The Orphan by Clarence E. Mulford (motivational novels .txt) 📕

by the light and taking his hat. When the hat left him he suffered a loss, for he had nothing to twist and grip. He replied by dropping into the chair, not even seeing that it was out of range of the door as a compliment to his hostess. There was no sign of a weapon on him, his holster being empty; but his blue flannel shirt was unbuttoned, the opening hidden by his neck-kerchief. He had, however, only put his Colt there to have it out of sight, and not because he feared trouble. Habitual caution was responsible for the shirt being open, for he was not even sure that he would fight if trouble should come upon him, unless the women gave him a clear field.

Helen drew a chair from the wall and seated herself in the semi-circle which faced him.

“I am very glad that your wound has healed so nicely,” she said with a smile. “We are very sorry that you were hurt in our defense.”

“Oh, it wasn’t anything,” he quickly replied, smiling deprecatingly. “You fixed it up so nice that it didn’t bother me at all–didn’t hurt a bit.”

“I am glad it was no worse,” she replied, looking around the circle. “Grace, Mary, you surely remember Mr.–Mr.––”

“Please call me by the name you know me by–The Orphan,” smiling broadly. “I’ve almost forgotten that I ever had any other name.”

“Mr. Orphan–how funny it sounds,” she laughed. “It’s most original. Margaret, this is the gentleman to whom we certainly owe our lives. Oh! I know you don’t like to be reminded of it,” she went on, answering his deprecatory gesture, “no doubt you are accustomed to that sort of thing out here, but in the East such an experience does not often occur.”

“I am glad indeed to know and thank you,” said Mrs. Shields, impulsively extending her hand. “Your bravery has put me still deeper in your debt. My husband–” her feelings overcame her as she realized that this was the man who had spared to her that husband, her laughing, burly, broad-shouldered, big-hearted king of men. Was it possible that this handsome, confident stripling was his peer?

Helen relieved the tension: “Mr. Orphan, this is Miss Ritchie, the same Miss Ritchie who was so badly frightened when she first met you. Perhaps you’ll remember it. And this––”

“I wasn’t! I wasn’t one bit frightened!” declared Miss Ritchie hotly, to The Orphan’s great enjoyment.

“Now, Grace, don’t fib–you can’t deny it. And this is my sister who was mean enough to keep her senses when I didn’t. We thought highly of you then, but even more so now. You see, my brother has been talking about you, he takes a keen interest in you, Mr. Orphan–I declare I can’t help laughing at that name, it sounds so funny; but you will forgive me, won’t you? I knew you would. Well, James has been saying nice things about you, and so you see we know you better now. He likes you real well, as well as you will let him, and I’m awful sorry that he is not at home,” she dared, her eyes flashing with delight. “I am sure he would like to meet you very much; in fact he has said as much. Oh, he speaks of you quite often.”

The caller flushed, but he was determined to let them think him perfectly at ease.

“I am glad that he remembers me,” he responded gravely. “I have only met him once, but I thought he was rather glad to see me. We had a very enjoyable time together and I found him very pleasant.” He was forced to smile as he recalled the six Apaches in the sheriff’s rear.

“Helen was just saying what awful risks her brother ran,” Miss Ritchie remarked, intently studying the rugged face before her. “But then, he’s a man. If I was a man, I wouldn’t be afraid of them!”

“My, how brave you are, Grace,” laughed Mrs. Shields. “I heard quite to the contrary about the stage ride.”

“Goodness, Margaret!” retorted Miss Ritchie, up in arms at the remark. “You would have been afraid in that old coach if you had been banged about in it as I was. The noise was terrible, and that awful driver!”

The caller smiled at her spirit and then replied to her, serious at once.

“Well, he does take chances,” he said. “But for that matter every man out in this country has to run risks. Now, I’ve taken some myself,” he added, smiling quizzically. “But, you know, we get used to them after a while–we get used to everything but hunger and thirst–and life. I’ve even gotten used to being lonesome, and I find that it really isn’t so bad after all. And then, you know, lonesomeness does have its advantages at times, for it certainly promotes peace, and the cartridges that it saves are worth considerable. But it took me several years before I could accept it in that light with any degree of ease.”

Helen laughed merrily, for she most of all appreciated this outcast’s humor, and she liked him better the more he talked.

“Yes, in time I suppose one does become accustomed to danger,” she replied, “although I’ll be frank enough to admit that I don’t believe I could,” glancing at her friend. “You risked much by coming here to-night–just suppose that you had called last night!”

“The danger was only from a chance recognition in the street,” he replied, smiling, “and it would have been equally dangerous for the man who recognized me, and perhaps more so, since I was on the lookout–that balances. I would be the last man anyone would expect to be in Ford’s Station at this time, and once free of the town, I could elude the pursuers in the dark. And as for the sheriff, I knew that he was not at home to-night, and, had he been so, I doubt if it would have stayed me, for he is fair and square, and an unarmed man is safe with him in his own house. He understands what a truce means, and we had one before.”

