther see water than blood any day."
"You mean it, Mary?" asked Old Bill.
"I does, Bill. Your tantrums fatigue me awful," said Mis' Higginson.
There was a long pause.
"Waal, I won't kill no one, at least not to-day," said Bill. He got off the pinto. He stroked the ancient animal's nose.
"After all, I'd ruther it was you, Billy Prentiss, than Morgan Harris or Joyce Briggs," he said. "I always was down on Joyce Briggs."
That night Amandy told her husband that she, too, had always been down on poor Joyce Briggs.
Printed by Morrison & Gibb Limited, Edinburgh