Her Prairie Knight by B. M. Bower (short novels to read .TXT) 📕
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- Author: B. M. Bower
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A snake buzzed sharply on a gravelly slope, and Keith, sending Beatrice back a safe distance, took down his rope and gave battle, beating the sinister, gray-spotted coil with the loop until it straightened and was still. He dismounted then, and pinched off the rattles—nine, there were, and a “button”—and gave them to Beatrice, who handled them gingerly, and begged Keith to carry them for her. He slipped them into his pocket, and they went on, saying little.
Back near the ranch they met Dick and Sir Redmond. They exchanged sharp looks, and Dick shook his head.
“We haven't found him—yet. The boys are riding circle around the ranch; they're bound to find him, some of them, if we don't.”
“You had better go home,” Sir Redmond told her, with a note of authority in his voice which set Keith's teeth on edge. “You look done to death; this is men's work.”
Beatrice bit her lip, and barely glanced at him. “I'll go—when Dorman is found. What shall we do now, Dick?”
“Go down to the house and get some hot coffee, you two. We all snatched a bite to eat, and you need it. After that, you can look along the south side of the coulee, if you like.”
Beatrice obediently turned Rex toward home, and Keith followed. The ranch seemed very still and lonesome. Some chickens were rolling in the dust by the gate, and scattered, cackling indignantly, when they rode up. Off to the left a colt whinnied wistfully in a corral. Beatrice, riding listlessly to the house, stopped her horse with a jerk.
“I heard—where is he?”
Keith stopped Redcloud, and listened. Came a thumping noise, and a wail, not loud, but unmistakable.
“Aunt-ie!”
Beatrice was on the ground as soon as Keith, and together they ran to the place—the bunk-house. The thumping continued vigorously; evidently a small boy was kicking, with all his might, upon a closed door; it was not a new sound to the ears of Beatrice, since the arrival in America of her young nephew. Keith flung the door wide open, upsetting the small boy, who howled.
Beatrice swooped down upon him and gathered him so close she came near choking him. “You darling. Oh, Dorman!”
Dorman squirmed away from her. “I los' one shiny penny, Be'trice—and I couldn't open de door. Help me find my shiny penny.”
Keith picked him up and set him upon one square shoulder. “We'll take you up to your auntie, first thing, young man.”
“I want my one shiny penny. I want it!” Dorman showed symptoms of howling again.
“We'll come back and find it. Your auntie wants you now, and grandmama.”
Beatrice, following after, was treated to a rather unusual spectacle; that of a tall, sun-browned fellow, with fringed chaps and brightly gleaming spurs, racing down the path; upon his shoulder, the wriggling form of an extremely disreputable small boy, with cobwebs in his curls, and his once white collar a dirty rag streaming out behind.
CHAPTER 6. Mrs. Lansell's Lecture.
When the excitement had somewhat abated, and Miss Hayes was convinced that her idol was really there, safe, and with his usual healthy appetite, and when a messenger had been started out to recall the searchers, Dorman was placed upon a chair before a select and attentive audience, and invited to explain, which he did.
He had decided to borrow some little wheels from the bunkhouse, so he could ride his big, high pony home. Mr. Cameron had little wheels on his feet, and so did Uncle Dick, and all the mens. (The audience gravely nodded assent.) Well, and the knob wasn't too high when he went in, but when he tried to open the door to go out, it was away up there! (Dorman measured with his arm.) And he fell down, and all his shiny pennies rolled and rolled. And he looked and looked where they rolled, and when he counted, one was gone. So he looked and looked for the one shiny penny till he was tired to death. And so he climbed up high, into a funny bed on a shelf, and rested. And when he was rested he couldn't open the door, and he kicked and kicked, and then Be'trice came, and Mr. Cam'ron.
“And you said you'd help me find my one penny,” he reminded Keith, blinking solemnly at him from the chair. “And I want to shake hands wis your big, high pony. I'm going to buy him wis my six pennies. Be'trice said I could.”
Beatrice blushed, and Keith forgot where he was, for a minute, looking at her.
“Come and find my one shiny penny,” Dorman commanded, climbing down. “And I want Be'trice to come. Be'trice can always find things.”
“Beatrice cannot go,” said his grandmother, who didn't much like the way Keith hovered near Beatrice, nor the look in his eyes. “Beatrice is tired.”
“I want Be'trice!” Dorman set up his everyday howl, which started the dogs barking outside. His guardian angel attempted to soothe him, but he would have none of her; he only howled the louder, and kicked.
“There, there, honey, I'll go. Where's your hat?”
“Beatrice, you had better stay in the house; you have done quite enough for one day.” The tone of the mother suggested things.
“It is imperative,” said Beatrice, “for the peace and the well-being of this household, that Dorman find his penny without delay.” When Beatrice adopted that lofty tone her mother was in the habit of saying nothing—and biding her time. Beatrice was so apt, if mere loftiness did not carry the day, to go a step further and flatly refuse to obey. Mrs. Lansell preferred to yield, rather than be openly defied.
So the three went off to find the shiny penny—and in exactly thirty-five minutes they found it. I will not say that they could not have found it sooner, but, at any rate, they didn't, and they reached the house about two minutes behind Dick and Sir Redmond, which did not improve Sir Redmond's temper to speak of.
After that, Keith did not need much urging from Dick to spend the rest of the afternoon at the “Pool” ranch. When he wanted to, Keith could be very nice indeed to people; he went a long way, that afternoon, toward making a friend of Miss Hayes; but Mrs. Lansell, who was one of those women who adhere to the theory of First Impressions, in capitals, continued to regard him as an incipient outlaw, who would, in time and under favorable conditions, reveal his true character, and vindicate her keen insight into human nature. There was one thing which Mrs. Lansell never forgave Keith Cameron, and that was the ruin of her watch, which refused to run while she was in Montana.
That night, when Beatrice was just snuggling down into the delicious coolness of
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