Mrs. Shields smiled at him in such warmth that he thanked his stars that he had played fair out by the bowlder.

“He told us of that!” Helen exclaimed, laughingly. “It was splendid of you, both of you. And, do you know, I liked you much better for it. And I wanted to meet you again and talk with you; I’m dreadfully curious.”

“Helen!” reproved her sister, and, turning from the girl to him, she tried to explain away her sister’s boldness. “You must excuse Helen, Mr.–Mr. Orphan, because she is not a day older than she was five years ago.”

“Why, Mary!” cried Helen, reproachfully, “how can you say that? Just the other day you said that I was quite grown up and dignified. I am sure that Mr.–oh, goodness, there’s that name again!” she bewailed. “Why don’t you get another name–that one sounds so funny!”

The Orphan laughed: “I am not responsible for the name, I had no hand in it. But, let’s see what we can do,” he said, counting on his fingers. “There’s Smith, Brown, Jones–Jones sounds well, why not say it?” he asked gravely. “I am sure that’s easier to say and remember.”

“Yes, that is better!” she cried. “Let’s see,” she said, experimenting. “Mr. Jones, Mr. Jones–oh, pshaw, I like the other much better. I trust that I’ll get accustomed to it in time, and I certainly should, because I hear it enough; only then it hasn’t that formal Mister before it. And it is the Mister that causes all the trouble. Now, I’ll try it again: I’m sure that The Orphan (I said that real nicely, didn’t I?) I’m sure that The Orphan doesn’t think me lacking in dignity, does he?” she asked, regarding him merrily, and with a dare in her eyes.

“Well, now really,” he began, and then, seeing the look of warning in her face, he laughed softly. “Why, really, I think that you must be much more dignified than you were five years ago.”

“That’s such a neat evasion that I hardly know whether to be angry or not,” she retorted, and then turned to Miss Ritchie, who was smiling.

“Grace,” she cried, “for goodness sake, say something! You don’t want me to do all the talking, do you?” and before her friend could say a word she began a new attack, her eyes sparkling at the fun she was having.

“What have you done since I told you to behave yourself?” she asked, assuming a judicial seriousness which was extremely comical.

He laughed heartily, for she was so droll, her eyes flashing so with vivacity, and so rarely beautiful that he breathed deep in unconscious effort to absorb some of the atmosphere she had created. And he was not alone in his mirth, for Helen’s audacity had caused smiles to come to Miss Ritchie and Mrs. Shields, who were content to take no part in the conversation, and even Mary forgot to be serious.

“Well, I haven’t had time to do much,” he replied in humble apology, “although I have been occupied in a desultory way on the Cross Bar-8 for a week, and before that I was quite busily engaged in traveling for my health. You see, this climate occasionally affects me, and I am forced to go south or west for a change of air. I was just starting out on my last trip when I first met you, and I have reason to believe that my promptness in leaving you saved me much annoyance. But I have cooked quite a few meals in the interim–and I’ve learned how mutton should be broiled, too. I’ll have to confess, however, that I have been out late nights. But then, I’ll have a better record to report next time, honest I will.”

Helen leveled an accusing finger at him: “You spoiled all the cooking utensils on that ranch, and you scared that poor cook so bad that he fled in terror of his life and left those poor, tired men to get all their own meals. Now, that was not right, do you see? The poor cook, he was almost frightened to death. I am almost ashamed of you; you will have to promise that you will not do anything like that again.”

“I promise, cross my heart,” he replied eagerly, thinking of the five dead punchers she had been kind enough to overlook. “I solemnly promise never to scare that cook again,” then seeing that she was about to object, he added, “nor any other cook.”

“And you’ll promise not to spoil any more tins, or terrorize that poor outfit, or burn any more corrals, and everything like that?” she asked quickly, for she detected a trace of seriousness in his face and wished to drive home her advantage. If she could get a serious promise from him she would rest content, for she knew he would keep his word.

He thought for an instant and then turned a smiling face to her. Seeing veiled entreaty in her eyes, he suddenly felt a quiet gladness steal over him. Perhaps she really cared about his welfare, after all, though he dared not hope for that. He grew serious, and when he spoke she knew that he had given his word.

“I promise not to take the initiative in any warfare, nor to harass the Cross Bar-8 unless they force me to in self-defense,” he replied.

She hid her elation, for she had gained the point her brother had failed to win, and did not wish to risk anything by showing her feelings. As if to reward him for yielding to her, she led the conversation from the personal grounds it had assumed and cleverly got him to talk about the