Essential Western Novels - Volume 4. Max Brand

and then in some way the other one was won over. Don't you suppose, Kay, that I might win you?"

      She shook her head. "No, Cory," she said. "I do not love you and that is all there is to it. Please don't talk about it anymore. It can only make us both unhappy."

      "All right," he said, "I won't talk about it;" and then under his breath he muttered, "But by God, I'm going to have you."

      They stopped presently in a grove of trees beside a mountain stream to rest and water their horses. Some of them had brought sandwiches; and when these were eaten, they mounted and rode on again; but this time Kay rode beside Bruce Marvel, and it was evident to Cory Blaine that the girl had arranged it so deliberately. He found himself paired off now with Birdie Talbot; and, being a good business man, he sought to be agreeable, though in his heart he had suddenly conceived an intense loathing for her, from her high heeled shoes to her ill-fitted sombrero.

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      VIII

      FOURFLUSHERS, ALL

      KAY WHITE, on the other hand, found relief in her escape from Blaine's society, which, with the avowal of his love, she had found depressing and embarrassing. Marvel was companionable in that he was silent when she did not wish to talk; or equally willing to uphold his end of the conversation when she felt in the mood for it, though even then the brunt of it fell upon her, to which, being a woman, she was, naturally, not averse.

      They had spoken casually of various things of interest along the trail and there had been long silences. It spoke well for the companionship of both of them that no matter how long these silences they never became strained; and then their conversation wandered to their horses, as conversations between horse lovers always do.

      "I can't understand why Lightfoot behaved as he did yesterday," she said, speaking of her own mount.

      "Most any horse loses his head easy," he said. "They are not like mules or cows. A mule isn't so nervous. If they get tangled up in something they usually lie still and wait for somebody to untangle them; but a horse will either kick himself free or to death, and he doesn't seem to care much which it is. Of course, they are not all alike. I saw an old horse once that had stood all night with one foot caught in a wire fence, and he hadn't moved. He just stood there till I happened along the next morning with a pair of pliers and cut him loose. He was a right old horse, and he must have got wise with age."

      "Maybe if Lightfoot lives long enough he will have as much sense as a mule," suggested Kay.

      "Maybe," he replied, "and then again maybe he won't. There are a lot of things, horses and men, too, who would never have any sense if they lived to be a thousand years old."

      "He must have been terribly frightened yesterday," said the girl, "because he is always so sweet and gentle. Don't you suppose he would have stopped before the trail dropped off into the ravine?"

      He shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "You can't always tell what a horse will do. Some folks say they're blind when they're frightened like that. I've seen them run right into a rail fence when they were real frightened, without even trying to jump it."

      "It makes me shiver every time I think what might have happened if it hadn't been for you," she said.

      He glanced up at her quickly. "It makes me feel mighty shaky, too," he said. "I am sure glad I was there."

      "And you were the only one who thought to do it," she said.

      "I reckon they knew their horses weren't fast enough," he said. "You know I knew Baldy could run. I've seen him run every morning; and he's built for speed, too. Anybody could see that. If I hadn't been sure he could beat Lightfoot, it would have been worse than useless to chase him, for then nothing on earth could have stopped him; and if you had jumped, the other horse might have hurt you."

      "Every time I think of what you did I feel so ashamed of myself," said the girl.

      "What have you got to be ashamed of?" he asked.

      "I did you such an injustice," she said.

      "You never did anything to me," he replied good naturedly.

      "I mean in my thoughts," she explained. "I—it is rather hard to tell you, but I should feel like a hypocrite if I didn't."

      "You don't have to," he said. "I think I know."

      "I was deceived by outward appearances," she said.

      "These clothes are sort of silly," he said; "I realize that now. Of course, though, when you are a stranger in a country it is hard to tell what to wear. You solved it though by adopting a sort of international garb. I guess overalls are worn everywhere."

      "At least they are practical," she said, "and I am comfortable in them. It always seemed silly to me to dress up like an actor playing a part, especially when the part is one with which you are not familiar. Hikers who have never hiked, fliers who have never flown, golfers who have never golfed, and riders who have never ridden raid the sport tog shops seeking the last word in equipment and sartorial elegance, no matter how uncomfortable or weird the result. I remember hearing my father telling how he and mother fixed up when they got their first automobile—linen dusters, gauntlets, and goggles; and mama wore a veil with streaming ends that floated out in the wind behind the car. Now they haven't a single thing specially for motoring."

      "I remember reading a little while ago about some chap who was after some trans-continental non-stop record, who had a special sky-blue uniform made, while Lindbergh was apt to cop off a record any afternoon in a business suit. No, you can't tell much about people by their clothes."

      "Sometimes people try to deceive through the clothes that they wear," she remarked.

      "Do you think that is wrong?" he asked.

      "It depends upon what their purpose is, I suppose."

      "Now Mrs. Talbot has the right idea," he said with a trace of a smile. "She aint trying to deceive anyone. She's dressed for hiking, golfing, riding or bridge. You can just take your choice, and I reckon that underneath she's got on a bathing suit."

      "That's mean," she said.

      "Oh, no, it aint mean," he defended himself. "Everybody has been making fun of me as though I was the only funny looking thing around, but perhaps I'm the only one that is dressed sensible and according to what he really is."

      "Don't try to tell me that you are an Eastern polo player, Bruce," she said.

      "I haven't," he said.

      "But your clothes have tried to tell that," she insisted.

      "But Dora's clothes just rear up on their hind legs and shout that she's a cowgirl, when she aint; and I'm sure I wouldn't be any funnier playing polo than you would be working in a section gang."

      "I guess you're right," she said, laughing. "We are all of us fourflushers."

      "Except Bud, perhaps," he suggested.

      "How about Cory and Butts?" she asked. "How do you think they ought to be dressed?"

      "If I told you you'd be surprised," he replied.

      "'All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players,'" she quoted.

      "'And one man in his time plays many parts,'" he added; "but a lot of us are bum actors."

      "You are an enigma," she said.

      "Why?" he asked.

      She shook her head and did not reply. His recognition of her quotation from Shakespeare baffled her, for she had noted the carelessness of his English and his many lapses into Western vernacular; and, like Dora Crowell, with whom she had discussed him, she had come to the conclusion that he was a Westerner playing a part. It was Dora's theory that he had suddenly made a lot of money